Matterhorn: A Novel of the Vietnam War by Karl Marlantes

I spent the first weekend of 90+ days almost entirely in the sun (with heavy sunscreen and bug spray), reading a book that I urge all of you to RUN to the store to pick up – Matterhorn. I think may be the best book on the Vietnam  War (not the politics or impact  at home but simply the soldiers on the ground fighting).  It completely negates Tim O’Brien’s generalization that you can’t tell a true war story of Vietnam.  Though I love reading The Things they Carried,  this book focused less on psychological abstractions, dealing instead with the horrors, bonding, difficulty and love these Marines developed and felt for each other as they fought against an unseen enemy, the terrain, and ambitious officers who misunderstood what was happening on the ground in a realistic way.  It focuses on the whole person as opposed to just the internal struggles.  I am not sure that someone who had not lived with people under these circumstances could have written the book, and there is a reason it is resonating with many. This book feels true, the characters are alive, and all I could think when I finished it was I wish it were longer – which was odd as it comes in at around 600 pages.  (On a personal side note, the Marines play Acey-Ducey, a version of Backgammon invented by members of the U.S. Navy and a game I grew up playing having been taught by my grandmother and mother, except for a short mention in Hoyle’s Rules of Games, I have never seen mention of this game in print, and seeing it here made me very happy as it is one of my favorites).  I really think everyone who enjoys literature or history should read this book.

One of my absolute favorite parts of  this summer has been the produce.  I have been hitting up the farmer’s market in both Durham and the Western Mountains of NC.  Thus I have had an abundance of fresh greens, blackberries, corn, kale, home made sausage, eggs and other treats.   The fresh pulled peas and patty pan squashes have been particularly good – but thus far the absolute best have been the local strawberries.  They look like a painter’s rendering of the fruit, as opposed to what is normally at the grocery story, and taste as good, if not better, than they look.  A few weeks ago I took a carton of them, a book, and my hammock and enjoyed the smell heat, humidity, and the smell of the earth and concrete after a rain, and all seem clean again.

Friday, when two friends joined me in the mountains, I took full advantage of this bounty.  (To be honest, I took advantage of it to a point all weekend, even using local eggs and bakery muesli bread for french toast made with almond milk).   Everything on the plate, with one exception, was bought from the farmer’s market in Durham, the Co-op, or was already stocked in the mountain pantry.

Therefore I took the bone-in pork chops and marinated them in enough apple cider vinegar to cover half of each chop at least.  I added to the marinade 3/4 of a mango and half a vidalia onion.  After marinating for 1.5 hours (rotating once) I pan sauteed them until brown on each side, checked them for done-ness and put them into the oven at 350 to finish them off – the entire time they cooked in the marinade. They tasted like a cross between mangoes and apples without being overly sweet.

I served them with zucchini blossoms (with baby zucchini attached) which I flash fried after dipping them in 3/4 cup beer and 2/3 cup floor (sprinkled with pepper). I heated oil up until dropping from the mixture fried up when dripped onto the oil as a test (1bout 175 Degrees)  and put the blossoms in 2-4 at a time depending on size, the frying was almost instantaneous, and the blossoms were a treat – a slightly peppery zucchini with a crunch.  I also served up fresh kale which I sauteed in chicken broth and the rest of the onion.

For appetizers (as one guest did not arrive until after nine) I let my friend buy cheeses and a locally made sausage.  Knowing I would not eat the cheese, I looked something for me to eat and share. Therefore, I boiled shrimp, freshly caught outside Charleston, SC and driven up to the mountains, the shrimp were so fresh they were still blue in places and the contained a sweet roe given them a unique flavor.  I dropped in lemon juice and Coach’s low country boil, which I bought at the framer’s market co-op.  After boiling and refrigerating I served with home made cocktail sauce.

For desert there were fresh peaches and black berries – the best fruit of early summer.  Most exciting of all, except for the pork chops enough was left of everything else that I can heat, reheat, and continue to eat it for a few more days!  Especially when combined with the patty pan squash, and fresh zucchini I sauteed the next night (all that was missing was the peppery okra, which I have not yet seen good quality of).

With amazing produce like this (and the dishes that can be done with them), heat, thunderstorms, long days, and the stillness of the world due to heat combined with the activity of  the cool hours, I am glad summer has just started and winter is no where in sight.  Now on to reading a Jeeves and Wooster book…

I arrived midday sunday and Sunday afternoon was supposed to be my day to wander around the city – go to the galleries that were open – and check out places.  I did a little of that, but having landed at 11:40 PST and gotten up at 4 AM EST (and not really having slept well) I was exhausted, so I wound up grabbing lunch from a food cart serving to order Thai on the cheap and on the street.  .  (In a side note – Portland has a fabulous light rail and for$2.30 I took a train from the airport almost to my hotel’s door – along with hipsters with dogs, other travelers, and a collection of pot smoking hippies who were so high and had been smoking so long that they recollected in many ways Cheech and Chong, even as they gave me a warm welcome and pointed out interesting land marks in the surrounding area).  This particular cart was decent – nothing to write home about but also just as good as most generic Thai places.  The others I tried were better.

