The Book of Salt: The Book of Loneliness

The Book of Loneliness

At finishing the last sentence of The Book of Salt, my mind was left in the blank, and I could not catch actual themes to textualize in pages without hesitation for a while. This was because of – partly, as a matter of fact, I have not had enough mental space to allow someone (even if he or she is fictional) to enter my mind due to my personal urgency, recently– the difficulty of understanding the text, narrated from the first-person point of view narrator’s non-linear narration, consisted of fluctuations of time-fragments and his stream of consciousness.

I only glanced at my vague understandings of the plot and complex feelings. But simultaneously, I was also able to notice me having sympathetic, empathetic responses to Bihn’s emotional fragments from his sufferings as being a diaspora, colonized, and sexual minority. One of the most crashing sentiments or emotional fragments seeped into my mind was his loneliness caused by emotional, physical, and environmental isolations.

Right, this is to say, from the beginning the end of the story narrated by one narrator, one protagonist, one (voiced) character, one protagonist, and alone; I could see Bihn, who is situated or situates himself, in staying only lonely states, as a symbol of incarnated loneliness.

Loneliness, Isolated from His Past Mother Land

The main reason that I interpret him as the incarnated loneliness is his repetitive statements, “I stand there still” (164, 174, 248, 248, 249). When he states, “I stand there still,” he evokes his remembrances with his father and mother, bound in his homeland, Vietnam. The remembrances, complexly mixed with negative and positive aspects – traumatic responses from his father’s abuse and nostalgic feelings with his mother, bring back him to the past setting where he can never go back. Being isolated unintentionally from the past of loving-and-hatred-place and being psychologically stuck in the middle ocean between the past and present worlds, he seems to easily get this emotion: gloomy, unavoidable loneliness from the perpetual loss of his home. Thus, he reflects himself on his desolation, stating, “I looked up, and I saw you standing next to a mirror reflecting the image of a wiry young man with deeply set, startled eyes. I looked up, and I was seeing myself beside you. I am at sea again, I thought. Waves are coursing through my veins. I am at sea again” (36).

Loneliness, Isolated from Mother Tongue

Like his lost land where becomes physically unreachable and only visible in imagination, his native language is isolated and alienated by him and his surrounding environments. In his present world, his mother tongue, as well as his ethnicity and nationality related to his language (considered as one collective feature of “Indo-Chinese” by western colonizers) becomes also useless, incommunicable, and untruthful. But at the same time, even when he acquires the second language, the language of colonizers, he senses losing of originality and his deprived desire by using the second language that cannot be a barrel to express what exactly he is or to define himself. Consecutively, he states these insuperable difficulties, saying, “The irony of acquiring a foreign tongue is that I have amassed just enough cheap, serviceable words to fuel my desires and never, never enough lavish, imprudent ones to feed them” (11), and “The vocabulary of servitude is not built upon my knowledge of foreign words but rather on my ability to swallow them” (13).

Loneliness, Isolated from His identity

From the loss of two essential traits, the homeland and mother language, which compose one’s original identity, he is finally not able to trust the binary himself just as he is being left in the ocean between two worlds, being stuck. This impossibility of the coexistence of dual identities drives him into the severest isolation from even himself. Eventually, he expresses him as “no longer able to trust the sound of my own voice, I carry a small speckle mirror that shows me my face, my hands, and assures me that I am still here” (18).

Likewise, even though he can see himself in the mirror, his identity is still in the eternal transition and migrating progress from somewhere to somewhere, being stuck in the middle of elsewhere.

Therefore, albeit he hears someone’s voice “What keeps you here?” as a reflection of himself and he sees “how that body is so receptive to the list of a full October moon,” sadly, I inevitably expect that he will not and cannot permanently escape from the everlasting loneliness from dual isolations.

