Shereen Malherbe's Blog, page 19
December 22, 2018
Reflections at an English tea house in Borneo
At an English Tearoom, Sabah ,Borneo.
The Agnes Keith house sits on a hill in Sabah Borneo. Agnes was an American author who married the British Conservator of the Forests and lived in Borneo in 1936. Their old house is preserved as a tourist attraction. She lovingly writes of the house that, ‘All day in the sun the sides of our house, the doors and windows, lie open to let the beauty in. Royal Sulu sarongs hang at our doors, chrome yellow, cerise and purple. They blow out into the colour of the garden’. From the house, I could see all the way down to the Sulu sea. The Sulu sea in the distance, an expanse of deep blue, with huge tankers and ships dotted in primary colours like toy boats sitting on the water line.
I walked around the house eager to discover the writer who had made this Borneo state of Sabah famous with her book, Land Below the Wind. A title now used when describing Sabah. The house itself was colonial style made of wood, with beams out the front framing its beautiful wide porches and verandas. Inside dark hardwood floors and handmade wooden furniture sat in the middle of the rooms. I knew from her book that she had those pieces of furniture made from wood, sourced from the forest, designed and cut to order. I also read about her silk dresses housed in her large wooden wardrobes which now stood empty around the edges of what was once her bedroom. I stood on the balcony imagining Agnes standing there, ‘The Northeast Monsoon blows from the Sulu Sea it comes to us over five miles of jungle, sweeping up the damp breath of the trees.’
I opened my eyes onto a road and a city that has swallowed up the jungle. A place where now only hardy plants shot up between launderettes, grocery shops and money changers. The Borneo Agnes described was disappearing.
I walked down to the water fall where my five year old was admiring baby turtles clinging to the rocks in a decorative statue. The car parking bays had neatly painted white lines and just next to the car park there was a breadth of grass and a one-storey wooden building that ran along its edges. Intrigued we walked down and stumbled upon an English tearoom. I imagined Agnes sat here when she wrote of the party on the lawn with, ‘…medals and uniforms, Headmen and Orang Tua’s …drinking tea and eating cakes together.’ This place seemed not to have changed at all. Except I didn’t see any indigenous people there. Wooden cabanas sheltered us from the sun and were positioned so we could see the Sulu Sea. We ate scones with cream and jam, sampled slices of traditional English cakes and teas. The grass was cut short. The wild jungle was cut out of the manicured grass. The hedges were trimmed into perfect shapes. No wilderness crept into this place.
I stepped outside from the ‘Outpost of the Empire’ and down on the grey concrete I saw two deep blue, beautifully created, symmetrical butterfly wings, ripped in half.
December 14, 2018
A fairy-tale hidden in Oman: The tale of Noor.
The Tale of Noor.
The dreams always happened during a full moon. Noor’s dreams painted a world different to hers. A world where life existed beyond the mountain’s peaks. Noor would escape to this world, full of people and life whenever sleep came. But tonight, the moon was piercingly bright keeping her awake. Noor looked past her sleeping mother and out towards the moon’s spotlight on the forbidden part of the mountain. The lure of the moon’s beam carried her feet over her mother and out into the wilderness. She looked back at her home; a shelter built from stones and packed together with wet sand baked in the summer heat. The roof made of fallen palm leaves was woven together so tightly that it kept out both the sun and the occasional winter rains. Her mother’s body heaved and sighed in sleep, just inside the entry way.
Although Noor was deaf, her world was not silent. She could feel the rhythms of the seasons, she could feel the change in the air when a mountain leopard was close and the way the sea roared as it heaved and smashed onto the shoreline. Noor’s days were structured by the sun, her years by the seasons. From the scorching summer time where the ocean’s waves flattened under the heat to the cooler winters when the scent of the oryx hung in the air. The winter brought with it her only fear; the arrival of the mist. Without warning, the mist moved through between their valley in the mountains. Heavy and thick, it blocked her sight leaving her life reliant only on her sense of touch with her delicate finger tips. Her mother would sit close, but Noor could not see her. Her mother’s tales of what the mist brought with it danced between them twirling with the spirits and monsters from her childhood.