Following a nap,  (and the information that my room had been complementarily upgraded to a suite) I went to a place that is synonymous with Portland for book lovers – Powell’s City of Books.  Even being exhausted, sore, and overwhelmed by the number of hung-over tattooed people in what can only be described as authentic 90s grunge (down to men in tights and skirts with stretched ears walking chihuahuas) Powell’s overwhelmed me.  It is a bookstore that is four stories and 68,000 square feet of new, used, and rare books.  It had copies of books I have been looking for for awhile and other new ones displayed that I had not heard of and otherwise may not have been exposed to.  At the same time – it is so big as too be confusing, and it is not clean.  It is a warehouse and outside of the main entrance and rare book room, does little to create the ambiance typical of a bookstore.  For me at least I did not feel (or observe) people relaxing into the book and store in the way I am used to seeing in local (or even chain bookstores).    At the same time I saw volumes of books I had not seen anywhere but libraries, and used books at prices so reasonable as to prevent my ignoring them.  The rare book room was a rare treat, and the drama section almost had me in tears as it had copies of every play I have wanted to read in years – unfortunately suitcases only have so much room – and my budget for the trip did not include many books.

I did find this ambiance the next day when I stopped into Cameron’s books while visiting the downtown Stumptown location and the food carts (I do love that idea and am so glad that Durham now has a Korean Taco Truck which is phenomenal, mobile Taco trucks, an empanada truck, mobile cupcakes, and OnlyBurger and the Indian mobile station outside Sam’s Quick Stop though I have not tried those two).  At Cameron’s I found a used book I have been looking for for months at half the price used sellers on Amazon had it. They had books on poetry that I had not seen, and better archives full of magazines going back to the turn of the 20^th century that one can request to examine.  This was still a pleasure to explore – in a manageable setting!

Monday after class I wandered back into the Pearl district to try Adina, a Nuevo Peruvian restaurant I have been reading about for a while.  It lived up to expectations – with dishes that complemented sweet and heat in novel but exciting ways.  For example I tried an empanada from the owner’s family recipe that had olives and raisins mixed in with the beef and was coated with key limejuice and light powered sugar.  The tang of the olive, its salty acidity, contrasted perfectly with the sweet acid of the key lime in a perfect way.  In a similar way the pork loin dish I had was served with a pepper-based sauce and over butternut ravioli combining the traditional with the new – the sweat of the peppers and their heat – were incredibly well balanced by the butternut squash.  This was a dish in which a bit of each element must be eaten together to get the full sensation, and although not the way I normally eat it was exciting to try. I followed this with a trip to a wine bar, where the bartenders had a tasting of Oregon wines three for ten dollars.  The wines (with one exception) were good and the bartender went out of her way to talk about the grapes, wine and vineyard   – really informative and helpful  - and impressive as she was able to do this while kicking out three very drunk patrons at closing time.

On my last night two fellows from the class and I went, on our teachers’ recommendations to Le Pigeon.  A true full body restaurant where tongue, sweetbreads, cheeks and foie gras are all served frequently, the food is phenomenal.  The chef, as much as possible, uses local foods, and cross pollinates regions and cultures.  I saw shrimp cooked ceviche style and personally had coarsely ground grits that were mixed in with a few kernels of full corn.  Everyone of us was pleased with our meals (I had a bone marrow and caramelized onion sandwich appetizer with a sweetbread over grits entre, my seat mates had a foie gras appetizer, halibut, and foie gras cream puffs in one case and a scallop appetizer, with the pork entre, and a crème brule served with pots de crème decaf espresso).  Just as a amazing was the size – the restaurant seats 40 around four large tables and 10 bar seats.  The bar seats face the chef’s kitchen where all food is prepared in front of you.  The space the chefs stood and worked in was not much bigger then my couch – perhaps thee couches (one for counter space and one for cooking space) was the kitchen in toto although there is a prep area down stairs.  All I can say was that the whole experience was a treat in itself, the bookshelf lined back wall was gorgeous and meeting the owner/chef was an added bonus.

Even my streetcart breakfast was delicious and nutritious – having stopped in an at bloop oatmeal.   There I had apple cider oatmeal – made with almond milk!!! – that was essentially apples, maple syrup, agave honey, almond milk and oats sautéed together with the apples and syrup and milk sautéing first.  The oats followed and were undercooked compared to a mush oatmeal, and the honey was drizzled on top.  It was phenomenally good to eat as I walked across the river on a morning when the temperature was not yet 50 and the air and sky blue.  I may start making all my oatmeal that way, as I preferred it to the mushy kind.

All in all I see why Portland is considered a great foodie town – there are so many options – and I have thoroughly enjoyed the architecture and the causal politeness of the people – but I am sure I could not live here presently.  I am not hip enough, though do enjoy the vibe, and hope to come back one day when I am not in class full time and truly explore the city.   Hopefully in the middle of summer – as the four seasons in one day thing was a bit much 40-68 is a big range as is down pour –sun – hail in 15 minutes – all of which I experienced first hand.  Even better – on one of the few nights I was not hitting a food cart of dinner at a nice restaurant with classmates, I met my cousin’s wife for drinks.  I had not seen her since their wedding and it was nice to catch up and here how she was, how he is as he is currently in Iraq, and just really chat.  I am excited to hear how her next year of school goes and where she winds up teaching. I can’t thank her enough for driving down and meeting me.

