Rachel Hajar's Blog: My Life in Doha, page 7
February 25, 2011
Love symbolism in Arab poetry
[image error]I am not an expert or authority on Arab literature and poetry but I enjoy listening to my husband's quotes and translations of the poetry of the great Arab poets. I particularly like the ancient Arab poets.
"Did you know that the bird, especially the wild pigeon occupies a special status in Arab love poetry?" he asked me one day.
"Well, the dove with an olive branch in its beak is accepted worldwide as a symbol of peace", I replied. "I never heard of it as a symbol of love."
"In Arab love poetry", my husband continued, "ancient Arab poets attributed great emotions to the wild pigeon. In their love poems, the pigeon figured prominently, such that they would complain to the pigeon how much they miss their loved one, asking the bird to carry love messages to the beloved. To the Arab poets the songs of the pigeon were sad songs, interpreting its singing as cries for its loved one."
That certainly was very interesting. I knew of course that people kept lovebirds as pets but the birds belong to the parrot family. I was not aware of pigeons being associated with love. Pigeons nest on rooftops and can be found aplenty in the old squares of Europe, flying about and alighting on tourists. In Qatar, there are many pigeons roosting on rooftops. In some Arab countries, particularly Egypt, pigeons are considered a delicacy!
My husband told me of Abu Faras Al-Hamadani, an ancient warrior-prince poet who lived in Syria in 932-976 AD. He was captured by the Romans and kept in prison for seven years in Constantinople for the purpose of prisoner exchange with a Roman prince who was a prisoner in Aleppo. Abu Faras wrote some of his best poems while in the Roman jail. One such poem was inspired by a pigeon singing near his cell. He wrote (my husband's translation):
I said to a crying pigeon nearby
O' my neighbor
Do you know the feelings of this guy?
But you have not experienced such separation
With its misery and frustration.
Days are not fair,
Come, let us share
This sadness we both bare.
My eye has more right to cry
Than your eye,
But my tears in this town,
Are too proud to come down.
According to my husband, the Arab poet considered his own heart like a pigeon hiding in his chest. There are verses describing how the poets' heart rate increased when he thought of his loved one. The fast heart rate was usually described as "a pigeon flying and fluttering its wings" in his chest. Another poet, Arwah ibn Hozam (d.650AD) in his poem for his beloved Afra, said that due to his intense love, his racing heart felt like "a pigeon's wings hung over his liver." My husband explained that the poet meant that the bird's wings were caught over his liver and the bird was trying to free its wings by flapping them very fast. The poet mentioned the liver not because he did not know his anatomy, but because the Arabs at that time considered both the heart and the liver as centers for love and emotions. The legendary Arab poet Al Majnoon (see my post Lovesick in the desert) wrote that the night his love Lila was taken away from his town: "My heart feels like a bird trying to fly while its wings are caught in a net."
My husband explained that the Arab poets chose the pigeon as metaphor for love and its loss because the pigeon's size is similar to the size of the heart, and so they thought it could be housed in the chest. The wild dove or pigeon's song, unlike that of the domesticated pigeon, had a sad effect that inspired the poets. The pigeon is considered a peaceful bird from the dawn of history: the Arabs before Islam, the Muslims, Jews, and Christians. In the Biblical story of Noah's Arc and the Flood Myth, Noah sent out a dove to bring him the good news – that the waters have subsided. The dove returned with a fresh olive twig in her beak, indicating that the flood was retreating. Therefore, the pigeon and the olive twig are considered symbols for peace until today.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life In Doha: Between Dream and Reality
Available in all bookstores
Love symbolism in Arab poetry
“Did you know that the bird, especially the wild pigeon occupies a special status in Arab love poetry?” he asked me one day.
“Well, the dove with an olive branch in its beak is accepted worldwide as a symbol of peace”, I replied. “I never heard of it as a symbol of love.”
“In Arab love poetry”, my husband continued, “ancient Arab poets attributed great emotions to the wild pigeon. In their love poems, the pigeon figured prominently, such that they would complain to the pigeon how much they miss their loved one, asking the bird to carry love messages to the beloved. To the Arab poets the songs of the pigeon were sad songs, interpreting its singing as cries for its loved one.”
That certainly was very interesting. I knew of course that people kept lovebirds as pets but the birds belong to the parrot family. I was not aware of pigeons being associated with love. Pigeons nest on rooftops and can be found aplenty in the old squares of Europe, flying about and alighting on tourists. In Qatar, there are many pigeons roosting on rooftops. In some Arab countries, particularly Egypt, pigeons are considered a delicacy!
