This was a book which came to me from two totally disconnected directions; a recommendation from Shovelmonkey but then almost on the back of her gentle nudge I was given a sharp kick in the pants by the bookshelf elf who is evidently steering my reading habits when this was also given to me quite independently as a good book to read in preparation for my, then, upcoming visit to the Holy Land by a priest friend of mine.
In the event, though I began it before heading Middle-east-side, I did not complete it until this morning. It has accompanied my breakfasting and thus has sometimes assisted the digestion but sometimes made quite a lot of stuff hard to swallow. It is the excellently readable account of Dalyrymple following in the footsteps of a Seventh Century monk called John Moschos. Moschos wrote a book of these travels called 'The Spiritual Meadow' and though this book might not, from the sound of it, wholeheartedly appeal to modern minds, even those of believers, Dalrymple uses it as the guiding rope which he holds to keep him on the safeish path as he picks his way through the minefield that it the modern Middle East.
His account ranges across the Golden Age of Christianity in the Middle East through its swiping by the Persians and then its fairly riotous rout by the rise of Islam right up to the historical confusions, pains and disasters of the present day. No stone is left unturned in his wanderings and it is interesting how many of these stones, once turned, reveal that they are not common or ordinary pebbles but cornices or pieces from some long forgotten palace or Church or somesuch wonder. This countryside, if such awards were given, would get the Gold medal for recycling as he discovered ancient pillars and architraves being piled up on top of each other to act as sheepfolds. This I found amazing though it was not a lone example as he told stories of monks using ancient and precious rolls of parchment as bottle stops and of how he found himself, whilst searching out the site of the ancient city of Oxyrhyncus....and for the record, I want to live there cos it knocks Poole of Dorset as an address into a cocked hat..., wading across piles of shattered and crushed ancient pottery and jars.
'Pulling at an amphora handle jutting out of the ground, I broke a Byzantine pot, and its contents, a pile of chaff winnowed perhaps whilst Justinian still ruled the Empire, floated away in the winter breeze'
I loved this sense of continuing history which he captured. The fact that you were looking at vistas and images that had been gazed upon by people from long ago, these people held wildly different views from mine and yet in the collected papyri from this ancient site the same worries of recalcitrant children or job insecurity or political dubious deals still held sway.
Moschos described the religion of the 7th Century with its cascade of odd and eccentric holymen but Dalrymple as he made his way from monastic community to monastic community or spoke to the different communities of nationalities that peppered the area, certainly encountered his fair share of.....hmmm how shall i put this.....unique and interestingly opinioned individuals?...yes that will do. One will be good to be going along with. The rampantly insane, as far as I can see, Fr Theophanes who is a former greek policeman from Athens but now a monk at Mar Saba who lives in great hate and loathing of the Freemasons who Dalrymple had mentioned as just organizing whist drives. This was as a red rag to a particularly tetchy bull:
'Wheest drives?' said Fr Theophanes, pronouncing the word as if it were some sort of Satanic ritual. 'Probably this wheest drive also but their main activity is to worship the Devil. there are many steps but the last, the final step is to meet with the Devil and have homosexual relations with him. After this he makes you Pope or sometimes President of the United States'.
This man was not, you understand, the norm but was a big enough character to make me ckoke over my museli on a number of occasions. Dalrymple writes with great animation and, of course, no doubt with some exageration but his genuine fondness for people and his ability to endear himself even to the Roman Catholic hating Fr Theophanes means that his accounts are never dull and the atmosphere he creates in his writing makes you feel the dryness of the desert air and feel the chill of the ice cold monastic cells.
His descriptive writing could be sublimely lovely but I also loved his simple word paintings which did the deed just as much. Describing a late antique mausoleum
'It had a six-sided pyramidal roof and its stone was of a wonderfully rich colour, like the crust on Cornish clotted cream'
i loved the setting one alongside the other. His is a lovely and easy style of writing which belies a genuine love of exploration and discovery and it enables armchair travellers like myself to imagine and walk with him.
His was a great book to challenge preconceptions one of which is the Western tendency to look upon Islam as somehow alien and Christianity to be nice and cosy. His point, well made through numerous examples, is the way in which Islam grew from the foundations of Middle eastern Christianity
'For the former grew directly out of the latter and still, to this day, embodies many aspects and practices of the early Christian world now lost in Christianity's modern Western incarnation '
He explores the development of ornament and decoration and imagery in religion and shows how influence and counter-influence ebbs and flows across not just the area he was specifically exploring but also the way it flowed to affect and transform the monastic art and liturgy of the celts and the picts and the ikonography of Eastern Europe and how in turn other touches from the Middle east may have had hidden but deeply significant influence on the whole movement of the Renaissance.
He encountered ancient languages still being used in ancient liturgies which, which like the papyri already mentioned, served to make him and his reader aware of that marvelous interconnectedness of civilizations seemingly aeons apart but echoing back and forth across those centuries. I loved the way this book kept pulling me up and made me gaze at something so real and living that i had to think again about my own sense of history and when ancient influences can truly be said to have withered. He kept coming into contact with the ancient not as something in a glass case to be admired and adored, static and unchanging but as something breathing and moving which still held power to unnerve and inspire.
He describes the vicious history of claim and counterclaim, he interviews those who have and are still being horrendously oppressed and he mourns the fact that much culture and the wonder of the interweaving communitites who so often lived side by side in peace are now being riven by artificial or unnecessary hates. I do not want to go into any great analysis of this vicious cruelty but just to say he seems to write a balanced reflection on the present situation. One example, the percentage of Christians in the Middle East has crashed through the floor in the last few decades and, from his travels and conversations I would not hold out hope for any real resurgence. This is a tragedy for the families who are losing their sense of belonging but also perhaps a tragedy for the wider world where we have a tendency to think of the Middle east as being a place of turmoil and violence and intolerance; the haemorrhage of the long established communities flooding from resurgent prejudice from wherever it stems serves to exacerbate this false view Dalrymple seems to be implying. He has a great line which came about halfway through the book and to which i clung like a shipwrecked loser when I began to get all depressed and down about the hopelessness of it all
'In the Middle East, the reality of continuity has always been masked by a surface impression of cataclysm'
Not sure if it is totally reassuring but it does undeline what i took from this splendid book, that this wonderful area, enriched by so much history and beauty and courage and character will not be able to be destroyed by the acts of brutes and tyrants. Around every corner, ruins and shrines and communitites speak of a deep vein of history which pulses and burbles along and though sometimes it might seem to flag and stumble there is always a renewal and a reinvigoration.
This book was witty and amusing in his asides and encounters with the characters of his travels, it was challenging and unnerving in its ability to bring the past right in front of me as I delved into my muesli bowl, tragic and shocking in its accounts of the past brutality but actually much more by the uptodate intolerance, injustice and violence that still is very much alive and active but most of all it was one of those books that made me yearn to go to those places and breathe that air.
Journeying to the Holy Land back in mid-March I encountered only a small part of the wonder that is this part of the world. Maybe I will get to explore more another day but even if i don't the fact that there are books like this and writers like William Dalrymple is a great comfort. A really goodread.