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jonfaith 's review for:
The Map of Love
by Ahdaf Soueif
Last fall my wife read about the BBC/Fox production of Taboo starring Tom Hardy and an amazing supporting cast. What could possibly fail? Well, we waited for all the episodes to air and having recorded them sat to binge. Along the way I noticed Guardian headlines bemoaning the show. My best friend who doesn't believe in dvr dismissed the show as macho mumblecore. Still, I harbored hope. What an utter waste Taboo proved.
So I went to Cincinnati the other day to buy books. I found a nice copy and looked forward to settling down with what had been described by a GR friend as (A.S. Byatt's) Possession in Egypt. The weather turned really cold yesterday and I thought why not? Well, 516 pages later, I do not understand the parallel. There are two story lines, almost a century apart. There are journals and letters. The troubled travails of Egypt are explored through the casual racism of the British Occupation and the contemporary (circa 1999) fears of US/Israeli hegemony in the region. Most of this is approached obliquely, though the resistance to Mubarak is balanced with fears of the jihadi. There are mirrored situations where love conquers all and I felt my chest ache from repetitive sighing. This wasn't for me.
So I went to Cincinnati the other day to buy books. I found a nice copy and looked forward to settling down with what had been described by a GR friend as (A.S. Byatt's) Possession in Egypt. The weather turned really cold yesterday and I thought why not? Well, 516 pages later, I do not understand the parallel. There are two story lines, almost a century apart. There are journals and letters. The troubled travails of Egypt are explored through the casual racism of the British Occupation and the contemporary (circa 1999) fears of US/Israeli hegemony in the region. Most of this is approached obliquely, though the resistance to Mubarak is balanced with fears of the jihadi. There are mirrored situations where love conquers all and I felt my chest ache from repetitive sighing. This wasn't for me.