This evening, the winter mist had not yet come. The golden sands and fallen rocks from the mountain scattered amongst the desert roses with their pink-green stems and budding pink flowers. The trees, stunted, the same size as Noor, tangled up in their brown thorns and leafless barbs and twines. They flattened out at the top unable to resist the intense heat of the daytime sun. She tiptoed past the planted herb garden and the young date trees where her most beloved possessions filled the spaces. They had been either washed up from the sea or had fallen from the mountains. They came in different colours and felt different to touch; some cold and reflective, some smooth, cloudy and green. They collected water for her, so her mother let her keep them but to Noor they reminded her that there was once more to the world before it became just the two of them. She picked up some of the objects and saw another world, and in the reflective ones, she could see herself. Her hair as black as a starless night and her skin was the soft white of a pale winter moon. Her eyes reflected the sea in the winter, blue with a hint of darkness beneath its muddy surface.
She pulled herself up the mountain with ease. Cut off by the wild sea and towering peaks, the mountain ranges wrapped around the enclosure that was their world. As she climbed, she felt the padded sequence of a leopard’s footsteps coming towards her. She could feel the air move, the nostrils of the creature gaped and closed only a few feet away. Noor reached for a sharp arrow on her back and slid it silently into the bow. She crouched down steadying herself on the rock. But she paused. She sensed its trepidation. There was something uneasy about its footsteps. As she waited and watched, the leopard moved into the moonlight amongst the mist occasionally appearing in view. Behind the leopard, a cub balanced precariously on the rocks. Noor lowered her arrow. Just as she did, she felt the air slice past her cheek and an arrow pierced the heart of the leopard.
She swung her head around to see her mother crouched on the dark rocks with the bows string vibrating in her hand. ‘Your life or theirs,’ her mother mouthed. And as she stomped off to collect her kill, Noor’s fingers began to pulse. There was a new sound pulsating through the rocks. She climbed higher, pressing her fingers into the highest parts she could reach. It wasn’t the sound of the mist exhaling past her, it wasn’t the sound of the weather moving in, or animals breathing in the dark, or of snakes slinking into holes. It was something she recognised echoing in the far-reaching chambers of her brain. She climbed higher, passing the point she was supposed to stay within, disregarding it, reaching out for more of this feeling in her finger tips when suddenly a rock hit her leg. She turned around and saw her mother’s face half hidden in the moonlight, her mouth twitching and her eyes narrowed to a slit. Noor knew her mother’s expression meant only one thing. She left her hand behind, feeling the vibrations under her fingertips, desperate to hear more of the sound. But then her mother began to climb towards her. Noor didn’t want her to discover what she was listening to, so she dangerously slid down to the bottom of the mountain. Had her mother heard it? Noor knew there was many things she could sense that her had mother had missed before. She wasn’t deaf like her, but Noor’s other senses were as sharp as cactus needles whereas her mother’s senses had turned into the pulp inside them.
At the bottom of the mountain her mother looked at her like she was inspecting the intestines of her latest kill. Noor looked away and breathed slowly, wrapping herself up in the rags sewn together for blankets, feigning tiredness so she could escape into their stone shelter. She opened and closed her eyes onto the scene of her mother dragging the leopard’s body down towards the garden, so she could consume it. Noor was wondering if the meat would pad out the old woman’s bones that poked through her sagging skin. Noor glanced up to the mountain’s ridge. There, she could see the leopard’s cub. He stared, motionless, his eyes watching the scene below as Noor’s mother gutted and skinned his.
Noor was not left to sleep. Her mother dropped the leopard’s heart into a bubbling pot filled with herbs ripped from the garden. The smell of death and pungent roots wafted beneath her nose.
‘Swallow.’
Noor shook her head.
‘Swallow. Swallow. Swallow!’ Her mother said it with such insistence that Noor expected to look up and see a bird of the same name somewhere in their home. Trapped. Noor pulled her head away and looked up to the sky. There was nothing but a stone roof. Her mother yanked her arm up to lift her body to a sitting position. Her old hands tipped Noor’s chin backwards and her fingers pinched her nose so hard, Noor yelped and in that moment with her mouth wide open, the hot broth was poured down her throat with such precision none of it escaped.
In her delirium Noor thought she heard her mother’s voice. Noor imagined it scraping her mother’s throat as it left her lips, hissing from her teeth that were as jagged as the mountains. The moon’s beam had shifted. The cub was lost, the forbidden mountain peaks out of range. With her boiling, hot blood pulsating through her veins, Noor made a promise to herself that she would discover what lay beyond. And just as she slipped out of consciousness, she realised what she had heard back on the mountain. The intonation. The pattern. The hum. It was something she had not heard except in her dreams. It was the voice of another human.
