Harvard Book Store; WGBH Forum Network; Rabih Alameddine: The Hakawati

Prize winning historian Taylor Branch will discuss his new book The Clinton Tapes Wrestling History with the president. That event will be at the First Parish Church at seven o'clock. Tickets are $5 and they're still available for the registers next Monday night. Harvard Professor Nicholas Christakis will discuss his new book connected the surprising power of our social networks and how they shape our lives. That will also be the first our church at 7 and takes again five dollars available at the registers and next Tuesday night John Fremantle's will discuss the tyranny of email. The 4000 year journey to your inbox will be here in the store at 7:00 and it is free for information on these and other hard bookstore events. Please do pick up on October events fire at the information desk or you can always go online to Harvard dot com. Tonight I'm very excited to welcome Rabiya Almudena to Harvard bookstore to read from his novel The Hawk Awadi. Mr. Almudena is the author of three previous books including The Divine. He's also a successful painter and his work has been exhibited in galleries around the world. He is the recipient of a Guggenheim fellowship and he divides his time but

his time between San Francisco and Beirut. In Arabic the word HAIKERWAL do you mean something close to but more than storyteller and Mr. Almudena novel is a story about telling stories. Osama Al-Qur'an has returned home to Beirut from the United States to stand with his family at his father's death bed. A family of storytellers the novel progresses as a series of framed interwoven Tales from the family from history from literature and religion. The New York Times Book Review called the haka why the stunning work that expands our narrow vision transforming into one of multiplicity and chancing it with hope. We will follow Mr. Almudena reading with a question and answer session and we will end with the book signing right here at this table. Copies of the huck Awadi are available up the registers. We do ask that you purchase your copy before having it signed. And as always I thank those of you who do purchase the book tonight. By doing so you're supporting this local independent bookstore and this author series and making it possible for Harvard bookstores to bring outstanding storytellers like rubby Almaden to you.

So please join me in welcoming him to the podium. Hi. Thank you so much for coming. I really appreciate it. Thank you. To add to his introduction those what do you mean the storyteller. And it's a little different and then regular storytellers because in our part of the world there's more sort of the difference between Western performers and Middle Eastern performers particularly Arabic performance is audience interaction. Basically For example if a storyteller comes up to start to read people can start heckling. Heckling is encouraged. Just don't be mean. I'm too delicate. So it's basically more than just the performers sitting up here and reading

the audience interaction does not include cell phones. If you have them please send them off please. In any case the book is a novel it's a family story but it's it's divided into many different stories and it's always difficult to pick which ones to read. So forgive me if I pick the wrong one. I will read either three or four sections depending on the time. And this is the way audience interaction comes in and if you don't want me to read say the first section just. Listen. Allow me to be your God let me take you on a journey beyond imagining. Let me tell you a story. A long long time ago and Ymir lived in a distant land in a beautiful city a green city with many trees

an exquisite gurgling fountains whose sound lulled the citizens to sleep at night. Now they had everything except for the one thing his heart desire. He had well earned and inherited his beautiful wife. He had health. He had health and good to eat. He had status charm respect his beautiful wife loved him. His clan looked up to him. He had a good pedicurist twenty years he had been married twelve lovely girls but no son. What to do. He called his Vizier. Why his visit he said. I need your help. My lovely wife has been unable to deliver me a son as you know each of my Twelve girls is more beautiful than the other. They have milk white skin as smooth as the finest fruit from China. The glistening pearls from the Arabian Gulf paled next to their eyes. The lesser of their hair outshines the black dyes from the land of sin. The oldest has