A Walk With Me, Her, and Him in Nadeem Aslam’s The Blind Man’s Garden

    I would like to start with the reason for writing this blog post, which is to answer the question “Why should you read this book?” Well, because it’s great. Ok, too vague, but Nadeem Aslam offers you a chance to do something people only talk about doing, which is to walk a mile in another person’s shoes. Now I know you think you can say that about any book, but you really can’t, and this is an important approach for migration narration literature. Take Monique Truong’s The Book of Salt, for example, that begins in medias res. You are already in the middle or end of the main character’s journey and then looking back on what it took to get there. In The Blind Man’s Garden, however, right at the beginning, the reader is preparing for a journey with the characters in the story and explores all the emotions and preparations that go into preparing for the journey- considering family, lovers, what to pack, and everything else everyone considers when preparing for a journey, and that's the point- it’s the same process for everyone. The preparation of the journey is universal and humanizing. 

What is also striking about the beginning of the book is how calm is it despite being about a set of family and friends in Afghanistan during the American War on Terrorism against Afghanistan. If I gave you a two sentence plot summary of the book, the first sentence is sure to mention the war, and you can’t help but imagine the opening of the book resembling something like the opening of Saving Private Ryan, but it’s not that at all. The reader is thinking about old lovers with the characters, rekindling old friendships with the characters, and mourning the loss of loved ones with the characters. This seems like a concerted effort on the part of the author to humanize the characters, but why? Because it works. Take the Harry Potter series for example. The reader begins the journey with Harry, allowing readers to learn and grow with the character, which allows for a deeper understanding and connection between the experiences of the character to the experiences of the reader. Aslam’s choice to approach The Blind Man’s Garden in this way allows American readers to connect with the people in the book on a human level instead of just that country (as a collective) we fought for a decade. If the story began in the middle of a missile attack or war scene, then the whole tone of the story changes to something resembling American Sniper, or another scenario, where the reader might be tempted or forced to choose a side. The characters are living through the war just as American citizens are (ok, not exactly the same way), but the point is made when the author chooses to mention the birds in cages in the trees. Although symbolic, of course, it also feels like a menial thing to worry about in comparison to a major war. Although a war is going on, there are other things still happening, other prayers that seem just as important, other tasks to complete, and other things to think about, despite the war, but also, because of the war. 

 

In an interview with author Nadeem Aslam, he says that the wars began due to an “incomplete understanding of the West and an incomplete understanding of the East.” The book aids in bridging that gap in understanding through a very universal storyline- a love triangle. The love triangle, whether or not this was the intention of the author, creates the opportunity to love two people because neither is all good or all bad, and also to love, or see value, in two countries- America and Afghanistan- because neither is all good and neither is all bad. 

Want to know the difference between mindfulness and awareness? Read The Blind Man's Garden

Everyone remembers where they were or what they were doing when the tragic events on September 11^th took place. I distinctly remember the eerie silences that punctuated the news-anchor’s broadcast from my mom’s car radio. The phrases “towers falling”, “smoke”, and “American panic” separated the silences over and over, long after I walked into—and out of—my orthodontist appointment that morning. I remember the pain in the news anchors voice on that day as I vividly remember the silences and the sharp, tightened pain in my mouth: my teeth were adorned with double-wrapped red, white, and blue braces. Pain was everywhere.

I was mindful of all that pain, but not aware of the extent of just how many people were mourning that day—and the days after.

In my mind, there is a sharp difference between mindfulness and awareness. Mindfulness focuses on our perception of the present moment while awareness shifts our attention outward to the space and people outside of and around us. Time and again we must make the jump of looking outside of ourselves to appreciate and understand what is going on in the world.

It is a difficult thing to do, especially in times of crisis.

Published in 2013, Nadeem Aslam's The Blind Man's Garden intertwines the roles of mindfulness and awareness as Jeo and Mikal make their way away from, and back to, their home in small-town Pakistan before and after the September 11 attacks. Their friends and family wrestle with Jeo and Mikal’s presence as well as absence, and struggle with the balance of using mindfulness or awareness to deal with loss, death, and frustration about the pain and violence within and around Pakistan.