My husband told me of Abu Faras Al-Hamadani, an ancient warrior-prince poet who lived in Syria in 932-976 AD. He was captured by the Romans and kept in prison for seven years in Constantinople for the purpose of prisoner exchange with a Roman prince who was a prisoner in Aleppo. Abu Faras wrote some of his best poems while in the Roman jail. One such poem was inspired by a pigeon singing near his cell. He wrote (my husband’s translation):
I said to a crying pigeon nearby
O’ my neighbor
Do you know the feelings of this guy?
But you have not experienced such separation
With its misery and frustration.
Days are not fair,
Come, let us share
This sadness we both bare.
My eye has more right to cry
Than your eye,
But my tears in this town,
Are too proud to come down.
According to my husband, the Arab poet considered his own heart like a pigeon hiding in his chest. There are verses describing how the poets’ heart rate increased when he thought of his loved one. The fast heart rate was usually described as “a pigeon flying and fluttering its wings” in his chest. Another poet, Arwah ibn Hozam (d.650AD) in his poem for his beloved Afra, said that due to his intense love, his racing heart felt like “a pigeon’s wings hung over his liver.” My husband explained that the poet meant that the bird’s wings were caught over his liver and the bird was trying to free its wings by flapping them very fast. The poet mentioned the liver not because he did not know his anatomy, but because the Arabs at that time considered both the heart and the liver as centers for love and emotions. The legendary Arab poet Al Majnoon (see my post Lovesick in the desert) wrote that the night his love Lila was taken away from his town: “My heart feels like a bird trying to fly while its wings are caught in a net.”
My husband explained that the Arab poets chose the pigeon as metaphor for love and its loss because the pigeon’s size is similar to the size of the heart, and so they thought it could be housed in the chest. The wild dove or pigeon’s song, unlike that of the domesticated pigeon, had a sad effect that inspired the poets. The pigeon is considered a peaceful bird from the dawn of history: the Arabs before Islam, the Muslims, Jews, and Christians. In the Biblical story of Noah’s Arc and the Flood Myth, Noah sent out a dove to bring him the good news – that the waters have subsided. The dove returned with a fresh olive twig in her beak, indicating that the flood was retreating. Therefore, the pigeon and the olive twig are considered symbols for peace until today.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life In Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com
Available in all bookstores
February 23, 2011
The Romance of Antar
The slave-son of an Arab prince, Antar fell in love with his high-born cousin Abla. He was born into tribe of Abs, one of the many tribes roaming the great Arabian desert. His mother was an Ethiopian slave and his father was a prince of the tribe. He grew outside the accepted circle of the society and Antar spent his childhood pasturing the tribe's flock of sheep and goats. On the desert plains he learned to ride skillfully, and practiced throwing his spear until he was better accomplished, stronger and more feared than any other slave. His father also did not recognize him as a son but he excelled and distinguished himself in battle. Antar became his tribe's hero and poet – the latter, the highest merit bestowed on a man in the eyes of the Arabs.
The stories recount his heroic struggles to raise himself above the circumstances of his birth to gain his rightful position within his tribe and to become worthy of his beautiful cousin Abla. His poems to her are highly admired and widely quoted in the Arab world. He wrote eloquently in a verse:
"The lovely virgin has struck my heart
With the arrow of a glance,
For which there is no cure."
He continued to express his love for the lovely Abla in beautiful verses:
"From the mouth of this lovely damsel
When you kiss her lips,
Proceeds the fragrance of musk
As from the vase of a perfumer;
Or like the scent of a blooming bower
Whose plants the gentle rains
Have kept in continual verdure."
And on another occasion, he wrote:
"When Abla smiles
Between her teeth
Is a mixture of wine and honey;
She passes the night with musk under her veil.
And its fragrance is increased
By the still fresher essence of her breath."
On the happy occasion of his marriage to Abla, Antar wrote:
"My heart is at rest:
It is recovered from its intoxication.
Sleep has calmed my eyelids and relieved them.
Fortune has aided me.
And my prosperity cleaves the veil night,
And the seven orders of heaven."
The Antar stories – love and valour, chivalry, honour, hospitality, generosity, treachery, revenge, warfare and adventure -- come from the heart of the desert. To this day, his wonderful adventures continue to be read and his exquisite poems have not lost their appeal; the stories continue to be read to this day.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com
February 21, 2011
Anniversary
With time, as my children grew up, they would remember our wedding anniversary and through them my husband would remember . . .