The biggest downside though had to be coming home to Algy and Peebes.  Algy had been in an altercation with another dog at the Vet (I don’t blame them as it was a very quick fight and I know they love Algy and comped me his treatment) – apparently both are bad at stopping play and Algy did not realize that the other dog was threatening him.  Algy has a cut tail, some bruising and cuts on the skin and face, and stitches in his ear.  Therefore he has antibiotics, pain meds, and an Elizabethan Collar (his third).  He is quite pathetic as he cannot perceive depth in the thing, and cannot get comfortable.  Hopefully the stitches can come out end of next week and all will be better!  Cheers – off to watch the Lost finale, hope the thunderstorms don’t wreck that plan for me.

Both of my parents, in fact my whole family, have really been supportive of me in many ways throughout this difficult year.  From my first expressions of unhappiness, to exploration of other alternative career options they have been there emotionally, financially, and even willing to edit or (in most cases) read this blog, when many others have not been the best about returning calls or checking in.[1] From pure sustenance support to emotional, hardly a day goes by without a parent (or two) and often my brothers checking in, at other times in my life, and even sometimes during this one, it would be overkill, but right now, it feels right.  The physical embodiment of this is the meatloaf and pasta with meat sauce.

To me, when the weather is cold, there is not much better then meatloaf, and as the weather warms up meatballs provide some of the same pleasure and are especially enjoyable as they can be paired with fresh vegetables stewed into a delicious sauce.  There is a satisfaction that comes from meshing together by hand the ground meat, onions and mushrooms, breadcrumbs and egg as well as the tomatoes and other ingredient that can go into meatloaf to personalize it and differentiate it from a huge meatball.  (There is a similar pleasure to be gained from making meatballs, another dish I have personally made frequently in the past few months – there is a pleasure that comes from the contrast of the meatball and the tangy, but sweet acid of homemade tomato sauce that cannot be beat – but that is a story and recipe for another day, one when I think more about college, something making meatballs always reminds me of.)   To be perfectly honest though, the quality of the food my mother prepared varied, the thought and feeling and gratitude I had for did not.

The first time she was here, my mother went conservative on her meatloaf and pasta with meat sauce.  In both cases she used a mix of veal, pork, and beef for the meat base.  Then she made a standard meatloaf with mushrooms, canned tomatoes, garlic, onion, some mushrooms, fresh basil and parsley, a small amount of breadcrumbs and an egg.  For the meat sauce she used canted tomatoes cooked with peppers, onions and garlic, throwing in herbs.  She stewed them together with the ground meat and let it cook for at least an hour, creating a more complex version of the sauce I grew up with.   In contrast to this when she came up in April – she made the meatloaf with beef and added a habanera pepper and it just did not work well, it as edible and even appetizing but I grew somewhat tired of it.  And the sauce did not simmer down right – needing either more tomatoes or tomato paste, which is anathema to my mother.  But both were soft and perfect for someone who has only one hand for a short a mount of time, and I cannot thank her enough for taking the time to create dishes for me to eat, and try to experiment for me.  That, more then words, shows emotion, and means a lot so thank you.

One of my favorite videos combined with Sue Slyvester – thus far one of the great characters on tv – shot for shot.

Of course the original by Madonna at the height of one her most iconographic phases can be found here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuJQSAiODqI (unfortunately embeding is not permitted on this version of the video at this moment).

My news programing tends to be the POTUS channel on SIRRUS/XM the NY Times, the Washington Post, NPR, the BBC, PBS, The Daily Beast, legal and education blogs, food blogs, book/art/theater reviews, and of course, Morning Joe on MSNBC.  That said on Sundays over tea and eggs, I like to have Sunday talk on while reading the NY Times Sunday paper (a routine  which would be changed if I had a church in Durham I felt right in regularly).  Thus I do not miss the echo chamber completely or to the extent it is not only on MSNBC and Fox prime time.

I see the rise of talking points as a form of catering to the extremes -- of both sides.  It causes anger and blood pressure to rise by  discussing issues through code words and buzz moments rather than facts and honest debate.  I know none of what I am saying is novel but we need to remember it.  Particularly when so many hold irrational beliefs (the president is Muslim -- no, bu if so who cares?).

I blame the threats of violence on democratically elected representatives on this, and find illusions to guns and loading immoral at this time of outrage.

All of that being a long introduction to a Olbermann special comment from last night, April 7.  This comment focuses on the Republican candidate for Congress in my parents and brothers district, a seat held by Democrat Ron Klein, who is running for reelection.  This man, Allen West should be taken with much salt. after having  been court martialed and then admitting to torturing and threatening violence on an Iraqi policeman.  He was fined, but allowed to resign with benefits.  In any case his actions were wrong, he was punished, and why  anyone would vote for him is beyond me.  His pamphlets cater to the tea partiers without saying much in terms of what he would offer, as opposed to what he would reject, and are long odes to militant patriotism, a virulent form that I cannot understand even though I believe deeply in all that this country stands for and has to offer.  All of that though I could live with as part of this year of anger and voter rebellion.  What happened two days ago I cannot.