17 poets singing her praises my daughters have given me much pleasure much to be proud of. Yet I yearn to see an offspring with a little penis running around my courtyard. A boy to carry my name in my honor. A future leader of our clan. I am at a loss. My wife says we should try once more but I cannot put her through all this again for another girl. Tell me what can I do to ensure a boy. The vizir for the thousands upon thousands time suggested his master take a second wife before it is too late. My lord it is obvious that your wife will not produce the boy. We must find someone who will. My man my liege is the only man within these borders who has only one wife. The emir had rejected the suggestion countless times and that they would be no different. He looked wistfully out onto his garden. I cannot marry another my dear Vizier. I

am terribly in love with my wife. She can be onery now and then vain for sure but silent an impetuous silly at times ill disposed toward the help even malicious and malevolent when angry. But still she has always been the one for me. Then produce the son with one of your slaves. Fatima. The Egyptian would be an excellent candidate. Her hips are more than adequate. Her breast had been measured in tremendous nominee. If I say so myself. But I have no wish to be with another. Sarah offered her options left her husband to produce a boy. If it was good enough for our profit it can be good enough for us. That night in their bedroom the Emir and his wife discuss their problem. His wife agreed with the vizir. I know you want a son she said but I believe it has gone beyond your desires. The situation is dire. Our people talk or wonder what will happen when you are sent to heaven. Who will lead our tribes. I believe some may wish to ask the

question sooner. I will kill them immediately. I will destroy them. Who dares question how I choose to live my life. Settle down and be reasonable. You can have intercourse with Fatema until she conceives. She is pretty available and amenable. We can have our boy through her. But I do not think I can. His wife smiled as she stood. Why not husband. I will attend and I will do that thing you enjoy. I will call Fatema and we can inform her of what we want. We will set an appointment for Wednesday night. Full moon when Fatima was told of their intentions. She did not hesitate. I am always at your service she said. However if the emir wishes to have a son with his own wife there is another way in my hometown of Alexandria. I know a woman whose powers are unmatched. She is directly descended female line from ankor herself by healer

and keep her off the ASP's if she is given a lock of my mistress's hair. She will be able to see why my mistress has not produced the boy and will give out the appropriate remedy. She never failed. But that is outstanding. Let me explain. I haven't sent my daughter Fatima. We must fetch her right away. Fatima shook her head. Oh no my lord. A healer can never leave her home. It is where her magic comes from. She would be helpless and useless if she were uprooted. Here my travel begin. But in the end to come into her full power she can never stray too far from home. I can travel with a lock of my mistress's hair and return with the remedy. Then go you must get me as I said the emir added. And may God guide you and light your way. So this is the first section at which time I take break and take some water and a part of the audience interaction action for just.

This. Because untyped see that part of audience interaction as well. So this next section. The narrator of the book is Osama. And at this point he's about 12 or 13 times probably in 1972 1973. He had just attended his grandfather's funeral. I assume most of you here know that in the Middle East whether it's Jewish or Muslim or Christian or in this case even Druze funerals tend to be the little bit over the top need a little bit. And the boy is dramatized. So in this section his uncle uncle Jihad is trying to make him

feel better. Are you feeling bad and asked uncle you had was at the funeral. Why did everybody have to shout so much. I asked. Aren't we supposed to have silent funerals. He sipped his drink slowly. Seemed to be having conversation with the ceiling and not me in principle but not in practice for how will the dead know that we love them. You know darling funerals used to be much more dramatic when I was your age believe it or not. They are quite are now more sedate. He and took another sip. Why I can just imagine what they will be like when you're my age now. Probably no one will show up. Bang bang bang and it's over. Mourners would arrive only if alcohol is being served like it. Irish funerals by the way I read this in Ireland. They weren't too pleased. Here I know why shrug of washrag over his head. It's only the funeral. My

sweet. You know some people flagellate themselves on the first day the third day the week and the 40 year. It's a never ending process. We have crazy funerals and that's it we're much more sane don't you think. I assumed the question was rhetorical. You're not buying any of this are you. I shook my head. Well listen a long long time ago he began when the Mongol hordes ran amok in our world. When Juncus can scorch the deserts of China and plundered the rest of the world after the barbarian King had burned that its final MBRD him a good one hundred thousand in Damascus and watch the street covered in rivers of blood after the Mongol general descended upon our fertile lands. My story begins. The General's brother to Conn was born. Can I ask. That's a bad pun. That's not even so good. You'd laugh a lot harder if you were Lebanese.

