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inkdrinkerreads7 's review for:
Homeland Elegies
by Ayad Akhtar
In this sprawling vision of contemporary America, Akhtar ingeniously weaves together memoir, fiction and cultural analysis, resulting in a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of literary brilliance. Having already won one Pulitzer Prize, this ambitious “novel” could very well add further contents to Akhtar’s trophy cabinet.
Like the tree that adorns its cover, the book branches out- densely, digressively, compellingly- into a range of topics and anecdotes, but the roots are very much in an exploration of what could be reductively/pretentiously called “A Portrait of The American Artist As A Young Muslim”.
However, it’s far more complex than that. It is hard to know here what is memoir and what is fiction and, in his opening chapter about the Rise of Trump, Akhtar diagnoses America as having “a terrifying lust for unreality that has engulfed us all”. Akhtar, the author, who is also a playwright narrates this book in the voice of Akhtar, a playwright, and speaks in great detail about his background, controversies surrounding his Pulitzer-prize winning play and, centrally, his relationships with his Pakistan-born parents, all of which are, seemingly, autobiographical truths. And yet, he opens by declaring that the work is fiction and stamps the words ‘a novel’ on the front cover.
Epistemological ambiguities do not matter though: this is a remarkable book. There is the semblance of a narrative arc throughout the essays: the story of Akhtar and his father. However, the novel could best be described as a jigsaw, made up of many inter-locking but ultimately separate parts. Topics include the rise of Islamophobia after 911, rampant mercantilism and capitalism, elegiac reflections on ‘East v West’ belonging, the role of art and faith and politics in an age of bellicose partisanship, and so much more, all told through very personal, intimate and self-deprecating voice. It is endlessly fascinating, highly readable and a true masterwork of literary creation
Like the tree that adorns its cover, the book branches out- densely, digressively, compellingly- into a range of topics and anecdotes, but the roots are very much in an exploration of what could be reductively/pretentiously called “A Portrait of The American Artist As A Young Muslim”.
However, it’s far more complex than that. It is hard to know here what is memoir and what is fiction and, in his opening chapter about the Rise of Trump, Akhtar diagnoses America as having “a terrifying lust for unreality that has engulfed us all”. Akhtar, the author, who is also a playwright narrates this book in the voice of Akhtar, a playwright, and speaks in great detail about his background, controversies surrounding his Pulitzer-prize winning play and, centrally, his relationships with his Pakistan-born parents, all of which are, seemingly, autobiographical truths. And yet, he opens by declaring that the work is fiction and stamps the words ‘a novel’ on the front cover.
Epistemological ambiguities do not matter though: this is a remarkable book. There is the semblance of a narrative arc throughout the essays: the story of Akhtar and his father. However, the novel could best be described as a jigsaw, made up of many inter-locking but ultimately separate parts. Topics include the rise of Islamophobia after 911, rampant mercantilism and capitalism, elegiac reflections on ‘East v West’ belonging, the role of art and faith and politics in an age of bellicose partisanship, and so much more, all told through very personal, intimate and self-deprecating voice. It is endlessly fascinating, highly readable and a true masterwork of literary creation