Anthony Shadid (1968–2012)

Knowing that "House of Stone" was a National Book Award Non-Fiction Nominee for 2012, and that Anthony Shadid was a Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, I was eager to pick up this book. But only very few books prove to have universal appeal, and this book proved that point to me.

I wanted to enjoy it, and tried to like it, but it just wasn't a book for me. It's really something of a memoir of the author, and the book focused on the rebuilding of a long-held family home in Lebanon, built by the author's great-grandfather and having fallen into disrepair over the years. But home improvement projects are fraught with mishaps under the best of circumstances even in the most modern Countries, and reading about his Lebanese construction and contractor problems wasn't surprising nor of much interest to me. The acceptance of a work culture as Shadid described, where a promise of "tomorrow" simply means "sometime in the future", failed to make me sympathetic to his project. (Personal disclaimer: To be perfectly honest, the fact that as a young man, I found myself on the wrong side of a knife-wielding street thug on the streets of Beirut many years ago may still be dimming my enthusiasm for Shadid's description of the people, the culture, and the land). However, if you can lose yourself in Shadid's descriptions of a new and novel place, you may well find the narrative somewhat more compelling, but I found no purpose in his writing. Had Shadid been able to add a little more detail about the specific historical turmoil in the region, and personalized that a little more, I might have found the book a little more interesting.… (mehr)

I registered this book at BookCrossing.com!
http://www.BookCrossing.com/journal/14429514

Journalist Anthony Shadid grew up in the U.S. but wanted to forge more of a connection to his past family. He retreated to the home originally built by Isber Samara, Anthony's great-grandfather, in Marjayoun, Lebanon. Built to last for generations, the house was vacant and had suffered not only the ravages of time but also unfortunate remodels for those who lived there over the years. It was hard to see what a magnificent structure it once was.

Isber built it for his family. To be a home and a place to visit for his descendants. Yet he himself was forced to send his children off to a distant land - the United States - when their existence was threatened by continuous war. Anthony, growing up in Oklahoma among many Lebanese immigrants, had a sense of what it could be like to be among family, among generous family, for eternity. He wanted to restore that house and all it meant.

The house belonged to the family, which was spread all over the world. Nobody was taking care of it, however. Because Anthony's ownership was actually a very small part of the total, many people in Marjayoun advised against doing anything to it. They told him stories of others who had such ambitious dreams and who spent much on homes, only to have others in the family challenge them later. But Anthony's mind was made up.



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