Don't interrupt my boy he replied his eyes aloft still wear white said dark and the vivified. I'm on a roll too. Khan was bored bored not bored. Now that's bad. Listen to Kant decided to have a feast. He brought the seven best cooks in the region and demanded that they create the greatest meal ever been served. The cooks toiled and slaved and came up with seven courses. The first course was exquisite. One oyster on a bed of lemon puree two can edit in one bite and wept for the taste was glorious to ensure that no one else would share the taste and thereby dilute his experience to can had the cook beheaded. The second course was soup a book an apple consume me so thin so clear so delectable and its creator was beheaded. Third was states sandals. Fourth was grilled pheasant. Faith was philémon

you offered all their heads. The sixth was rack of lamb of course. Two can could not believe his tongue. His jaws extended farther moved toward the plate. Within minutes his mouth was a hands with in front of his face. Two can I said. Precisely. And we killed the penultimate cook. Now the seventh Cook was Beirut. He was no fool and was in no mood to be killed. He made creme brulee using the milk of cows that had drunk their water in using the milk of cows it had drunk their water from the Litani River to Canada's first bite and whipped again creamy smooth impeccable but before his second bite his stomach crumbles. He licked the spoon in his stomach. He had a bowel movement before the third bite and it wouldn't relent. The never ending stool blub blub. Diarrhoea dysentery to come didn't have time to move. He

saw dispence and the glorious Paisley infected textile he'd been sitting on. I'm quite alright to said but he really wasn't. He lost five kilos within the first hour. Three more in the second and then another three in the third rumble rumble. His stomach wouldn't stop self-evacuated. He refused to sleep sitting up and had his slave placed him on the edge of his bed with his ankle in stirrups so he could find out unincumbered Boom-Boom all night. His Daddy-O was so explosive he was hitting the wall across the room painting an abstract expressionist mural. Nothing great. Mind you mediocre painting informed by Krassner by morning Dukan was dead wasted away into a stigma. The bereave Jenkins refused to have his brother buried in exile for his soul would remain on Earth eternally searching for home Jenkins. Jenkins would bury him with their ancestors. Grief sadness and grief sadness sorrow unmangled

funeral march began but grief sadness and sorrow weren't enough to commemorate a man its greatest you can and my uncles voice grew deeper more serious. No it wasn't enough along the way. The funeral procession killed every living thing it encountered. Entire villages cities men women children generations of babies not yet born animals. Birds trees shrubs flowers forests everything was smashed along the path from Beirut to land but more viscous trail of death and devastation to mark the funeral journey. He got the rest of his scotch. I waited for him to say something I guess we have it better now I said. He smiled nodded. I laughed nervously. So when did he matter Rita Hayworth. There. My uncle laughed. That's another story. Now you're telling me that Juncus can destroy Beirut as well. I thought it was Hulagu conquered the Middle East. Should I trust you. Never trust the teller he said.

Trust the tale. So that's the second part. Water break. No no no not that that's too involved. And I have to apologize. But reading I need reading glasses now. I got my first letter from the Army this week so I'm a little weirded out. But they're a little difficult to read with reading glasses on stage so I'm excusing that for my nervousness. OK this one does not need an introduction it's just sort of his short fairy tale. Once not too long ago there was a little boy about the same age as you will with his family in a small village not unlike this one. Not too far from here. The family did not have much money.

The father was a stonemason. The mother looked after the house cooked delicious meals all the children had their own chores to do. Our boy was the family's shepherd. Every morning he would take the sheep out to pasture. He watched him graze make sure they did not wander and protected them from foxes wolves and marauding hyenas. The sheep liked him and trusted him. So they didn't stray far from our boy. His job became easy and every day he had time to play. At first he played with sticks and stones. He made a sheep pen by sticking twigs in four corners small stones where his sheep. But then the little lambs came into his make believe and clamor of stammering for his attention so he stopped playing with sticks and stones and became one of the Lambs jumped with them bent down and pretended to chew on the wild lavender bushes bleated with them. When he returned home that evening he wished he were a lamb because he had fun playing