Noor could not be sure what day it was when she awoke. Judging by the sun’s position it was early enough in the morning that her mother would be at the shoreline dragging in the nets. She had some time to sneak into the garden and make the antidote. She must be quick. If her mother knew she discovered the secret to this one, she would mix up another potion. Noor looked behind her and crept into the garden. She pulled out the black root of the truffle plant, carefully pressing the remaining bulb into the soil so it looked undisturbed. She picked up a tool and smashed the root until it was small enough to eat. She stopped, looking behind to see if she could see her coming back. She couldn’t feel any other vibrations except the beating of her heart. She scooped up the roots and chewed the bitter black, tough stems until the dizzying nausea wore off. The sun inched higher signalling midday. In the winter season, the sun reached its peak by then and when it sank, the mist would rise in the cool air. The mist that left Noor blind. She shuddered at the thought and scurried back to the shelter. She wrapped herself in the corner and closed her eyes hoping her mother wouldn’t see inside her heart and discover her plan to escape back to the mountains as soon as night fell.
Now Noor was alert, the afternoon passed wearily. Her legs complained. Her mind buzzed like a thousand sand flies had taken residence in her skull. She opened her eyes on her mother, watching her like a stranger had suddenly invaded what she once felt of as home. Noor stayed awake until her mother eventually fell asleep a few hours before dawn. The mist was beginning to creep in. For a second she wondered what awaited her outside of the stone walls, in the mist and the evil whirling inside it. But as she focused, the moonlight glinted through the glassless window and provided her with light. The mist provided her with a shield. She crept to the base of the mountain and pulled herself up and up. She couldn’t see anything past the mist, except her hands on the rock face as she heaved her body upwards, but she could sense something watching her. Whatever it was, she wasn’t used to its sounds. Rocks rolling. Breathing. Heart beating. She was over half way now. She felt it closer. Closer. She glanced around, every sense heightened. Through waves in the mist she saw the old woman a few feet behind her clinging to the mountains. Long nails stabbed into the loose rock, old black fur shawls choked around the old woman’s neck blending her into the wilderness as if the mountain had given birth to a half-living thing.
Noor climbed faster and faster. She slipped. Her hand bled on the rocks. Her heart beat so loudly through her body that it made her head pound. Then she felt it again, calling her from beyond the mountains. Determined, so sure in her own soul that something lay beyond the peaks she wanted to use all her strength to reach the top. But instead of scrambling, Noor stopped. She listened to the sounds of the mountain. She saw the eyes of the leopard cub wide with fear crouching in a shelter a foot away from her hand. She reached behind her and pulled out a sharp arrow. She slid it silently into her bow. She turned around and fired. The arrow sliced through the air, piercing the heart of the old woman. Noor watched as she fell backwards, down into the mist.
Noor kept climbing until the sun had almost risen. She could see the horizon behind her, as the earth turned from black to navy. Flat earth rolled out beyond the mountain. It had been carved from the mountains and spiralled downwards. Noor ran down the cut path, imagining the giant’s hands that must have made such a carving. Animals with devil’s horns curling from their heads, looked at her with the black slits of their eyes.
Eventually, she reached a flat piece of earth that had square houses built upon it. Between them well-worn tracks and some of the objects she had seen from the mountain littered the floor. The vibrations were back again. They pulsed through her feet and led her to a dome topped building where tall, slender minarets towered either side of the dome sending the sound into the air for miles around. The voice from the speakers echoed into the cool, concrete floor. It was the call to prayer sounded out by the Imam in the mosque. She had heard his voice before. A long time ago. In its peaceful rhythm, she fell into an exhausted sleep.
When Noor opened her eyes, she saw a woman kneeling over her, whispering her name and holding her hand. The woman’s hair was as black as a starless night and her skin the soft white of a pale winter moon. Her eyes reflected the sea in the winter, dark with a hint of blue and droplets from the ocean fell from them.
The End, or perhaps the beginning…
December 13, 2018
Friday Finds: ‘Birds / Have No Hands’
Via Arablit
Birds
Ahmed Shafie (http://shaaaf.blogspot.com) is an Egyptian poet, novelist, and translator who oddly does not have a collection in English translation, although his work has been translated by Robin Moger and, here, by Humphrey Davies:
Shafie was a 2014 resident at the University of Iowa’s prestigious International Writing Program, and he’s the author of the acclaimed collection 77 (2017), which made several “best of 2017” lists. Before that, he published Other Poems (2009), and A Side Street Ending in a Fountain (2000), and he’s also published two novels: The Creator (2013) and Sousou’s Journey (2003).