For the longest time I was riled up and angry about what happened on 9/11; my eyes bulged, and mouth was agape after seeing pictures of fallen buildings and horrified expressions from the onlookers in New York. I had the shocking pains of a wizened older woman in an eight-year-old body. My negative, mindful emotions were the exact opposite of the outward awareness characters like Jeo show in the novel. At one point, we come across an intimate moment between Jeo and Mikal. The narrator explains, “If love was the result of having caught a glimpse of another's loneliness, then he [Jeo] had loved Mikal since they were both ten years old.”

This quote hit home for me because Jeo is using awareness of others outside of his own inward observations to figure out how he can best help and be there for his friend. I have never thought of friendship, or understanding both sides of a horrid situation, in the same way as Jeo does in the above quote. As do many people, I try to stay away from immense amounts of sadness or loneliness because I soak up those feelings like a sponge. The aftermath of 9/11 is no exception to this, either. However, as a young American—as a person—I think I need to be able to be vulnerable enough now to attempt to look at the story of 9/11 from both (or more) sides. The Blind Man’s Garden gives us the opportunity to do just that; and I was finally able to abate the pain, rage, and frustration of my eight-year-old self. 

Whether it was the news, radio, or word of mouth from others, I was not given any other side of the story about 9/11 until I was much, much older. However, those narratives were presented to me in fragments and were pieces of mindfulness under the veil of awareness. The fragments of mindfulness were focused on American citizens and America as a whole—what about Pakistan? What about the men, women, and children who, like Jeo, Rohan, Mikal, and others, were reeling from the events of 9/11?

After 9/11 happened, I didn’t feel comfortable talking about the loss or pain at school; after I finished reading The Blind Man’s Garden, I was uncomfortable because of the realization that the narratives I was given and narratives I focused on completely sliced out the narratives that I needed to hear and see and know to get a better grasp on the event and how it affected people who were not Americans and lived outside of the U.S. As I glanced down at the last page of Aslam’s novel, I felt like I was living out the phrase “but the child is silent, looking as though he would rather understand than speak.” I needed to understand outside perspectives instead of just talk about them; mindfulness can only get us so far in the present. We are always looking outward to others to understand and appreciate what is going on every day. However, sometimes I berate myself because I continually look inward to appreciate what is going on outside of myself.

It is not about me. It is not about you. The world does not revolve around us and us alone.

Blind Man’s Garden, if anything, shows readers the implications of looking outward and being cognizant of how we move and interact and think by being aware of what is going on outside of our circles, “bubbles”, or communities.

The Blurred Lines of Good and Bad in The Blind Man's Garden

Much of the American narrative of the war against terrorism has been in the perspective that we are the “good guys'' trying to do the “right thing” by going against the “bad guys.” (From a political standpoint, this makes sense because waging war has to be justified at a certain level for people to accept it.) However, this overly simplified war narrative divides groups of people by forcing them to pick sides. Since the 9/11 terrorist attacks, xenophobic attitudes particularly against Muslims, Arabs, and people who “looked” Middle Eastern persisted in the United States. People who “looked” Muslim became easy targets for discrimination. They were picked out of airport security lines. They faced discrimination because of their faith. 

 

In hindsight and almost twenty years since 9/11, some of us may have learned that we cannot and should not make assumptions about entire groups of people. As a British Pakistani himself, Nadeem Aslam writes The Blind Man's Garden with a deeper understanding of the culture and experience post-9/11. While The Blind Man's Garden interweaves various individual themes of human nature, love, family, and war, the novel especially helps to understand the complexities that exist beyond the false dichotomy of American values and Islamic fundamentalism.

 

Through the perspectives of various characters, Nadeem Aslam shows that there is not just one true antagonist. One of the ways Aslam does this is through the comparison he uses between the American war against terrorism and the crusades. The word “crusades” pops up multiple times throughout the novel. The author uses it in a way that is beyond just understanding history. He makes the connection that historically and at the current moment of wartime in the novel not much has changed, especially the cultural and social status of the main characters. At one point, the word “crusade” appears in the rhetoric of the US President in the “first speech he gave after the terrorist attacks” (183). As the reader and as an American, it is hard not to be surprised that such word choice was used by the political leader of a country that prides itself on freedom and diversity. 