before he went to sleep. He had parents arguing about money. We have so many mouths to feed the mother said. How can we find. How can we find enough for all of them. We have the sheep the father said. We have some money. I am working will survive. We have for generations but they kept on arguing and the boy slept fitfully. The following day he and the lambs played again watched over by the use. The boy and the lambs ran and jumped and jostled each other. He returned home very happy but when he opened the door to tell his parents all about his day he found them arguing. How could you have promised that. The mother asked. We don't have enough to feed our children. And now you want to have a feast. Have you no conscience. Don't you understand how bad our situation is. How dare you. The father yelled at the mother. This is the Bay we're talking about. It's an honor when he comes here. The house will be blessed. I don't understand how you can think of not

wanting him in your home. Most people would die for the opportunity. The mother whispered What has the day done for my family. The father slapped the mother. The boy ran into his room before he fell asleep. Our boy prayed. He wished he were a lamb and could play all day without any worries. He wished his family could be happy. He wished that he could be the one to provide them with happiness. He loved his family so much. He woke up he woke up the next day in the ship and he looked around and saw all his friends. The other lambs happy that he was in their midst. Finally one of them they bleated enjoy all of them pranced up and down the father and mother came out of the house together and work and walked and walked with the pen. Danger danger said the eldest you the evil ones are here. No no said our boy they are

not evil. They are my family. When those two show up together another sheep said one of us disappear. The father and mother came into the pen. They tried to figure which lamp to pick. Look at me the boy yelled. Look at me. Look at me. This one the mother said. He is noisy it looks plump and juicy The father added. He placed a noose around his boy's head and walked him out of the pen. The poor lamb. The eldest said as a sheep watched him being taken away. Daddy daddy the little lamb said I'm a lamb now. Isn't this a miracle. And his father took out the knife and slit his throat and the little lamb watched his own blood leave him and his father cut off his head and his father hanging from his ankle to drain him and his mother began to skin him with their own hands. She would lift a small part of his skin bunched between the skin and body lift. Punch left punch until she finally just got the last dead skin at the ankles and chin. And then she

chopped off his hands and feet and she took out all of his insides and his mother cooked him over a slow burning fire. His father waited. His mother cooked. His brothers helped set up the lunch table under a giant oak. His sisters clean the house and cleaned and cleaned. They got dressed in all the fineries. By lunchtime they were lined up waiting. The mother wondered where our boy was his brother suggested he must be daydreaming somewhere as usual. He had gotten out of doing the chores the sneaky brat the family waited and waited and waited. Finally the mayor arrived and said the boy had decided not to come to the village. The land was placed in the middle of the table. The whole family salivated you are dead yourself. The father told the mother. The lamb was particularly succulent the mother said and the boy felt his father say to him but your place children.

The mother said we'll get to have a great meal for a change and the boy felt his brothers bite into his flesh. He felt his sister's sumptuous pieces of him this day so good his brother said the best meal we've ever had. Sister said and the mother brought a brought out his stomach. His siblings fought over his intestines. You take this my dear. His father told his mother. I know you love it and you take this my dear. His mother told his father. For I know you love it and I am happy said the father and I am happy said the mother and the boy felt his mother into his testicles and the boy felt his father swallow a piece of his heart and the boy was happy. My psychiatrist told me not to read this case so last one this last one is narrated by Uncle jihad and he's telling us

about when he was a little boy. So Uncle Jihad is probably around 12 or 13. The time in Beirut is 1943. So he is recalling his days with pigeons. My father had. My father has a speech and stories and I have mine for life like a good tale repeats itself. I noticed my first flock of pigeons in the skies of Beirut when I was a boy of thirteen. They were always there but like most people I'd been oblivious noticed their existence once and you begin to see them everywhere all the time. I saw my first flock and ten minutes later I saw my second and then my third and fourth and all of a sudden my skies brimmed with pigeons. One afternoon while admiring of luck and flight I began to guess at the presence of magic. I was able to discern the art as well as the logic of flight pattern.

