The book starts with a quote from the great Andalusian philosopher Ibn Arabi. (the below translation belongs to me, i originally read the book in my mother tongue)
''It's through the reflection of your face, that I saw mine.
It's through your lips that I heard my voice.''
Then he continues with a short parable narrated by what seems to be a wise elder illustrating the meaning of an old Arabic word ‘harese’ from which the words for determination, greed and craving are derived.
The fable is about camels who love a particular desert thistle. The thistle lacerates the camels’ mouth and they begin to bleed. But as their salty blood mixes with the chewed thistle, they like the taste even more. They can’t stop feeding on it and if they are not stopped, they would bleed to death. This is ‘harese’, a wise old man tells the protagonist. “This is the custom throughout the Middle East…Throughout history people have killed one another without ever realising that they are actually killing themselves. They become intoxicated by the taste of their own blood.”
The beauty lies in the impressive tapestry woven by these two divergent quotes, showcasing the delicate dance between love and tragedy within the captivating chaos of life in the beautiful yet so fractured Levant.
It vividly portrays the intricate situation in modern-day Turkey, the conflicts in Syria, and the prevalent misogyny still deeply ingrained in the Middle East. Livaneli's narrative delves into the religious and societal shift before and after ISIS, shedding light on the harsh realities faced by women and humanity as a whole. Through his writing, Livaneli immerses readers in a world where the promised "40 virgins in heaven" are now on earth for man's selfish desires. In a world where following your heart means a death sentence. When I say heart I mean roots, traditions, and the essence of one’s identity and purpose in the universe. But also love. This narrative is not just about tragedy; it's a love story that explores the profound beauty and poetry of the fertile crescent, the longing for the Eternal Beloved with a heart full of yearning.
When I was a child, Islam…was something different. It was a tender world…When the children insisted on fasting during Ramadan, the adults would say fine, fast for three days, one day at the beginning, one in the middle and one at the end, then add a zero and it will be thirty. Despite our insistence, we couldn’t wait for the breaking of the fast: we would secretly drink water and eat food we’d purloined from the kitchen. They never chided us for this…But now the atmosphere was closed, the city had been darkened by the shadow of a sterner, angrier Islam.
Livaneli depicts to striking effect the changes that have occurred in the country during the past decade of dictatorship. His protagonist remembers the easygoing, tolerant Islam of his youth and contrasts it with the harsh, angry conservatism that’s taken hold in recent years; an Islam that feels it’s got something to prove.
A friend asked me if I find it difficult to read such graphic novels depicting the realities of Middle East. I replied, but of course, I ain’t no psychopath. I feel them deeply in every cell. But I also think this is the way we can keep alive their story. The story of the people who despite all ‘harese’ they chose love, they chose to believe, they chose to create long-lasting beauty. It’s my tribute to their culture, it’s the way I validate their suffering and pain.