Scan barcode
jaclyn_sixminutesforme's review against another edition
4.0
“If there is a place in heaven, I hope it’s like they say it is, without hatred, without violence. Where peace is the currency and our differences the assets. A place where the angels truly exist...”
.
This trilogy of novellas/novels (the title story in this bound up edition being the longest) was breathtaking—it managed to simultaneously capture such tender and universal moments of humanity (infertility, romantic love, grief, and more) amidst the traumas and devastation of life in Palestine. The juxtaposition of these on a subject matter level, and the unrelenting and almost fragmentary narrative style in the chapters themselves, was so poignant. It gave a glimpse into an almost unfathomable “everyday,” and anchored the reader in these individual stories. The violences and traumas they experienced were immediate in a way that headlines and news stories by nature often fail to capture.
.
The title story follows two young lovers, a Palestinian man working in a hotel—he carves stories in his sculpture work much as he did in his childhood treehouse—and an Israeli woman, a soldier at that. Their early encounters and chance meeting itself mark them as more than simply star-crossed lovers, but two people whom religion and politics and the very location they are in are working at odds to make their relationship impossible. In considering whether they can ever be together he particularly questions his very identity (it is his perspective the narrative follows), and the way this is developed is stunning. Admittedly this final story took me a little to settle into—we start following the man in his youth, the details and early investment in building character took me some time to fall into step with (possibly because this connection was relatively immediate for me in the other two stories). That said, these details are drawn on so richly as the narrative progresses, particularly in a brother-like friendship the man has.
The afterword in this will stay with me for a long time—it’s explanatory and full-circle and imbues the reader with so many closing thoughts that blend the authorial voice with those of the characters depicted. Just brilliant and a read I’d highly recommend!
.
Many thanks to the author for reaching out and providing an ebook to read.
.
This trilogy of novellas/novels (the title story in this bound up edition being the longest) was breathtaking—it managed to simultaneously capture such tender and universal moments of humanity (infertility, romantic love, grief, and more) amidst the traumas and devastation of life in Palestine. The juxtaposition of these on a subject matter level, and the unrelenting and almost fragmentary narrative style in the chapters themselves, was so poignant. It gave a glimpse into an almost unfathomable “everyday,” and anchored the reader in these individual stories. The violences and traumas they experienced were immediate in a way that headlines and news stories by nature often fail to capture.
.
The title story follows two young lovers, a Palestinian man working in a hotel—he carves stories in his sculpture work much as he did in his childhood treehouse—and an Israeli woman, a soldier at that. Their early encounters and chance meeting itself mark them as more than simply star-crossed lovers, but two people whom religion and politics and the very location they are in are working at odds to make their relationship impossible. In considering whether they can ever be together he particularly questions his very identity (it is his perspective the narrative follows), and the way this is developed is stunning. Admittedly this final story took me a little to settle into—we start following the man in his youth, the details and early investment in building character took me some time to fall into step with (possibly because this connection was relatively immediate for me in the other two stories). That said, these details are drawn on so richly as the narrative progresses, particularly in a brother-like friendship the man has.
The afterword in this will stay with me for a long time—it’s explanatory and full-circle and imbues the reader with so many closing thoughts that blend the authorial voice with those of the characters depicted. Just brilliant and a read I’d highly recommend!
.
Many thanks to the author for reaching out and providing an ebook to read.
tasmanian_bibliophile's review against another edition
4.0
‘I am looking at the light of the brightest star in the sky.’
We are in the early 21st century, moving from Rafah in Egypt into Palestine. Palestine: divided, isolated, confined by checkpoints and barbed wire. The time of the second Intifada, before the West Bank Wall is built. These three linked novellas: ‘What is Past is Dead’, ‘Twenty Two Years to Life’ and ‘The Palace of Dreams’ take the reader into the hell that is everyday life for so many, into their fight for freedom. It’s confronting.
‘Life in Gaza wasn’t about making decisions because regardless of which decision you ended up making you would be faced with circumstances that you could not predict.’
How can people live with the uncertainty, with bombardment by missiles which comes without warning to kill family or friends? They have no choice: nowhere to go, no sign of hope for a peaceful future. And people without hope are often desperate.
‘We knew our lives counted for nothing next to theirs.’
I found this book difficult to read. Not because of the writing, but because I could not imagine hope. And yet, amongst the dispossession, the sadness, the persecution, the death, there are moments when people triumph.
‘When you confine the human body, the human being finds other ways of feeling free.’
I read about young men dealing in hashish and guns; about a couple trying to start a family; about an Israeli soldier and a Palestinian falling in love. I kept reading, wondering about the luxury of choice, dreams and freedom. The reader joins the characters in this story: drawn in by Mr Morsi’s descriptions of custom, place and smell.
‘Because for men who believe God only loves them it’s easy to kill.’
Some scenes in this novel haunt me. I wanted different outcomes, wanted people to have real choice, with some hope for the future. This is not fiction; this is reality for many.
‘Do not ask us where we are from. Ask us where we wish to go, who we wish to become.’
A difficult, confronting read. Highly recommended.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
We are in the early 21st century, moving from Rafah in Egypt into Palestine. Palestine: divided, isolated, confined by checkpoints and barbed wire. The time of the second Intifada, before the West Bank Wall is built. These three linked novellas: ‘What is Past is Dead’, ‘Twenty Two Years to Life’ and ‘The Palace of Dreams’ take the reader into the hell that is everyday life for so many, into their fight for freedom. It’s confronting.
‘Life in Gaza wasn’t about making decisions because regardless of which decision you ended up making you would be faced with circumstances that you could not predict.’
