“We read Alameddine for this, for guiding us through the idealism and compassion which results from reading widely, richly, but finds literature’s themes a mismatch for the reality of humanity which hovers about her door.”

A near-flawless book of solitary existence, of living with words, of work which absorbs lifetimes, of an expansive reflection across the literary landscape of ideas. 

And as we might expect from such a description, this is not a novel to read for its action. This is a novel of one of the most developed voices for narration, Aaliyah, an older woman who has surrendered most of her relationships to her ‘religion of books,’ also a fairly opaque effort to wrestle with a layered grief, for a lost Lebanon, a lost family, a lost love, and the end of a lifetime. 

We read Alameddine for this, for guiding us through the idealism and compassion which results from reading widely, richly, but finds literature’s themes a mismatch for the reality of humanity which hovers about her door. Her meetings with the world, juxtaposed to the various novels which she steadfastly translates into Arabic versions no one will ever read, reveal the tensionAs a literary term, I often use this in place of "conflict" ... More, angst, and humor that lies in the heart of readers (and probably writers): she washes the feet of her senile mother; snaps at a pre-teen street philosopher; allies with a curmudgeonly landlord; sits invisibly apart from her neighbors; matches looters in recklessness. And each of these meetings, miniscule and misread, barely whisper the book’s plot forward. 

Instead we must trust that the real “story” is in its telling, where it belongs, and Aaliyah’s lifework and its ‘outcome’ are themselves revelations well worth the journey. A book to read three or four times more, I think.