Two days ago, West, like others before him used language that alluded to violence when speaking of his political opponent.  That caused Olbermann to do this “special comment” on the situation.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBdhEFMCafA

For the MSNBC version click here.

(While having Olbermann  condemn him and Palin support him may aide West with some no rational person should vote for a man who  claims to want to make his opponents to scared to go outside -- that is not part of our traditions peaceful transitions of power dating to Jefferson or nonviolent protesting against the majority).  See also the Washington Post blog and this from the Sun-Sentinel on the back and forth between West and the Democratic Party Head for Broward County.

People have a right to be angry -- to question all decisions and to honest debate.  But language like this harms more then just this race, it harms the institutions of government themselves and prevents that honest debate from occuring.  I have a masters in history and have been long interested in how some successful political groups achieved change though nonviolent actions which forced their opposition to either change or be brutal.  In this case, people are scared, angry, and acting brutish.  Yet they seem to be just rebelling without solutions -- egged on in this behavior by people like West, Palin, Fox News, Olbermann and many at MSNBC.  Until the news and our leaders act like Senator Coburn, and admit you can disagree without being disagreeable we are in for a period of time where the minority of crazies, from both sides continue to stir things up, terrorizing us all and causing odd headlines like this and some great TV like this and this.

A great example of how handling extremists with decorum can cause extremists to look idiotic can be seen here.  Two pundits I don’t usually enjoy watching were on Morning Joe yesterday (April 7, 2010) discussing the behavior of Afghan President Karzai.  Arriana Huffington who never seems to contribute except though bluster, talking points and attack, went after Rudy Giuliani, whom I disagree with a lot politically, and who is often needlessly confrontational.  In this case he called her  attack as personal and irrelevant, and was able to get the hosts and others at the table to agree.  They may or may not have agreed with his stance on Karazi , but they did believe she crossed a line and needed to combat her position, which appeared  to rely on more then talking points with facts not attacks and sound bites.  She was unable to do so and sounded, at least to me, like she was lost in  a shrill, liberal echo chamber of one.

In this spirit, those of us who aren’t for violence, but want honest discussions must speak up.  Read about what is actually going on and have real debates.  I may not agree with you, just as I am not sure how I feel about the health bill, but if you have an explanation for your position, based on facts, I will respect it. Hell you may then even persuade me -- shouting and threatening people definitely will not cause me to join your stance.  Decorum, like honey, often has greater rewards.

My grandfather lived in Iran from 1972 until December 1976[1], he spent his first two years there with the United States Department of State, and upon his retirement he ran the Iran-America Cultural Society in Isfahan.  Along with the Society was an American School – and by the time he left Isfahan in 1976 there were thousands of Americans there – many working for companies involved in weaponry.   I had lent him the book, with some trepidation on my part, as there were things in it that I knew he would not like, as he worked for years for the American Government, and I also knew that he had been given recently many books about Iran but that he had not yet read one.  In this case he started to read it, and maybe because it’s a well-written novel, he did not hide it on a shelf or forget about it as he often does.  (Can you tell I come from a family of bibliophiles on both sides?) The book brought up memories of that era – and while he did not agree with all that the author wrote, he found it interesting and for the rest of the night told active stories about the time.

Sherpa, it turns out, whom I remember as a fun warm dog that was always around my grandparent’s place in Clearwater, was a second generation Tibetan Terrier, given to them by a friend in the corporate world who came to visit Isfahan.  One night, the dog would not stop barking – waking up my grandparents – who called the police.  Sherpa chased two people off the property – the police determined that they had scaled a steep fence to get in and out.

At the time, my grandparents wrote it off as robbery.  Although they lived in Iran, they lived in a bubble, even though my grandfather through his security work at the embassy had close ties with the CIA.  They worked with thousands of people who supported the west, or were American themselves.  Youths turned out in droves to attend shows put on by the cultural center, including one where my grandfather put on a wig and played an American Jazz set (to this day my grandfather plays the piano, he put himself through college playing piano and trumpet throughout Northern New York and on cruise ships that took him to Europe and back in the 1930s – on one of these trips he took a detour into Germany where he was run out of the country for taking to many pictures of what the Nazi’s were doing there as they were, rightly, skeptical of his motives).  After this set he went backstage, took off the wig, and returned to the audience to see other parts of the program – according to him, no one suspected that he had been the one playing.

After reading the book though, and of course the developments in Iran over the last 30 years he now questions if instead the two men were coming to his house to target him.  At the time he was there, Isfahan did not have a formal American consulate – even though many Americans lived in the area.  This was partly due to the quick growth of the American population – in 1969 according to him, only 16 Americans lived in the area, by 1976 there were thousands.  There had been a consulate in the 50s, but due to the decline in population it no longer was needed.  As the director of the society (which also had branches in Tehran and Washington which also ran schools), and a former high ranking embassy official, he was treated as the defacto formal American consulate, which may well have made him and his wife a target for some of the extremists rising at the time.