I can just imagine the predicament of men. Unlike women, they are not good at remembering birthdays and anniversaries but I am positive that they have a knack for remembering a “date” (rendezvous, tryst)! I suppose they are victims of their genes. Science say that women are better than men at remembering everyday events, words, objects, pictures (called episodic memory tasks); men are better at symbolic, non-linguistic information (visual-spatial processing). For example, a man would be more likely to remember his way out of the woods (I never would); a woman is better at remembering the location of car keys, which, according to scientists, requires both verbal and visual-spatial processing. In addition, women are better than men at remembering faces, especially of females and the reason according to scientists is that women allocate more attention to female than male faces. Well, naturally!
I remember a hilarious incident narrated by a friend of ours. He is also a cardiologist and he also does not remember birthdays and anniversaries but his wife does. His wife forbids their children to remind him of her birthday, so his secretary reminds him. On that particular birthday of his wife, his secretary had reminded him but it had been too late to get her flowers. However, one of his patients had died recently and the family (Italian) had been very grateful for the years that he had takne care of their father. That day, the family had sent him a bouquet of very expensive flowers with a card. Puzzled what to do, he had had a brilliant idea: give the flowers to his wife! “No you can’t do that!” his secretary had exclaimed but he had said, “Yes, I could”, erasing his name on the card, and penciling in his wife’s. So, he had gone home with the flowers. “It’s your Mom’s birthday. Where is she?”, he had asked his daughter who replied sharply, “Who told you about Mom’s B-day?” He had replied, “No one. Nobody. I remembered. He gave his wife the flowers with the card and she had been very happy he remembered. But his wife had not particularly liked the flowers and had gone to the florist the following day.
“My husband bought this for me yesterday but I would like to exchange them please.”
“What name please?” The florist could not find her husband’s name.
“No one by that name bought any flowers yesterday but this bouquet was bought by an
Italian family”, the florist had said, puzzled.
His wife had gone home angry and did not speak to him for days.
Genetic truth: Men do not remember birthdays and anniversaries. Women have an emotional need that their husband remembers these important everyday events. Remember, “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus. “ The best solution is to just inform him, “It’s our wedding anniversary tomorrow.” It takes away 50% of the romance however, so one has to be creative. I usually drop plenty of hints the night before.
Last January 31, I asked my husband: “Tomorrow is February 1st. What important event happened that day?” He had been fixing his ghattra (long flowing headdress) in front of the mirror. He had smiled and gave a nervous little laugh. He replied, “Let me see . . . I was born a week after that.” “Yes, indeed”, I replied in a little voice, sighing. He is an Aquarius and the fascinating and interesting story of how he discovered his true birth date is narrated in my book, My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality.
I had given up, consoling myself with thought of what he told me recently “I have given you my heart.”
When I came back from the hospital, a bouquet of flowers was waiting for me in our room! He had remembered after all, but only after jiggling his memory cells!
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com.
February 6, 2011
A New Grandson
The arrival of a new baby is always a time of joy and excitement. As soon as I was informed, I called my son, “Congratulations darling!” He replied, “Huuh? What?” “On being a new father!” I beamed. “How come nobody called me?” He said, vexed. It was his first baby and his sister and his wife’s sister had been with his wife in the labor room for support and assurance. During the actual labor however, they had to leave the labor room and wait for news in the hallway. My son had been expecting his sister to call him first. In the excitement of the moment however, the father (my son) was forgotten! He called me back later, complaining that “everybody knew and has seen pictures of the baby except me!” The first baby pictures had been posted on the blackberry by his sisters. Oh, the wonders of technology!
In Qatar, due to cultural sensibilities, the father is not allowed in the labor room to be with his wife. At least now, obstetricians use epidural anesthesia to ease the pain of labor. One of the important and wonderful innovations in medicine was the discovery of anesthesia. It has made possible many diagnostic and therapeutic interventions to be carried out with comfort to the patient. Childbirth is a natural phenomenon that used to be associated with a lot of pain and significant risk of death. Now, thanks to advances in anesthesia, women can deliver their children with virtually no pain and very little risk to the mother and newborn. In the Majilis chapter of my book, My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality, I mentioned how religious people regarded technical and scientific innovation such as radio and television with suspicion. For example, in mid-nineteenth century Britain, news that a physician had successfully used chloroform to eliminate the pain of childbirth in generated a lot of controversy in the medical community and religious circles. Prim and moralistic physicians claimed that pain in labor was a biological necessity and Churchmen cried from the pulpit, “Heresy! For had not God told Eve: ‘In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children?’” Thankfully, those dark days are long past.
