There Are Rivers in the Sky

by Elif Shafak

The longer he spends in Mesopotamia, the deeper his surprise at its complexities. Its many religions, creeds and sects bewilder him. People from the same area, even from the same town, can be stunningly different. But there are also things that feel oddly familiar from his readings on ancient civilizations. He recognizes certain continuities: the irrigation canals, the unchanging landscape, the bullrushes on the riverbanks…Especially in the south, both houses and boats are made of reeds, and sometimes the same materials are used and reused—houses into boats, boats into houses. If he closes his eyes, he can easily imagine himself in the days of King Ashurbanipal. In some ways it is as though hardly any time has passed, and thousands of years were a mere puff of wind. The past, no matter how remote or unknown, is not bygone. It is alive. The past is a clay tablet, worn and chipped, but hardened by the heat of centuries.