Similarly, this cyclical feeling of history is evident in the scene where Naheed starts reading a history book. She looks through a timeline and thinks about “what was occurring in Christian lands in the early fifteenth century of the Christian era” (267). Also, she wonders if things get better in Pakistan and Islam in the historical context. Naheed reads on to figure out it does not. She is forced to accept her current realities by examining similar historical cases of hate, discrimination, and war. In reflection of this scene, once again, it seems like much has not changed since that point in history. 

Another way that the author tries to reveal the complicated nature of people and move away from the strict binaries of good/bad or American/Afghan is through the specific situations of the characters themselves. For example, once the audience understands and connects with the Mikal at a humanly level, the messages that American schoolchildren send through letters to soldiers is rather disorienting. They write “Go Get the Bad Men and I Hope You Kill Them All and Come Home Safely” (165). This makes the reader question. Who are the “bad men” anyway? Is it even right to make value judgments with just the traits visible to the eye? These seemingly innocent children are the outcomes of a simplified political narrative of just “us” being good and “them” being bad. 

The reader quickly catches on that the novel muddles identities and categories as we know it. 

Due to the complexity of characters, it is difficult to clearly distinguish between what is right and wrong or good and bad. At an individual level of the story, Mikal is in love with the wife of Jeo, his foster brother. Jeo’s father, Rohan, allowed his wife’s death due to his religious beliefs. At a cultural and political level, the American soldiers (whom we honor and celebrate for their military service) torture innocent people. If the audience were to make a value judgment of these characters’ decisions, most would agree that the characters are “bad.” Many might possibly describe them as antagonistic or at the very least feel morally uncomfortable about them.

Through this novel, Aslam may have wanted to allow his readers to experience the complexities that exist in people’s daily lives as well as in the perceptions of groups during wartime. Aslam shows us that stories of people cannot be simplified, and he teaches us the dangers of such a narrative. Similarly, in her Ted Talk, Dalia Mogahed jokes that some people see Muslims as “an airport security line delay.” For those who misunderstand and are quick to judge Muslims and the Islamic religion, Mogahed argues “ISIS has as much to do with Islam as the Ku Klux Klan has to do with Christianity.” The post-9/11 story in The Blind Man's Garden reminds us that fear makes us think in defensive ways; it also teaches us that we easily fear what is different from us. Perhaps, Aslam is helping us understand how fear and hate along with a “us vs. them” mentality is not only divisive but also costly. Perhaps, we are able to appreciate the "garden" and the beauty of life when we are blind to the differences that we are quick to use for our judgments.

Reading “The Blind Man’s Garden” Teaches Us What It Means To Love One’s Neighbor

 

There is a verse in the Bible that says, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:13 NIV) It also says that, “And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” (Matthew 22:39 NIV). I raise these verses because I think they are relevant for the times we live in.

I know loving our neighbor is a huge call. And moreso, answering the question of who our neighbor is, is not merely a function of locality. Rather, all humankind are our neighbors. 

When Jesus walked the earth, he once told a parable of the Good Samaritan. A parable being an earthly story with a heavenly meaning. In the parable, a man is overtaken by robbers and beaten and left on the side of the road to die. Jesus shared the parable in talking in the context of loving our neighbor. To highlight the point, he talks about a priest, then a Levite, both “religious” men passing by without stopping to offer assistance. But then a Samaritan, one that was viewed as less than by the Jews comes along, stops and renders aid. (Luke 10: 25-37 NIV) 

The inference being that everyone is our neighbor and we ought to have concern for one another. Never has this been more important than in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic.  

In “The Blind Man’s Garden”, Naheed Aslam uses a multitude of characters to show the depth of love that men and women can and should have for each other. Set in the months following 9/11, the terrorist attacks on American soil, the destruction of the Twin Towers and the attack on the Pentagon. In the novel, Aslam reveals a fictional account of the impact the Afghan war has on one family’s lives.