According to my grandfather, the CIA and others misjudged the power of the extremist.  They were not focused on, or aware of the rise of the religious right in the country, and were focusing instead on threats from other regions – such as the Soviets.  The House of the Mosque touches on these groups when the children of the family join the communist youth undergrounds both before and after the revolution.

Perhaps his biggest complaint with the book was the portrayal of the Shah as an American stooge.  To his knowledge this was not the case.  Even after the Shah was deposed and reinstated by the Americans, the Americans were not providing him weapons or running him through the CIA.  All of this changed when Nixon came to power and the two brought over the weapons dealers who put factories for munitions in areas like Isfahan, but prior to that, from his first visit to Iran in 1963 until Nixon the Shah was independent, and he believed his CIA colleagues would not have been able to hide the truth if they were running the country.  While there may have been a perception that the Shah was an American pigeon prior to that – my grandfather at least, denies it.

But he does it admit that the Shah did not help himself.  First of all his extended family and a few ministers lived exceptionally opulently – my grandfather described one party he attended with free flowing liquor, hired prostitutes, and a scene that made his hair curl, with no hint that all of this was verboten in a Muslim nation.  Additionally, the Shah could not delegate, and as such every decision, no matter how minor, went through him.   There were piles of goods at port, as portages papers and releases could not be completed, and even the American Commissary suffered because of it.

At the same time, he felt that the Shah was attempting to do much good, some of which is highlighted in the book.  The Shah alienated the ayatollahs and may have radicalized them through some of his modernization attempts. Part of his work – according to my grandfather – was to cut up some of the large landowners who were stifling economic growth, these changes threatened most the power families who controlled the religious institutions, and therefore many of the ayatollahs lost land and prestige due to these reforms.  At the same time, the Shah set up scholarships sending thousands of Iranians to school in the West.  They also attempted historic preservation and to strengthen cultural traditions while opening the world technology, acts which are alluded to the in book, through the work of Farah, the Shah’s wife who worked on the preservation of the town and cultural sites and opened the local cinema.  According to the book, people emulated her, and women flocked to get her hairstyle even if no one noticed it due to the requirement of Chador.

My grandfather noticed some of this discrepancy between tradition and westernization when traveling from Tehran to other areas. In Tehran, people did not dress in Chador, but just 10 km outside they did.  It went from secular to more traditional in minutes, with no warning, and perhaps, we should have paid attention to the areas outside more as they grew in power.

At one point while reading, my grandfather turned to me and asked if I had noted the story about going to Qom.  I had, as it is a key section when the patriarch heads to a religious town, famous for training fundamentalist Imams, regarding the marriage of the daughter of the family.  I had grown up hearing stories about my grandmother, and on one occasion my mother, being hidden in the car, lying down on the floor to cover any exposed blonde hairs as they drove through parts of Iran.  The area they did this in was Qom, a place where my grandfather never stopped, but whose reputation was so poor that he sought to protect his family when driving through, which he frequently did while living in Isfahan.

Even so – he was so surrounded by a Western circle that he was not aware of the growing power of the town. He now assumes that the reputation it had then for being radical was correct, but he was blindsided by the power of the revolution, and did not know that so many had been caught up into a more tradition fervor.

His focus instead was on promoting Western culture and the cultural exchange.  But, as he did so, people opened up to him and he learned many things he may not have wished to have known.  For example, when meeting with the president of the Iranian Red Cross, who lived in Isfahan, in order to arrange for a venue for a jazz musician who was touring as part of he American Cultural exchange program, the man started telling him about family life.  The Red Cross trained nurses for work throughout the country – but paid for the women in nursing school to spend their vacations on campus rather then returning home.  Their brothers or other male family members for this was simple – sexually assaulted the reason when the family was reunited over breaks.  It was unsafe, and the best way they knew to project the women form incest was to remove them from the family.

This, like the fact that 85% of Egyptian women are circumcised, was an open secret, but one, which was never discussed.  Women, even upper class women, were subject to incest and abuse, and most likely still are.  Prevention of this type of crime against humanity does not seem to have been high on the priorities of the Revolution, who first gained power, then sought and destroyed dissenters, and finally used the people as cannon fodder against Iraq.

In all, my grandfather and the author would agree – that this was waste of life, and that the regime seemed bent on destroying much that was good that was there.  They may dispute some things that happened before – but would agree that a different past and future would have been much better for the Iranian people and the world.  I, on the other hand, look forward to hearing more reminciances as/if he completes the book.

What he actually asked was what was said in America about the treatment of Coptic Christians.  Did we know that six were killed leaving church while celebrating Christmas?  Did we know that violence was escalating against this minority that represents about 10% of the population but is often treated as a scapegoat? [1] I tried to reply politely but honestly, therefore Id did not want to say America ignores much of the rest of the world and I have not seen one news report on the killings around Coptic Christmas, so I relied on Obama and the Cairo speech. I recalled seeing a news story that Obama was putting pressure on Egypt to stop the persecution of Copts, but the man scoffed, much as a cynical American might – those are just words.