The Women’s Hospital of Hamad Medical Corporation has a section of paying “luxury suites” and many Qatari women who deliver babies check into these suites. They are very popular among the women. These rooms are not at all like ordinary hospital rooms. They are large and designed to receive visitors, plenty of visitors. A key social obligation among the Qatari women is visiting a friend who delivered a child. In general, the women prefer to be visited while in the hospital. Entering these suites is like visiting another planet, so different from a room in a coronary care unit or an intensive care unit or a regular room in a medical or surgical floor. It is a different world that is rather fun to enter. On tables are mini sandwiches, chocolates, plates, forks, knives, tea, coffee, coffee cups, and tea cups, and of course – flowers, flowers everywhere . . .
One of the drinks offered is called hisso – tiny red seeds boiled in milk. I have been unsuccessful in finding out what hisso seeds are in English. I love the drink – it is rich and nourishing. I was told the drink is supposed to stimulate and increase milk production in the mother but it is also served to guests. Helbe is another drink that is given to lactating mothers. It is supposed to be more potent than hisso. I have been unable to find out which country or countries export hisso and helbe seeds to the Arabian Gulf. The seeds are unlikely grown in the region since the climate of the Gulf is desert.
The birth of a new child is a moment of joy and this is why the women have developed a ritual around it. Who can fail to be touched by the sight of a newborn baby peacefully sleeping or a mother lovingly breastfeeding her child? It is a time of happiness and this feeling is expressed in the celebratory ritual surrounding the event. Indeed, the Women’s Hospital in Qatar is to be commended for allocating a small section that allows new mothers to feel special, even for only three days! After all, giving birth to a baby is no small feat. Mothers need to feel special. Think of the sleepless nights ahead . . . They face a big responsibility to raise normal and well-adjusted children.
Mother and child have been home two weeks. Initially, my daughter-in-law was very anxious that she might not be able to give adequate care to her new baby. She even cried! Just like my eldest daughter when she had her new baby. We have all done our best to support her and she has grown in confidence: she breastfeeds, changes diapers, gives her new baby a bath like an expert now!
I go over to my son’s house frequently. It’s a pleasure for me to hold my son’s son in my arms. He’s very handsome. He smiles a lot, you know, the reflex smiles of newborns. I talk to him, make cooing sounds, and sing him a lullaby to put him to sleep. Yesterday, as I softly hummed my usual baby tunes (tunes that I used to hum to my children), he again gave me his radiant smiles and then he laughed and his shoulders shook! I was amazed! When I narrated the incident to my husband, he quipped, “And he called your name too, ‘Rachel.’”
I am convinced that my two-week-old grandson recognizes my voice! Really!
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com.
January 25, 2011
Behind The Book Cover
On the second of December, last year, I received an email from my publisher cover designer introducing himself as my "assigned cover designer." I had only vague ideas of what the cover design for my book, My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality, would be. Because my book is about my life experience inside another culture, I entertained the concept of a door within a door, a small door leading into a big world. It is quite common to find such doors in the Arabian Gulf; the small door is called a farkha, meaning "little girl", a topic which I posted on November 17, 2010. I thought "door within a door" would be a good metaphor for the underlying theme in my book.
The cover designer liked my idea but then he emailed back that when he tried the door concept, he "didn't think it had enough 'drama', and 'drama' is what helps to sell the books" and sent me some choices: a view of Doha from an airplane; the spiral mosque viewed through an arc; and the modern coastline of Doha along the Corniche. I also thought the photos lacked "drama."
I was at a loss. I was aware of course that an inviting book cover attracts people to pick up a book. When I go to a bookstore, I pick up books from the shelf whose title and cover attract my attention; then I flip over to the back to see what the book is about before scanning the introduction and skimming through the contents. I might even read the first paragraph . . .
There were alternatives of course, like engaging the services of professional book designers but they are generally expensive and would not know my book as much as I did. In almost all cases, the publisher has the final say on book cover designs but many presses welcome author's input. Small and mid-size presses are more open to working with an author (like my publisher) than larger publishing houses.
One of my daughters who was a very good photographer volunteered to "go around Doha" to shoot some pictures. On the morning she planned to do this, it was foggy and cloudy. In the wintertime, we do wake up occasionally to such mornings. "Well, Mommy. We are not in luck today" my daughter texted me. In the evening, however, she came home smiling, saying she had the "perfect" cover for my book and showed me her photoshoot of the Pearl Oyster Fountain along Doha Corniche. "I was walking along the Corniche when I came upon the fountain. See, Mommy, the book is about your life in Qatar, so, you're the pearl and Qatar is your oyster."