The resurrection was both gradual and instantaneous magic and as soon as I had my epiphany my eyes understood where to look for the locus of sorcery. Though I couldn't see him the wizard himself must have been on the roof of the three storey old building below the school the following afternoon. I ran to the building and asked about the pigeons. The shopkeeper on the ground floor told me to go up to the roof. The pigeon fancier and aged man realized I was a smitten boy. He allowed me to walk and look at his surprised collections. There were five cages on the roof. Each of them bigger than my bedroom one cage had young pigeons of different breeds another had only coupled pigeons. One was empty because the birds were being flown. I walked around and fell in love. I wanted to say something clever so that the pigeons who would like me and I'd be able to visit again. But my mind was numb. He was obviously a gentleman but I wonder whether he let me come

up a second time or third when he wouldn't. He quickly tired over a young boy wanting to spend time with pigeons. I got scared and started. Can I work for you. The pigeons looked me up and down he smiled and shook his head. No he said I was too young and obviously too good of a family to work for him. I went from taciturn to locations in less than a second. I told him that I could come every day after classes. He was only a few meters from the school and I was a fast learner and would do whatever he asked and never complained so that I looked like I was from a good family because I was going to a good school but I was from the mountains and my family was still up there and I really wanted to make sure tiny it became obvious that he was trying his best not to laugh out loud. He said he could only afford one lira a week which was a fortune and he knew it had I walked away when he told me he wouldn't hire me I would have failed the first test. He always said he knew the instant I came to the roof that I would end up a near that reside in the obsessive twinkle in

my eye. The man's name was Ali and he was a Shiite and he owned the old building. I showed up to work the following afternoon and founding arguing vociferously with come out on me. I'm a man who looked like his identical twin except he was a Catholic. Your brother of a whore wouldn't know what honor was if it's smacked you on the side of the head and say. And the other would reply. Honor your low life one to talk to me about honor. They were both 71 at the time and they were the exact same clothes except for the shoes jacket navy blue shirts and tailored pants that were worn in fray his shoes were black moccasins whereas camels were Burgundy. Both pairs comfortably needed by years of wear though their insults were getting worse and worse. They were standing close to each other in a relaxed posture. My shoulder conc mind reasoned that their arguing was a common occurrence. It turned out that only a tiny and command Peroni had been best friends since they were six years old.

They both they both swore to me that they had been insulting each other non-stop since 1898. They had lived through schooling work marriage family rearing widowhood to occupying powers one great war numerous small wars religious conflicts and independence without ever thinking of ceasing their rude insults. I felt I had entered the garden. This was my first interaction with the great city of Beirut. Of course I had been living there for over seven years since I was five but it seemed that I had only been a tourist like all cities Beirut had many layers and I had been familiar with one or two. I was introduced to that day with Alan Kemal was the Beirut of its people. You take different groups put them on top of each other simmer for a thousand years keep adding more and more strange stripes simmer for another few thousand years. Salt and pepper with religion and what you get is a delightful mess of a stew that's still a selectable and

exotic no matter how many times you partake of it. These men seem to have been together for eons and since they do out of conversation long ago all that was left was ribbing and mockery and repeating the great tales each other at the first lull in the fall shouting match. Not just me standing there and pointed at me he said this is the young man I told you about without even allowing him to finish the sentence KAMAHL yelled Run away young pup ran as fast as your legs can take you. Stay away from this invertor bit of a man was only intention is to worm his life into the life of his betters and feed on their lives for he has none of their own. See I told you I had found home of course and told me to ignore come out and begin and began to explain my duties. I had assumed I'd be cleaning up after the pigeons and feeding them but he already had another boy for that. No. He surprised me. He wanted me to seduce the birds

confounding task if I say so myself make them fall in love with you Ollie said. I want the pigeons to return home for you. I had no idea what he was talking about. I must have stood there staring at him like a fool which elicited gales of laughter from the two old coots. Don't worry young pup Kamila said. You'll soon understand lazy brain speech. He wants you to go into the cages with the birds and get them used to you. It's another one of those easy tasks that lazy brain can't master. So my job was to be with the pigeons. Spent time in the cages hold them and pet them if they liked me. That's what I understood and that's what I did for the first few days. I show up after school. The elderly twins would be chatting up a storm and arguing about little things and big things. I thought at first that there was nothing that they could agree on but I was wrong of course they could both agree that it was a lot of fun to tease me. Are you loving. Are you loving those two tumblers enough. I would ask and Ollywood that look at that