How can people live with the uncertainty, with bombardment by missiles which comes without warning to kill family or friends? They have no choice: nowhere to go, no sign of hope for a peaceful future. And people without hope are often desperate.
‘We knew our lives counted for nothing next to theirs.’
I found this book difficult to read. Not because of the writing, but because I could not imagine hope. And yet, amongst the dispossession, the sadness, the persecution, the death, there are moments when people triumph.
‘When you confine the human body, the human being finds other ways of feeling free.’
I read about young men dealing in hashish and guns; about a couple trying to start a family; about an Israeli soldier and a Palestinian falling in love. I kept reading, wondering about the luxury of choice, dreams and freedom. The reader joins the characters in this story: drawn in by Mr Morsi’s descriptions of custom, place and smell.
‘Because for men who believe God only loves them it’s easy to kill.’
Some scenes in this novel haunt me. I wanted different outcomes, wanted people to have real choice, with some hope for the future. This is not fiction; this is reality for many.
‘Do not ask us where we are from. Ask us where we wish to go, who we wish to become.’
A difficult, confronting read. Highly recommended.
Jennifer Cameron-Smith
archytas's review against another edition
4.5
The two short stories and novella in this book build upon each other in this exploration of humanity under occupation. At its peak, the book is simply magnificent: Twenty Two Years to Life, the second story in the volume, would rate among the top works I've read this year (and it has been a *good* year). Morsi perfectly blends narrative, characterisation and descriptive detail to tell and engrossing and affecting story. He takes the reader on an emotional journey that feels real enough to smell the sea salt and the olive groves, to feel the tedium of checkpoints and the electric thrill of touching someone you're attracted to.
Morsi's stories also showcase tender masculinity. His protagonists are motivated by deep love, even when that takes them to places we don't want them to go. This isn't just romantic love, but filial love, best friendship and the depth of a father's deep love for a child. Morsi's protagonists are also propelled by their vulnerability: characters trying to hang on to a sense of self in the face of humiliation, but also the crippling vulnerability that love and desire bring us to. So while much of this material covers events we associate with masculinity - violence and drug smuggling among them - Morsi upends a narrative often imposed on Arab men in a way that is joyous, and absolutely never didactic. The book celebrates the bonds we create while exploring the world of emotion and potential hurt that come with that. Writers are often praised for writing complex female characters, but it is worth acknowledging that literature can be short on nuanced male characters as well.
On a literature-induced high by the end of Twenty Two Years to Life, I was a little disappointed in the eponymous novella. This may be partly simply because it was a romance, a genre which seems to repel me more as I get older and crustier. (Morsi lingers on those moments of uncertain attraction, beautifully capturing the excitement and fear of reciprocated flirting while this middle-aged reader mutters "oh for god's sake you barely know each other" under her breath). But I also wasn't sure that the huge ambition of the story - Morsi has a lot to say here - was entirely carried through the execution. There is a lot of plot, and it moves forward in sometimes abrupt jumps, and there is a reliance on coincidence that sits slightly awkwardly with the deep realism of the portrayals of people and settings. However, Adnan is such a compelling real person, and the world's he moves in, especially the crumbling Palace of Angels, that the story has stayed with me for longer than I expected.
Finally, just to note that the depth of research here is admirable. Some will see this as a political book. However, all literature is about evoking our empathy to better understand ourselves and the societies we live in. Morsi is working hard to bring us in to the realities of Palestine and Israel, including uncomfortable truths of many types. While there is a lot of hate in the book, there are no villains. Hate exists entwined with love. He is also working to show the qualities that might be a path to better futures. I hope it gets a broader audience, including those who might shy away from wanting to see the perspectives of the occupied.
Morsi's stories also showcase tender masculinity. His protagonists are motivated by deep love, even when that takes them to places we don't want them to go. This isn't just romantic love, but filial love, best friendship and the depth of a father's deep love for a child. Morsi's protagonists are also propelled by their vulnerability: characters trying to hang on to a sense of self in the face of humiliation, but also the crippling vulnerability that love and desire bring us to. So while much of this material covers events we associate with masculinity - violence and drug smuggling among them - Morsi upends a narrative often imposed on Arab men in a way that is joyous, and absolutely never didactic. The book celebrates the bonds we create while exploring the world of emotion and potential hurt that come with that. Writers are often praised for writing complex female characters, but it is worth acknowledging that literature can be short on nuanced male characters as well.
On a literature-induced high by the end of Twenty Two Years to Life, I was a little disappointed in the eponymous novella. This may be partly simply because it was a romance, a genre which seems to repel me more as I get older and crustier. (Morsi lingers on those moments of uncertain attraction, beautifully capturing the excitement and fear of reciprocated flirting while this middle-aged reader mutters "oh for god's sake you barely know each other" under her breath). But I also wasn't sure that the huge ambition of the story - Morsi has a lot to say here - was entirely carried through the execution. There is a lot of plot, and it moves forward in sometimes abrupt jumps, and there is a reliance on coincidence that sits slightly awkwardly with the deep realism of the portrayals of people and settings. However, Adnan is such a compelling real person, and the world's he moves in, especially the crumbling Palace of Angels, that the story has stayed with me for longer than I expected.
Finally, just to note that the depth of research here is admirable. Some will see this as a political book. However, all literature is about evoking our empathy to better understand ourselves and the societies we live in. Morsi is working hard to bring us in to the realities of Palestine and Israel, including uncomfortable truths of many types. While there is a lot of hate in the book, there are no villains. Hate exists entwined with love. He is also working to show the qualities that might be a path to better futures. I hope it gets a broader audience, including those who might shy away from wanting to see the perspectives of the occupied.
More...