This was but one of many conversations, most of which were brief, I had (or overheard) in which people expressed frustration with the current political state in Egypt.  (In many of these conversation, people also expressed frustration with the “crazy” behavior of Egyptians – the middle class treat the lower classes with disdain, but do not seem to offer fixes that might provide better lives or promote industry instead they complain often while acting just as “crazily””).  Almost all of these conversations had a theme – things are screwed up here, and may get worse, and while we like Obama it not enough something needs to change.  . I agree – and feel I have moral duty to stress some of the issues this man faces as Copt, and that the regime has brought to the region as while.

For example, both my guides in Aswan and Luxor went out of their way to discuss politics.  The guide in Aswan, a good natured man who was sort of bumbling, asked me whom I voted for – in all elections I could vote.  This lead to a short discussion on president Bush, but all was quickly curtailed by the British couple in the back seats, and exhaustion; before the conversation ended the guide turned to me and with an ironic smile informed me that “I voted for Mubarak.”

My other guide, in Luxor, brought up politics in a more round about way.  As we sat in a café where he took me while observing I needed rest due to my asthma, he told me about his family and village.  He was obviously a religious man, and was excited about getting married for the first time in May and having his wife, who arrived in his village in late February join him and his mother and brother in their house (each had a floor).  He was describing to me how tolerant his village was, by explaining how many Western women lived there as wives to some of the men because, “we are all entitled to have fun when young.”  These women are incorporated into the village, some forming long-term marriages with children and conversion – others only there for a few years, but all become part of the culture.  His town also had a pair of German women living in it as artists – and many who work the land.  Many have their own plots of land.

The people of his village benefit from being on the irrigation canals and near the Medina Habu and the Ramsessum, which provide preservation projects (they are moving one of the canals to prevent it going under the temples), excavation workers and tourists, but fortunately have thus far not been built upon.   But he also pointed out to me what happens to those not as fortunate.    In the more desert areas, between the Valley of the Kings and other archeological sites, many people had constructed houses and built up shops to attract the tourists.  According to my guide some had been in these houses for many generations – possibly back to time immemorial people had lived on this desert and walked to the nearby canals for water and farming.  Recently, the government determined, though archeologists, that the humans were harming potential excavation sites – thus all were forced to move (though a few Alabaster shops and some hold outs remain) and force d into a government village – which no one seems to like.

What was perhaps the most striking conversation I mostly overheard had to do with the tourism industry and the lack of trickle down effects or even preservation associated with it.  The Egyptian in the conversation was bemoaning the expense of going to any of the major sites associated with Pharonic Egypt (although not exorbitant by our standards (most are under $30) they seem high while in Egypt and the sites do attract a fair number of visitors).   He pointed out what poor shape the Egyptian Museum was in, how the Government Guards at any monument did not protect the antiquities (or stop harassment by solicitors) but instead just seemed to be there, often spending up to six months away from their families – being paid well to just stand, and according to him, have affairs.  He then asked where the money was going if not to preservation or paying the poor guide type workers.

His only answer was the regime; to him the governmental officals seemed intent on lining their own pocket using the tourist collecting to do so. To add insult to injury – governmental officials proposed setting up a train near the pyramids taking people to the most popular panoramic setting (not the one we went to) and attempting to forbid the carriage and camel rides – thus putting many locals out of business, while further enriching themselves.  His anger, like that of my guide in Luxor who was subtly pointing to the fact that men were staying with the Western Women for money, was almost palpable.

After listening to all of this – I had a few conversations with my host about the political situation – who pointed me to a book (Inside Egypt:” The land of the Pharaohs on the Brink of a Revolution by John Bradley), which I picked up and started while at the AUC library.  This book – which had in tally been banned by the government – attempts to explore many different factions of Egyptian life including the frustration of Copts and Bedouins, the power of the Muslim Brotherhood (as well as the potential exploitation of the group, as the government skillfully uses fear of it to get the West to aid the regime, the rise of a more conservative Islam as more people become influenced by Saudi Arabia, and a sense that most Egyptians don’t fit in any of these categories but are moderate welcoming people with no outlets, frustration, and a sense that Mubarak and his regime have created a percent structure that they are powerless against.    While I did not agree with all of his conclusions (for example I walked all over Luxor and never felt like I was walking through an area of male prostitutes for men or women – though my guide did touch on the women shacking up with men who use them for money), I did find the book insightful – and scary.  He does not assert all hope for a moderate Egypt is gone – but he does lament the loss of the cultured Egypt lost with the rise of the military dictatorship, and while many of the people I met were open and welcoming – the beauty that used to be Cairo and the way the government has let the city and its monuments be treated speak to the truth of his claim.  All that I really know after visiting, speaking with people, and thinking about it a while is that this s a complex culture one that wants to be vibrant and relevant but that’s own government is preventing a true flowering economically or culturally – and people are frustrated and searching.  They act out against each other, Copts being attacked by Bedouins, Bedouins being persecuted and uprooted from traditional practices by a government who barely recognizes their humanity, people being brutally arrested and tortured and accepting it as part of a rough reality (that the United States has used to its advantaged in cases of Extraordinary Rendition to our shame), and yet they search for anything that gives them a chance – be it sloth, Islam, education or fleeing.