lemon. She seems to be moping because you're not paying enough attention to her. I get so flustered that I'd walk to the pigeons they were talking about and the pigeons would move out of my reach. I thought I could never get them to love me. Yes I was that gullible It was a wonderful part of Istanbul that I made a great deal beautiful to look at. Duckery feathers speckled with white and an orange. That seemed to have been inflated with an air pump. They'd grown to an immense size as big as chickens. They were inseparable and the cop seemed totally smitten with his mate. He'd go to her and she loved it four or five days after I had started. I was watching them and my world seemed to shrink to the size of those lovers. She strolled up on the ground jerkily pecking at Seeds and he followed her every step going and engrossed. She stopped and turned toward him and he knows all her neck. Then he started to stroll and she followed.

You're beautiful I said to them. I realized that I had spoken outloud to a pair of birds. I looked around and the twins seemed bemuse. You do know how to pick your boys command said dryly. It was the first time I'd heard one addressed the other without a slur. After that the volcano releases pressure and I began to talk to the pigeons incessantly. I talked to them about everything. I told them how lovely they were. I wanted them of the dangers of the world complimented them on their choice of partner. I talked and talked and Ali and KAMAHL had found a boy who was going to entertain them for a long time. The pigeons did respond. They may not have understood a word I said but they began to enjoy the sound of my voice when I when I ran out of things to say. I just prattle and you can probably figure out what happened. I talked and talked and one day I started on what I do

best for my audience. Pigeons and humans I began to tell stories. Thank you. Questions and Answers Questions and Answers. Yes please. Thank you and I like you. I collected stories by reading a lot and hearing a lot. I mean I always I'm always asked you know is there anybody in my family who is a Kuwaiti. No

you know my grandfather was a medical doctor. You know my grandmother plays a Ph. I've never had hecho idea I've never heard one. I've never listened to one. I made all that up. I don't know anything about pigeons or the old or or guitar or anything. I make all that up. I read a lot but I was interested was hearing family stories so in you know when I got to Lebanon I told a friend that I'm writing a book actually I've been writing it for a while. But once I figured out that it was I want it it was a book of structure structured around storytelling. I told a friend that I'm looking for family stories within about two weeks. I started getting phone calls from people I had no idea what they were claimed to be my family and they wanted to tell me stories my aunts told me stories. I mean I was hearing stories left and right. So a lot of them were included in the book.

The other stories came from you know Shakespeare of it's metamorphosis a thousand and one nights I write I read a lot. I. I steal from other writers. Oh absolutely absolutely. There were there are two main strands of the book. Well three maybe more than that because let's just say three there's the family story. Then there are two main stories. One is the story of 8:56 one is a story of neighbors. They both as a traditional had to work these days. I started from the real one because I was lucky enough to find an actual book of equity. It was so confusing but took me a long time to figure out that it was written by about five different people at least.

But so I knew that I knew the standard story. I started with the standard story and then took it in a completely different tangent. The other story is the story of Fatima and the Fatima story is based on many myths but it's my creation the descent into the underworld is the Goddess Inanna and the Goddess Ishtar story. It's repeated and you know it's 70 and Demetre going into the underworld it's the same story as Sigourney Weaver as alians going to the border. It's the same story they always go down. And so I started with that. And then you know taking Majnoon and Layla and working with that and the twins. These are all sort of from various tales and fairy tales. But that was my creation. I wanted to do this thing where I wanted to get a get stale and make it my own and change it completely and then get another tale and that sort of I

created and make it sound like it's a heck of a deal just for the hell of it. Did that answer your question anything else. Oh well the and is a couple of times big. Oh no no no no. You haven't got why they sent him to France yet. He are always evil because you need evil you need something to counteract. Otherwise you don't have a story so you need something in the vizir is always sort of ambitious and wants power just just think of George Bush. Actually one of the most fun I had was bad very few. There are a lot of jokes that I just make.