And so it was.
I love my book cover. Thanks to Salma, my lovely daughter.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.com/title/MyLifeInDoha.html
Behind The Book Cover
The cover designer liked my idea but then he emailed back that when he tried the door concept, he “didn’t think it had enough ‘drama’, and ‘drama’ is what helps to sell the books” and sent me some choices: a view of Doha from an airplane; the spiral mosque viewed through an arc; and the modern coastline of Doha along the Corniche. I also thought the photos lacked “drama.”
I was at a loss. I was aware of course that an inviting book cover attracts people to pick up a book. When I go to a bookstore, I pick up books from the shelf whose title and cover attract my
attention; then I flip over to the back to see what the book is about before scanning the introduction and skimming through the contents. I might even read the first paragraph . . .
There were alternatives of course, like engaging the services of professional book designers but they are generally expensive and would not know my book as much as I did. In almost all cases, the publisher has the final say on book cover designs but many presses welcome author’s input. Small and mid-size presses are more open to working with an author (like my publisher) than larger publishing houses.
One of my daughters who was a very good photographer volunteered to “go around Doha” to shoot some pictures. On the morning she planned to do this, it was foggy and cloudy. In the wintertime, we do wake up occasionally to such mornings. “Well, Mommy. We are not in luck today” my daughter texted me. In the evening, however, she came home smiling, saying she had the “perfect” cover for my book and showed me her photoshoot of the Pearl Oyster Fountain along Doha Corniche. “I was walking along the Corniche when I came upon the fountain. See, Mommy, the book is about your life in Qatar, so, you’re the pearl and Qatar is your oyster.”
And so it was.
I love my book cover. Thanks to Salma, my lovely daughter.
Rachel Hajar, M.D.
My Life in Doha: Between Dream and Reality
http://www.strategicpublishinggroup.c...
www.amazon.com
www.barnesandnoble.com
January 24, 2011
Dhows
I was charmed the first time I saw the cluster of ships moored on the harbor of Doha along the Corniche. They were swaying languorously under the midday sun, evoking romance and mystery. Made of wood and burnished in red mahogany stain, they were glossy and lustrous as scimitars. "They are called dhows", my husband had informed me.
A dhow is an Arab sailing vessel with a triangular sail called lateen. In the old days they were also used for pearling and the big ones used to sail to India and Africa for trade, using sails as their only means of propulsion. Their cargo was mostly dates and fish to East Africa and mangrove timber to the lands in the Arabian Gulf. They sailed to foreign ports in the winter, returning home in the summer.
The word dhow is not Arabic; it comes from an African word, daw, Swahili, which refers to the language of East Africa. The dhow used to be manufactured in India but nowadays, the Arabian Gulf produces these boats for recreation and leisure. Many Gulf citizens buy dhows as fishing boats. In Doha, there is a workshop that still builds and repairs traditional dhows. Dhow building is an ancient trade, with major centres in the UAE, Bahrain, Kuwait, and Oman in the Arabian Gulf and Kenya, Tanzania, and Zanzibar. The Dhow Yard in Ajman is said to be the world's largest boat-building yard and dhow-building centre.
Teakwood is used for building and each vessel takes one month to a year to create, depending on the size and shape. The Arabs never used metal ships; all their ships were made of wood. The Gulf Arabs mastered the art of ship building and sailing over many centuries. Ahmed Ibn Majid, a famous Gulf sea pilot showed the Portuguese Vasco de Gama the route from Africa to India. Vasco de Gama is credited in the West for discovering the Cape of Good Hope. Ahmad Ibn Majid was born in Ras Al-Khaima, a small emirate in the UAE.
Dhows are a common sight in Qatar and the rest of the Arabian Gulf. They are still used as fishing boats. Nowadays, dhows are also used for cruising/dining and racing. Dhow-racing season in the UAE starts in September, with 12-man teams of UAE nationals competing in a tournament spread over nine months for the opportunity of winning very lucrative prizes and, equally importantly, the huge honour of upholding an ancient tradition. The final and most prestigious race of the season is from Sir Bu Na'air Island to Dubai, a distance of 54 nautical miles, over a route taken by the early pearling dhows. It seems an exciting sport and more young people are showing interest in dhow-racing as a sport.