He’s also an award-winning translator; his translation of Russell Edson’s Collected Prose Poems was one of Muhammad Abdelnaby’s “favorite reads” of 2015.
This latest translation, by multi-award-winning translator and scholar Humphrey Davies, appears in Rusted Radishes. It is taken from his collection 77, where it was untitled.
It opens:
BIRDS
have no hands.
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December 12, 2018
Jasmine Falling Ebook on Sale
Hello everyone,
To celebrate the third year publishing anniversary of Jasmine Falling, it is on sale for a limited time only for $0.99.
You can find it on Amazon stores worldwide.
Book Synopsis
[image error]When Jasmine’s mother dies inside their English mansion, hope comes in the form of her multi-million pound inheritance. But with her inheritance threatened, Jasmine is left to contemplate a future she does not know how to live.
Jasmine has only ten days to uncover the circumstances of her father’s decade long disappearance before her fortune is lost forever.
Forced to return to his homeland in Palestine, she follows his footsteps through stories long ingrained in the local’s minds. She is helped on her journey by a mysterious stranger who guides her through the trails of the Holy Land to the scattered broken villages each harbouring its own secrets.
Under the watchful eyes of the ever-encroaching Occupation, Jasmine must piece together her history in the broken land, before it destroys her future.
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In addition to Goodreads, Jasmine Falling is listed as a must-read on Bustle.com.
Preview & Purchase here
Jasmine Falling is available to buy worldwide from all major e-book publishers and on paperback here and via Amazon worldwide.
Alternatively, search Jasmine Falling on your favourite e-book site.
First e-book? Download the Kindle app here so you can read this book on any device.
For Bookstore Stockists, click here.
Professional Book Reviews
“‘Jasmine Falling’ is a multi-layered novel in that it oscillates between the unresolved political narrative related to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and the mystical, even mythical portrayal that seems tethered to any discourse or even work of literature wherever Jerusalem and Islam are concerned. And thus it is rather no surprise that the author conjures up the Jinn, and speaks of shadows and whisperings as if the place, Palestine, were a living breathing entity, a character holding its own within the structure of the novel, actively involved in the characters’ lives, etching its place into their individual narratives, refusing to be ignored.”
[image error]“Reading this novel certainly made me realize how important it is to acknowledge and celebrate all of the cultures in which I was raised. I’m both more proud to be black and less hesitant to call myself American. Just as Jasmine realized the rejection of her father’s culture left her flailing for grounding, I have begun to realize that the food, the media, and the traditions I grew up with make me who I am. Trying to stifle the minority culture (black) to better conform to the majority culture (American) split my personality unnecessarily, and left me generally confused. My new-found embracement of my hyphenated identity is perhaps indicative of why I enjoyed it so much: Jasmine, in a way, is me.”
[image error]“My rating: 5 of 5 stars. I found Jasmine Falling a beautiful work of art which was emotionally moving and will stay with me for some time to come. The journey she makes to discover her father’s whereabouts is mystical. I was taken to another world and immersed in its tale of the continued conflict of a nation undergoing change and the spirit of its people. This book is full of powerful messages that every person can relate too and be inspired by. Shereen Malherbe has done a superb job in her telling of a tale that I couldn’t put down. Magnificent!”
[image error] “…this is a solid debut and a meaningful addition to the growing Muslim fiction list. I’m looking forward to reading more from Ms. Malherbe.”
[image error]“Jasmine Falling is also a rich Middle Eastern tale that makes us fall for a land ripped between war and other social ills. The beauty and the richness of the land are still present no matter what it went through and still goes through as shows through the pages that Malherbe penned so well.”
Readers Reviews
“Jasmine Falling bleeds poetic and mesmerizing moments profusely.” RDP
“When I took a step back from the book, I realized I was getting way more involved with the characters than I normally do. I was quoting the book and narrating Jasmine’s life to those around me which speaks volumes (pun intended) about how well-written the novel is.”
“A tribute to a country that “deserves a better future”
This exotic, tumultuous mystery elucidates the hearts and magic of the people typically hidden in the soulless, black and white stories we read in newspapers. Jasmine Falling poetically brings to light the difficult but important events taking place in a beloved country.”