Published in 2013, “The Blind Man’s Garden” is set between Pakistan and Afghanistan. Aslam’s narrative traverses the depths of humankind’s heart in the novel weaving a beautiful and poignant account of what the people of Afghanistan and Pakistan felt towards the war in Afghanistan, thoughts about the U.S. and the impact the war had on the lives of men and women. Through the account we get not only a war story but a story of love, loss and grief. More importantly we see how concern for the lives of our neighbors, family and friends can influence every choice we make.

I think we see the same thing in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic here in the U.S. For example, mask wearing. Since the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) issued its mask wearing recommendation for the U.S. public in instances where you can not maintain six feet distance between you and any person outside of your household, we have seen a division among U.S. citizens. There are those who follow the CDC recommendation even donning two masks, while others refuse to adhere to the recommendation. 

Without warning, something as simple as wearing a mask became a political issue. Something to be fought over. We’ve been asked to do it for our neighbor, if we can’t do it for ourselves. 

Yet early on, we have had political figures who refuse to set an example for the U.S. public by consistently following the CDC’s recommendation for mask wearing. This rises to the highest level of the political spectrum with the Trump administration shunning and discounting medical experts and their opinions. There is a trickle down effect that we have to be concerned about.

However, in “The Blind Man’s Garden”, we see a difference. As an example, Jeo, the son of Rohan, the novel’s title character. His mother died when he was a child. Jeo is a young newly married medical student. While Aslam never really highlights Jeo’s political or religious leanings, he does reveal that Jeo is a loving and caring soul. A young man concerned with the sanctity of human life. He is a young man with everything to lose and nothing to gain. Rather than shirk from the possibility of death, Jeo volunteers to go to Afghanistan to help take care of wounded Afghan civilians. Jeo’s journey to Afghanistan was not for himself, but for his neighbor. He saw a need and took steps to do what he knew he could do to assist.

We also see a concern for not only a neighbor but for one’s chosen family in Mikal in “The Blind Man’s Garden”. Mikal was an “almost-brother” to Jeo. Aslam describes the relationship as “This blood-love in everything but name. Mikal was ten years old when he and his older brother came to live at Jeo’s house.” Raised together by Rohan, Jeo and Mikal had been inseparable from childhood with complete trust in one another. Mikal’s father had been a communist who was arrested and presumed dead and his mother had died when Mikal was 10. Rohan took the Mikal and his older brother Bassie in and raised them as his own. 

As young men, Mikal and Jeo loved the same woman unbeknownst to Jeo. Jeo doesn’t learn of his wife Naheed’s prior relationship with Mikal until he and Mikal make a fateful trip into Afghanistan. Jeo volunteered to serve his neighbors even though he had only been married 12 months. When Jeo discovers Mikal's stash of love letters from Naheed, his world is shattered on multiple levels. 

Still, even the fact that Jeo had married the woman he [Mikal] loved, nothing could stop the commitment that Mikal had for Jeo. Mikal showed himself to be the kind of man who would give his life for his brother but more importantly, he proved to be the type of man that would give his life for his “neighbor”. 

As we follow Mikal’s story, we see even after being sold to American’s as a supposed member of the Taliban, Mikal’s duty to Jeo is not broken. While under interrogation time after time Mikal asks after Jeo’s health, seeking the good of his brother. 

Further, when asked what he thought of the destruction of the Twin Towers by his interrogator, he says, “It was a disgusting crime.”

Although Mikal ends up killing two American soldiers in fear of his life, we see the love for one’s neighbor when he risks his life to save a wounded American soldier he has found wounded in the desert. Although they are captured by a tribal warlord and Mikal is ultimately released, he goes back to rescue the American soldier.

With their pursuers hot on their tail, Mikal and the wounded soldier are forced to board themselves up in a mosque to call for help. Mikal has seen American soldiers in the area and knows if the soldier can speak over the mosque’s call to worship public address system, that the soldiers will come rescue the American. When the public address system fails to work, Mikal sacrifices a trinket that his love Naheed had given him to remember her by to make the electric connection the system needed to work.