In our highly technical world where many ancient traditions are dying, dhow-cruising and dhow-racing are excellent ways to revitalize the ancient art of dhow building. Remnants of Qatar's – and the Arabian Gulf's – seafaring and pearling past are embodied in the dhow.
The sight of a dhow sailing at sunset is lovely, dreamy, and romantic . . . stirring yearnings for exotic places.
[image error]
Painting of a dhow
January 23, 2011
Hope and new Year
Hope is the underlying sentiment of the New Year. There is a Greek mythology on hope that centers on Pandora, the first woman on earth according to Greek legend. In Greek myth, Pandora was created from clay and water and the gods endowed her with beauty and many talents. Her name Pandora means “All-gifted.” Zeus had ordered the gods to create her so he could take vengeance on Prometheus who had stolen Fire from Heaven to give to man. Zeus presented Pandora to Prometheus’ brother, Epimentheus, who fell in love with Pandora and married her. Zeus gave Pandora a wedding gift – a beautiful box – on one condition: NEVER OPEN THE BOX.
But curiosity got the better of Pandora and she opened the box releasing evil, misfortunes, and calamities. In the legend, they came out as hundreds of tiny creatures looking like insects, stinging Pandora all over her body and then flew out of the room to scatter over the earth. Shutting the box quickly, Pandora heard a knocking coming from inside the box. She was afraid to open the box again but a tiny voice from inside pleaded: “Let me out. Maybe I can help you.” She opened the box and out came a tiny fairy: “I am Hope”, said the fairy, healing Pandora’s wounds. “Pandora, due to your curiosity you have let out all possible troubles for mankind. From this day forth there will be no peace of mind for humans; there will be greed, jealousy, hatred, disease, famine, pestilence, wars . . . the world will know great sorrow . . .”
Pandora started to cry and the hope fairy consoled her. “Do not cry. You have also let me out. I will always be there to bring HOPE to humans whenever they’re in trouble. I AM HOPE.” And the hope fairy fluttered away, light as a feather, to settle in the hearts of man.
There are many details of the hope legend that are fascinating such as hope lying at the bottom of a box of misfortunes, calamities, and miseries. It points out that lying within any tragedy, adversity, or catastrophe is hope. Hope gives meaning to life.
I like very much the mythology of many cultures. Frequently I encounter cross cultural themes that are intriguing. For example, the detail about Pandora being the first woman and fashioned from clay and water is interesting because creation stories from Babylonian mythology, Judeo-Christian, and Islamic religions all mention that man was made from clay, woman from the rib of a man. Obviously, some Greek myths are of Babylonian origin, with some details omitted or re-created in keeping with cultural traditions. There are many Greek myths that are reminiscent of Babylonian myths.
To many people, myths are just entertaining stories but I think myths are more than simple tales from a primitive past. The stories have multilayered meanings, such as the Greek hope myth. They speak to our subconscious and reflect in symbols the deepest concerns of our minds. Myths have endured to this day because they belong to the realm of the sacred.
The mythology of hope is one of my favorite stories. As the poet Wordsworth wrote: “Hope rules a land for ever green . . .”
September 13, 2010
Book Review - The Quiet American
The Quiet American by Graham GreeneMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Go Home Young Man
Set in French colonial Vietnam in the 1950s on the eve of the French overthrow, the book portrays the evolution of a love triangle: a jaded, cynical, opium addict British journalist (Thomas Fowler), the soft-spoken, intellectual, and idealistic quiet American (Alden Pyle), and a young Vietnamese girl (Phoung). Fowler and Phoung are lovers but Pyle steals the girl away from Fowler but winds up dead in the river. Fowler is suspected of the murder. He recalls memories of Pyle, narrating past events involving himself, Pyle, and Phoung. Phoung is highly desired by Fowler even though he takes her for granted whereas Pyle views her as a delicate flower to be protected. But the character of Phoung is weakly developed in the book and she comes around as an opportunist.
Running parallel to the plot are political themes: communism, colonianism, and American foreign policies in the region. The novel touches on the horrors of war in a third world country: the class distinctions of colonianism, opium addiction, brothels, death, and destruction.
It is clear throughout the book that Fowler dislikes Pyle and makes sweeping statements such as, “The only quiet American is a dead American”; "I never knew a man who had better motives for all the trouble he caused." There are numerous instances where Fowler makes disparaging statements about Americans in a third world country so that the novel became widely known for its anti-American sentiment.
The book is good and skillfully written, as befits a work by a famous author like Greene. I highly recommend this book.
View all my reviews
The Quiet AmericanGraham Greene