“Mystery, justice, brutality, excitement and love are just a few words that conquer your mind while sailing through this thrilling novel. “
“This is a real eye opener of a novel; an excellent book. Not because of the plot, feasible though it is. Nor because of the characters, though all are drawn very well. No, it is the setting: Palestine, The Holy Land and the author’s rich, descriptive, style which, coupled with an eye for detail, portrays this ancient and bitterly disputed landscape vividly and accurately, as it is; as it exists at this time. It is this great and largely unbiased tapestry of the land and its peoples that makes Jasmine Falling so good.”
“A beautifully crafted and weaved story that carries you effortlessly on a journey filled with poetic, mesmeric moments. Initially I purchased the kindle edition for ease but this is definitely a book deserving of being held and treasured. Shereen Malherbe is a deeply gifted writer and storyteller. I look forward to her future creations.”
“We are also introduced to the more human and emotional side of the Palestinian struggle, described from both sides of the political conflict. The reader is challenged to accept that at the end of it all, we are all human, capable of hate and evil, but we are all also capable of unconditional, pure love, a love that transcends political borders and is far more powerful than any other force in this world.”
“A richly evocative novel. The reality of an illegal occupation is laid bare together with wonders and beauty of both Palestine & the enduring spirit of Palestinian people. This together with a fast paced storyline makes for a most wonderful read.”
For more info, join the other 800 people in the Goodreads community talking about it.
Returning…with a different view
Hello everyone,
I’m returning to the world of living, also known as social media! After a two hear hiatus, and becoming an almost English Literature graduate (Summer 2019), I am ready to begin sharing my stories and travels with you again.
To find out what direction I was heading in, I needed a break offline to work out what that was. During the time away, I began a sequel to my novel, Jasmine Falling, (for those of you who have followed me before, you will know that I wrote Jasmine Falling, a fictional story based in my heritage homeland of Palestine). But writing the sequel wasn’t as easy as I thought. It wasn’t about the technicality of writing or a lack of storyline. It was something deeper. I couldn’t capture how my feelings have changed, how the Occupation is making me see my character’s through different eyes and ultimately I wasn’t sure how to translate that to fiction in a setting so close to my heart.
So I took a break from all the expectations. I began a writing journal, explored more, spent time in the souks of Jerusalem, the rainforests of Borneo, exploring life in the UAE and back home on the streets of London. What I realised from the break was that I love getting lost in my travels.
I find stories in photographs, conversations, a shared story, a scene, a sight and so begins another story in my writing journal; another point of view to share. I also find we change, we grow up, priorities shift and so the time comes when a new book, that starts as a seedling is nurtured into something bigger.
I want to share the world I see through the eyes of a wandering novelist. My main focus is now sharing my travels, my stories, writing advice, diverse literature and book recommendations straddling the East & West.[image error]
I hope to write to you soon & hear your points of view as you join me for the journey.
In the meantime, please share your successes and any new directions you have for the new year. You can now find me via: Twitter, Goodreads, or here.
September 24, 2018
Sea Prayer by Khaled Hosseini
No words to describe this stunning new book from Khaled Hosseini. Inspired by the Syrian refugee crisis, this book is a prayer from a father for his son as they wait to board a boat. The writing is as heartbreakingly beautiful as the illustrations are evocative.
It begins with the father’s memories of the Syria before: “the creek where your uncles and I built a thousand boyhood dams.”
. . . moves into the reality of this generation’s Syria: “You know a bomb crater can be made into a swimming hole.”
. . . and ends with the sea: “how vast, how indifferent. How powerless I am to protect you from it.”
It’s a book that’s not easy to classify. Perhaps “an illustrated poem inspired by true events and intended for adults” is the closest I can get. In any case, it’s one of my favorite books of the year.
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August 20, 2018
Review—The Rohingya Crisis: A People Facing Extinction by Muhammad Abdul Bari
A concise and informative history of the Rohingya, an evidence-based denunciation of Myanmar’s ethnic cleansing campaign, and an impassioned plea for recognition and human rights for the Rohingya.
Before reading this book, I knew little more about the Rohingya than that something awful was happening to them and that it had to do with Myanmar, wherever that is. I should be ashamed of myself, I know.
Instead of relieving my shame, this book has increased it. I am ashamed of what some of humanity is capable of doing, and what the rest of humanity is content to allow to happen.