This is a country straddling modernity and the past.  One where, despite recent laws to the contrary, a majority or women are still circumcised, but one that has tourists pouring in to explore its ancient and Biblical sites, and is exposed to Western ideology.  Its past of inclusion, creating an area where Christians and Muslims lived together, Cairo was clean and beautiful and full of intellectuals, and a more mystical form of Sunni Islam was practiced is all but forgotten.  Maybe if we stop treating the country as we wants to see it – a democratic partner in the war on extremism who is tolerant of Israel – but instead talks of Egypt as it is both good and bad (most of the 9/11 terrorists have ties to the country, and extreme Islam is gaining a strong foothold here, in contrast to the more open mystical version traditionally practiced in the country).  While we encourages practices that will promote a real middle class and growth a future extremist state will not appear and Egypt will return to its more tolerant practices From what I saw of its people this is what they want – they want the US to not encourage the worst of Mubarak and the regime, but hope that Obama will shed light on the persecution and poor practices – allowing for host discussion and the potential for change without destroying what is left of the traditional openness of the culture., preserving a beautiful country, culture, and historical specimens for the future.

Book Cover for the UK version House of the Mosque

While wandering around a bookstore in Cairo bookstore – a brightly colored book with an intriguing title caught my eye.  After reading the blurbs and summaries I was undecided, and as is often the case in situations like that I turned to the first page – and was immediately hooked.  I can honestly say I loved this book – and that it deserves all the praise it has garnered.  According to one poll conducted in 2007, it was voted the second best Danish book ever  (for more on this – and an interview with the author see here and here) – a fact that is remarkable as it was published in 2005 and is written by a man who is not a native Danish speaker.

The book, entitled The House of the Mosque by Kader Abdolah, a 2010 British translation of the 2005 Dutch novel is not yet released in the United States in August as a paperback (though Amazon claims you can buy a Kindle copy now).  For me, this is a book I want to own the real version of – one to posses and put on the shelf, not simply read and discard as you do on an e-reader.  The cover is perfect, and I hope it is not changed when released stateside as it depicts the house and the family as we first meet them, alive and colorful filled with life.

By way of some minor background –this book is written by a man who escaped Iran after participating in underground political groups after the revolution and whose pen name honors two friends of his who lost their lives as a consequence of the Iranian Revolution.   The book takes place in Iran in the decade leading up to the revolution, and then speeds up and presumably ending after the Iran Iraq war – but no specific date is given for the conclusion.   Even so, the book is both political and not, it is historically accurate and not, it is filled with myth and fable while still being brutally almost cruelly honest when it comes to creating the confusion that comes with change, and it is descriptive and evocative of the characters and place and still eaves many things a mystery, leaving many details up to the imagination.

Like other epic books before it set in times of great historical drama (e.g. War and Peace, Les Miserables, A Tale of Two Cities) this book focuses on one large complicated family.  Unlike them though it does not shy away from playing with language and themes – it is part historical novel, part fact, part fiction, and part fable.  Yet the elements blend together creating an image of characters, though in some cases are not fully developed, that is alive and can live on in the reader’s mind outside the book.

The family is almost like royalty in the town of Senjen (a more rural town then is typically portrayed in books about modern Iran) for they are the historical custodians of the Friday Mosque as well as the most powerful merchant on the Carpet Bazaar.  Given these facts and their successful international clients, the business patriarch controls much of the actions of the Bazaar, and therefore the town.  This is a traditional town – one where the mosque has encouraged people not to have radios or televisions.   The women are cloistered in the home and chador, but respected by the men of the family (though not always the men outside it) and while in many ways their lives are not the focus of the book, you do get glimpses of what it would be like here and there.   The traditional nature of the family, and the patriarch, is reinforced in one of the opening scenes in which the young son of the family requests that the patriarch, Aqa Jaan, and iman buy a television to watch the moon landing because it is their duty to be aware of what is happening in the outside world.  In many ways this is the story of how the outside world forced the family to become aware of the drastic changes in the area outside Senjen – and what changed (everything) and what did not (the house) due to the this intrusion.

Interestingly these changes, from a time of family and hope to one of gradual terror  and then leading finally to a time of stability which is not like the past but has moments that reflect that era and hope for a better future, are reflected not just in plot points.  The author (and translator) has a light touch, vividly describing a family and house, showing a life filled with magic, giving it a imaginative fictive quality that works well for the myth lover in me, and may not work for everyone, and is so reflective of the Persian culture.  The book touches on poetry, 1001 Arabian Nights, the Koran (though verses are often rearranged to suit the needs of the author), and other forms of literary and cultural life in modern and ancient Persia, including Zoroastrian and religions that preceded it.  The pride in the rich history of the area is evident throughout much of the book as well as a love for the beauty of gardens, carpets, and other traditional adornments of Iranian homes and land.  The family is thus enveloped in a world that has a semi-mystical quality to it; the magic of the culture invigorates the family and as importantly the house with richness and speaks to the imaginative qualities of both author and reader.

