A Trumpet in the Wadi is difficult for me to rate because I'm not sure I can even understand it.

This is the second novel I can recall reading that's set primarily in Israel, and in both instances I found the novels nearly impenetrable. There are interesting insights and beautiful images, but the influence of the culture is just so foreign to me, I can't really comprehend the characters' actions and motivations. I can't figure out why sometimes they remain silent and other times they lash out. I can't understand the concept of covering for one's actions for the sake of propriety or tradition. I can't even picture the landscape.

Some of this bafflement is represented in the character of Alex, a Jewish immigrant from the Soviet Union, but while his confusion might make me feel a little more at home in my own confusion, his perspective doesn't help me to understand because the perspective of someone from the Soviet Union is nearly as foreign to me as the perspective of Arab Christians in Israel.

The main feeling I take away from this novel is of being an outsider. Not only am I an outsider reading it, but essentially all of the characters are outsiders, too. They've all had to try and piece together through trial and error who they are and how to act in different situations. I suspect I do this to one degree or another within my own culture in the United States---where I, incidentally, often feel like an outsider even though I was born here---but I think the paradigm here of equality makes it difficult for me to conceptualize the strict religious, ethnic, and class boundaries in the Haifa of Michael's novel.

Reading about these characters I think, why don't they just move somewhere else? They don't have to stay in Israel, do they? But Alex, the immigrant, even addresses this issue. He's essentially stateless, and anywhere he goes he'll be foreign, will struggle to speak the language, to understand and be understood. His best bet, it seems, is to stick with one thing and make the most out of that situation.

Which is really kind of depressing.

I like to think that we're all humans and as such, we're more alike than we are different, but do I really have strong evidence to back up this belief? ( )

A Trumpet in the Wadi is difficult for me to rate because I'm not sure I can even understand it.

This is the second novel I can recall reading that's set primarily in Israel, and in both instances I found the novels nearly impenetrable. There are interesting insights and beautiful images, but the influence of the culture is just so foreign to me, I can't really comprehend the characters' actions and motivations. I can't figure out why sometimes they remain silent and other times they lash out. I can't understand the concept of covering for one's actions for the sake of propriety or tradition. I can't even picture the landscape.

Some of this bafflement is represented in the character of Alex, a Jewish immigrant from the Soviet Union, but while his confusion might make me feel a little more at home in my own confusion, his perspective doesn't help me to understand because the perspective of someone from the Soviet Union is nearly as foreign to me as the perspective of Arab Christians in Israel.

The main feeling I take away from this novel is of being an outsider. Not only am I an outsider reading it, but essentially all of the characters are outsiders, too. They've all had to try and piece together through trial and error who they are and how to act in different situations. I suspect I do this to one degree or another within my own culture in the United States---where I, incidentally, often feel like an outsider even though I was born here---but I think the paradigm here of equality makes it difficult for me to conceptualize the strict religious, ethnic, and class boundaries in the Haifa of Michael's novel.

Reading about these characters I think, why don't they just move somewhere else? They don't have to stay in Israel, do they? But Alex, the immigrant, even addresses this issue. He's essentially stateless, and anywhere he goes he'll be foreign, will struggle to speak the language, to understand and be understood. His best bet, it seems, is to stick with one thing and make the most out of that situation.

Which is really kind of depressing.

I like to think that we're all humans and as such, we're more alike than we are different, but do I really have strong evidence to back up this belief? ( )

Ad Haifa nel 1982 si incontranoe si amano un ebreo russo e un'araba cristiana. Interessante. ( )

Coming-of-age story set just before the First Lebanon War of two Christian Arab sisters living in the Wadi Nisnas of Haifa: one of them pregnant with the local mobster's son and negotiating a marriage with her cousin and the other seemingly doomed to staying unmarried until a Jewish dockworker moves in upstairs and mesmerizes her with his music. At the forefront is, unavoidably perhaps, the tension between the Arab and Jewish citizens, but also the clash between the various traditions of the cultures somehow attempting to coexist in the pressure-cooker which is Israel. The characters manage to be irritating and endearing at the same time and their choices, based on their own peculiarities or tradition or a merge of both, are understandable and commendable and frightfully tragic all at once. My only problem with the book is that it's not very long and some events that are merely hinted at would have been more fascinating were they described more fully. It is a poetic novel and its writer something of a master, so the gripe about the length may be mine alone. ( )