This 69-page book offers a concise and informative introduction to the ethnic cleansing of the Rohingya by the state of Myanmar. Since August of last year, more than 10,000 Rohingya have been killed, and more than half a million people have fled across the border to Bangladesh. Even more disturbing than…
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August 3, 2018
Book Review—A Treasury of Ghazali by Mustafa Abu Sway
A Treasury of Ghazali is a beautiful collection of quotations by Imam al-Ghazali with commentary by Mustafa Abu Sway. The tiny, digestible chapters are each based on one quote of the Imam: the original Arabic, an English translation, and a commentary by the author. Meant to be read in small doses, the quotes cover spiritual topics like sincerity in intention, happiness, patience against sin, and detachment from the dunya (worldly life).
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January 28, 2018
Jasmine Falling now available in Jerusalem Bookstores
Voted as one the 18/75 Attractions to do in Jerusalem, Educational Bookstore is located in Salahaddin Street, Jerusalem.
Follow the bookstore or subscribe here to keep up to date with when Shereen will be hosting an event here.
For more information about Educational Bookstore and for its location please visit TripAdvisor.
Image Sources
The historic American Colony Hotel.
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(Image & text sources)
‘Munir Barakat “Antiquarian” – a large selection of antiques, oriental items and carpets. A trove of exotic treasures worth exploring! The Bookshop – immerse yourself in the region’s history, religions and cultures, or select something from the wide selection of contemporary fiction.’
Shereen Malherbe will be visiting locations to do book signings, book readings and discussions. To meet the author and to stay up to date with events, please subscribe here.
To find out about Shereen’s recent event at the famous El-Hakawati Theatre, click here.
Literary Evening at the El-Hakwati Theatre, Palestine
“Being part of the art and literature scene in Jerusalem, Palestine has been a rewarding, insightful experience. The El-Hakawati Theatre was a perfect location and it was an amazing experience to discuss the book with Jerusalem’s literary elite and to discover their experience of a novel that was inspired by their country.”
Literary critic Abdallah Dais wrote his thoughts on the book and shared it at the literary evening. Warning: Spoilers ahead for those who haven’t read the book.
“Mystery, justice, brutality, excitement and love are just a few words that conquer your mind while sailing through this thrilling novel. You optimistically watch the jasmine flowers falling down like pearls of dew on the cover page. However, when you think of the main character, Jasmine, setting off in a painful journey searching for her missing father in his homeland Palestine, in dismal circumstances in a harsh and brutal world, guided only by very far memories, confusing letters and nightmares, which are ensued by the cold blooded murder of the eight-year-old boy Ali, you start to wonder whether to keep optimistic or just fall with Jasmine into pessimism. Here, appears Josh as a rescuing angel, guides Jasmine through her dreadful journey, rescues her every time she thinks she is dipping into a bottomless pit, only to have doubts when you find out that he is really an Israeli soldier fulfilling his duty tightening the handcuffs on the already suffocated necks of the Palestinian people.
Jasmine starts her journey pursuing a fortune she would lose if she didn’t find her missing father, but ends up finding a real treasure- faith that takes over her soul and peace which arises from an endless conflict. Throughout her amazing journey to the Holy Land, events unfold naturally to show much of the suffering Palestinians are afflicted with, without direct description of the atrocities Israelis commit every day, and without demonizing enemies and depriving them from the remnants of humanity that some of them may have. This quiet description could beat all the propaganda manufactured by the media engines around the world with a truly innocent and convincing language.
The letters by Bert to his father are a smart trick which increases the excitement and keeps the reader looking forward to put all the rings together and find out the secret behind them. These letters serve their purpose quite well. They open the way to compare the suffering of the Palestinian people with those who were victimized by the ruthless wars in Europe, only to turn into predators themselves imitating what they had suffered and destroying the lives of the Palestinians who had nothing to do with the atrocities in Europe. Bert waits too long to meet the eyes of Jasmine, which resemble the eyes of her grandmother, the only survivor of a massacre he helped to commit. Then comes his grandson Josh, an Israeli soldier himself, to accompany Jasmine through her journey showing a slight trace of humanity flourishing amongst the filthiness of an inhumane occupation.
Does Josh really love Jasmine? And, can such a relation be real? The author keeps this question unanswered… The search for love in a rumpled land continues, but it certainly can’t thrive until justice prevails and oppression is lifted.”
For more information on future events, subscribe here.
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