One final example of showing love for one’s neighbor is found in Rohan. A bird pardoner had unscrupulously and dishonestly placed snares to catch birds in Rohan’s beautiful garden without Rohan's permission. A garden that Rohan found great comfort in because it reminded him of his late wife. When the bird pardoner fails to return to take down the snares he had set to capture birds at the appointed time, neighbor boys help to remove the snares. Birds had been suffering and dying for days caught in the snares.

When the bird pardoner finally does return for his snares, he shares that his son has been captured by an Afghan warlord who is demanding ransom for his release. Without the means to pay, the man and his wife are distraught. Rohan, says that he will go with the man to get his boy back. It’s important to note that Rohan is an elderly man, beyond fighting age and is going blind. However, he and the bird pardoner embark on a journey to bring the young man home. The son’s name just happens to be Jeo, the same as Rohan's son whom he loved. 

Rohan takes a valuable red ruby that has Koran verses inscribed on it, a jewel that had belonged to his late wife Sofia. Jeo had taken the jewel after his mom’s death and swallowed it. A jeweler appraises the gem at 50,000 rupees, more than enough to pay the 20,000 rupees demanded as ransom for the bird pardoner's son Jeo.  

Despite the value the gem held for his family, Rohan plans to use the gem as payment for the boy's ransom. In spite of the risk to his own life, Rohan goes with the bird pardoner into the face of danger to rescue a boy he has never met. All he knows is that the boy is being tortured and he happens to share the same name as his son. 

When Rohan sees the number of boys held captive by the Afghan warlord, knowing that he, the bird pardoner and the son have barely made it out of the warlord's compound alive, Rohan with no regard for himself, steps in front of an American tank to try and get a group of American soldiers driving by the warlord's compound to intercede on the other prisoners' behalf.  

This is being a neighbor. This is being willing to lay down one’s life for another. This is standing up for justice for what is right. This is what thinking about others looks like.

“The Blind Man’s Garden” really should cause us to examine the ideals that we hold dear. What are we willing to do to help others? What are we willing to do to serve our neighbor? I remember in the days, weeks and months after the Twin Towers the sense of unity Americans had. The sense of looking out for one another even as we fought the War on Terrorism. 

What would happen to the death toll of this pandemic if we took on that same unified stance that we had against terrorism in the early days after 9/11 and tackled this pandemic together, as neighbors?

I close with a line from the book that says, “History is the third parent.” If history has taught us nothing, it ought to have taught us that caring for our neighbor is what sustains a society, therefore, we ought to go about doing that if we are to overcome this pandemic.

In a Time of Deep Divisions, "The Blind Man's Garden" Teaches Compassion for the 'Enemy'

 

“History is the third parent.” This bold declaration is the opening statement of Nadeem Aslam’s novel, The Blind Man’s Garden and serves the purpose of reminding readers that no matter how seemingly righteous the fight, history declares no ultimate winners.

 

Among the first signs of human evolution was when one autonomous group of pre-literate beings organized enough to wreak ferocious havoc upon another group of beings. In other words, the declaration and act of war. Whether war is waged in defense of livelihood, perpetuation of religion, or revenge for a wrong, history teaches us that the costs of war are high. Aslam’s novel, The Blind Man's Garden, places human faces upon the American enemy during the War Against Terrorism, an uncomfortable but necessary feeling for many American readers.

The plot of this book is one completely relatable to any culture: two men, raised as brothers, fall in love with the same girl. They run off during the war with a hero complex and dreams of saving the lives of their fellow man. Meanwhile, the girl of their dreams is left behind, along with a father, to deal with increasingly intolerant fundamentalist organization that has growing military and political power. One of the protagonists dies and the other is left to suffer through terrible trials while attempting to get back to the woman he loves. The very humanness of the storyline creates connections between reader and those living in Afghanistan in the early days of the American invasion. It makes the Afghan “enemy” visibly human and not just a faceless mass that inhabits a country that just delivered a devastating blow to American citizens on American soil. This is the first step of creating compassion for those labeled enemy.