Each chapter focuses on a different story – and though they all fit together to form a greater narrative told, which is apparently chronological, many of the stories also stand on their own.   Although there is a central patriarch, Aqa Jann, many of the chapters focus on other members of the family, creating a sense of generational shifts, and to a lesser extent shifts in perspectives between genders.   Many of the stories focus on the role of the men of the family, be it as patriarchal, religious, or rebellious.  This family, who has controlled the mosque for the generations preceding the revolution takes their prominence seriously – the men study religion and become the iman of the mosque, or are groomed so as to run the carpets business.  Those who do not do either seek to otherwise secularly reflect the culture – through poetry, writing, or documentary filmmaking.

As time goes on, the Shah becomes more restrictive and the country more outwardly Islamist, the prose becomes tauter, less poetic.   The family, like most Iranians did not like the Shah and hoped that his overthrow would lead to change – some wished for more freedom, others wished for a more Islamist era, but all wished for change.  Yet the when the revolution comes, the family, feels betrayed and lost, the patriarch stumbles and literally cries on the street as guards kill a crippled child, after which he and the family realize the totality of the change in their world.

By the time of the revolution, the family is no longer in true power, and wave of denouncements of neighbors and family members as being against the revolution begin giving rise to torture and killings.  A wife of the family becomes the warden for the women’s prison and refuses to aid family members arrested, another member becomes a leader of the resistance movement, while an imam related to the family becomes, as mentioned before, a close aide-de-camp to Khomeini. This way gives a sense of the divisions that must have split many families and generations during this period.   At this point, the prose becomes so sharp it evokes this sense of loss and confusion.  This is especially true when compared with the looser style used initially.   Yet this terror is necessary – the beauty of the earlier world being disrupted, the family pulled apart, and all seems lost.  The house itself has been protected by the crows who live in the mosque’s minarets, yet as the revolution progress the crows leave and the mosque is removed from the family’s control – they are beaten by others and by members of the extended family until all seems lost except for the patriarch, his wife and the house.

Yet, the book ends on a few hopeful notes.  For example there is an autobiographical letter written by one character to the patriarch reads like what the author himself would like to say.  Other later scenes in the house and in the rural villages and gardens of Iran show the growth and revitalization of some who have survived but  who have not given in to the extreme version of life that the regime dictated.  The image of Aqa Jaan visiting his friend in the rural garden turned where members of the family, living and dead, find redemption and healing offers a strong conclusion, one that allows the past to be mourned, and allows for hope.   These scenes give rise to a sense that all is not lost and that the beauty and cultural may revive.  The author uses, exploits, and explains what he claims to be a Persian tradition of not ending the story – but instead taking leave of it, as the story may be over “but the crow still has not reached its nest”.  Thus the fable continues in our life and imagination – the house goes on, the characters that are alive live, and we are free to imagine them changing and growing as life continues to change over time.

Sometimes books just work – the language, plot, and themes come together and speak to you. For me this is one of those books  – I would hope it is for you too – but that is your call read it and decide that for yourself.

The Alexandria Quartet – by Lawrence Durrell.  I was recommended these by my mother.  They focus on the city just after World War II before the military regime, and are supposed to well epitomize the city and culture of the country at that time.

Union Atlantic – by Adam Haslett.  I picked this up at the Regulator and was immediately impressed by the reviews.  I will give you an update when I know more – but it is supposed to be about the spiraling financial crisis.  I have seen reviews that are outstanding – I am hoping it lives up to the hype.

The Big Short : Inside the Doomsday Machine by Michael Lewis – what can I say, I love Liar’s Poker and MoneyBall.

I just finished The Fourth Star: Four Generals and The Epic Struggle for the Future of the United States Army by David Cloud and Greg Jaffe.  This book describes the careers of  Generals Abizaid,  Casey, Chiarelli and Petraeus, none of whom were soldiers who fell in line easily – all in their own way set unique career paths and used the Army to explore interests, militarily and personally.  As such, when they came to power they were, to varying extents, willing to bring their unique life experiences to the table.  Sometimes this worked for them, sometimes it did not, and sometimes politics got in the way of them all – but it provides an interesting picture of the men who ran/run the Army today and I think should be read by people interested not just in the current and recent war policies but also those who think that the Army is monolithic and only creates one type of person who thinks in a box.  While it is a bureaucracy, it is also filled with individuals, and this book presents a portrait of four of them.  I really enjoyed this book and found it informative on many different levels.

Moby Dick by Melville – What can I say – it’s my white whale – literally.

Anna Karenina by Tolstoy -  I started rereading this in Egypt and was struck again by the life in these characters.

As well as a pile of others that need to be started – if they are any good reviews will go up when done  (think Postcards from a Dead Girl, and a bunch of plays by Oscar Wilde and Sophocles the sets of which I have not read in years) as well as one that I am not in love with and keep trying to finish as so many others seem to love them…Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand and The Elegance of the Hedgehog – neither of which I am that interested in after giving them a decent shot.