Jeo and Mikal, the foster brother protagonists of the novel, are the embodiment of every young adult seeking to make a mark upon the world by doing something good. History teaches us that these types of young men are the finders of continents and the discoverers of world wonders. These two are no different. Supposedly leaving their native Afghanistan for Pakistan, the men are heading to treat casualties of a war about which they know very little. They only know there are not enough people to provide aid to the wounded.  However, they decide to go to the front lines of the war instead, hoping to be more help in a more desperate situation. You can feel the desire of these young men to do good for others in need as well as the typical male attraction for grand adventure supposedly found at ground zero of every romanticized war. Soon, Jeo is dead, leaving behind his wife, Naheed, and Mikal is sold as a fake “terrorist” to the American soldiers by an Afghani woman seeking revenge against Jeo’s and Mikal’s father. With an underlying message of blind hate and blundering military occupation, Mikal suffers mightily at the hands of American military members who assume every young male in Afghanistan is guilty of terroristic activity. Most of us know many American men of the same age as Mikal and Jeo, with the same desires, and suddenly the atrocities inflicted upon Mikal and Jeo are less anonymous and more someone’s brother, uncle, son. This is step two of Aslam’s ability to generate kindness from readers whose families might be on the opposite side as his characters.

Another character, Naheed, sheds light on the marginalization of women within Afghanistan and surrounding countries during this time period. Historically, women of all cultures have been members of a lesser class at some point or another, particularly in Islamic cultures. Aslam presents his characters as enlightened practioners of Islam (mostly) and this is seen clearly as Naheed transforms herself from a woman who married a man (Jeo), not for love but because of societal expectations to a woman who seeks out the man she desires (Mikal) despite intense disapproval. Additionally, she denounces cultural superstitions and discriminations against women, and goes on to have both a relationship and a child with Mikal. In fact, we see Naheed, and Jeo’s sister Basie (interestingly named after the famous American musician, Count Basie) bond together in determination to become more than what they are told they should be. This fierceness to prevail over decades of persecution and suppression is part of the history and foundation of America. By creating a character so easily relatable to western ideologies, Aslam opens the minds of readers who might not otherwise be so willing to see Afghani women as more than shunned and beaten wives of barbaric fundamentalists. To be clear, Aslam is not trying to Westernize Afghanistan but only wants to showcase the commonalities between the peoples of different countries. Here is step three of Aslam’s model of compassion for the enemy.

Even the descriptions of Afghanistan are written in such a way that literary analysts find themselves comparing the rugged, mountainous terrain of Mikal’s and Jeo’s homeland to that of the American West. Without eliminating what makes the Afghan mountains and villages unique and using rich, descriptive language, Aslam draws connections from this country to the lands of North America. For readers, this is yet another subtle hint that citizens of American and citizens of Afghanistan have more in common that initially believed. While there is no denying that a terrorist group from Afghanistan delivered the first blow of the war, both sides of the war experienced atrocities for which they did nothing to deserve.

A final thought about Aslam’s novel. Aslam’s family moved from Pakistan to Britain when he was 14. His father was a communist and the governing body of Pakistan at the time was pro-American and anti-communist. He became an immigrant due to forced migration, and as such, Aslam was exposed to many of the difficulties that migrants face: displacement, discrimination, lack of inclusion, no sense of true identity, and marginalization. These experiences no doubt contributed to Aslam’s ability to describe similar scenarios genuinely and intuitively within his novel. His status as an immigrant created both advantages and disadvantages that are reflected in his characters and in his desire to expose his readers to this reality.

History has exposed the detriment of miscommunications and misunderstandings. These human fallacies have caused wars for centuries. History has equally shown that understanding breeds compassion and compassion for others can prevent atrocities. And there is little doubt that America could use a bit more understanding and compassion for those on the other side of any war.