For me. You know it's like there are some jokes that only Lebanese would understand some jokes that only an American would understand so I'm only someone who speaks French. There's like a reference to Melanie Griffith that just every time I look at it I laugh. Nobody gets it. But my favorite sort of inside joke was the Kings judge so he's sort of the vizir and he was born in Portugal and then comes to the you know Muslim empire and creates all this havoc and gets all these Western kings to invade you know Egypt. And so he's from Portugal so I called him Arbusto which is Bush Portuguese. But nobody gets it. It's just about every time I look at it I said laughing. Then somebody told me that his company is oil company what's called or something like that here.

So. Just there's lots of little things like that. It's good to laugh. You know I mean it is like laughing at myself and laughing with myself because sometimes I think that nobody gets me so I just sit and don't know. Yes. Well partly partly it's it's an instinct you

know. I mean I've I've listened to. I always joke that for us Lebanese breathing is storytelling. I mean whatever happens somebody will sneeze and somebody will have a story about it then. So it comes naturally to us. But there's also this a more important is what I would call editors. You know I've been blessed that I have really good friends who read my work before it even goes to an editor. And because the first draft of this was thirteen hundred pages and I thought I seriously thought that you know there's nothing wrong with that. You know. Agreed to which in other pages I thought it was all exciting you know. So luckily I had friends who slapped me around a little bit and that

seriously before it goes to to the editor. And then I was lucky enough to work with two great editors one who's a friend that I sent to her. And then they ganged up on me and I'm a terrible terrible terrible person. I argued and I it and I hate to admit it now after all these time that they were bad especially for a writer like me I needed because I'm in my head all the time. I have no social life and this is not this is not trying to get sympathy unless unless you know somebody who is willing to go out on a date. It's not it's it's just it's true. You know what goes on in my head I think is really clear for everybody you just why I was a horrible horrible teacher. But luckily like I said I have good friends who are all good readers and I give one to somebody. You know I

have my friend Eisa who's he coins himself the language Nazi. He will go through any time a word sounds out of place or something that I have another who goes for plot. She's really good. She's a good writer and can compete. You know so I could give my book every now and then to somebody and see what they think. So it starts getting better but even the thirteen hundred pages I never gave it till I sent it to my agent. And then you know just good editors. It's been it's still nothing really but there's been quite a few. You know it's like the Guess who still is a

great writer. There's been more books published in the last five years from the Middle East. There's a big boom in Iranian writing. And you know we've gone beyond what I called the Shadow Ripper's not by district supporters. So we've gotten some really wonderful books from Iran. We've got we have you know hand shakes new memoir. We've got so there's been still trouble for me is not that what I mean this is a long discussion but I still still find troubling is that my book is still viewed as exotic and in many ways it is exotic but it's not exotic because it's from the Middle East. It's exciting because I'm weird. But you know it's like when people discuss say American books or if my book would hardly come into the discussion you know we

still have this. We're getting published we're getting heard and actually in many ways we're getting more publicity because we're exotic. But it would be interesting. One day you know to say Junot Diaz is a great American writer he's not an immigrant literature. It's not it's he's an American writer. I'm an American writer. I'm also a Lebanese writer and an Asian writer. And anything that will help solve my book I'm a South American writer. But you know it's these little corners that we're always placed and that I find troubling. You know and I don't I don't kid myself I the only reason that this book has gotten publicity is because it's supposed to open doors to the Arab world. Well I don't care to open books you know doors of the Arab world. I'm writing a book. I mean that's the sort of a second or a secondary benefit. You know I mean the New York Times review bless Lorraine she

was amazing. But then think about it for a second. It said that the book is a bridge to the Arab soul. There's one Arab so and my book is a bridge. So you bet it is. Seriously this is it was an amazing review and I really appreciate it. And for most people that's what they see. I opened the world to Lebanon where what if I tell you that you know what is in here is all my imagination to Beirut that's in here is my imagination. The Beirut is in my mind is not the same as the Beirut as it exists. You'd probably have to read about at least 50 Lebanese writers to get a glimpse of just like you would you wouldn't say you know if you want to know about America. Philip Roth. But we have no problem saying that about you know other books. But again it's also still great because just read my book you'll learn about Lebanon yes.

No but it's an interesting it's an interesting thing where we are getting more published but I still think that is we still looked at separately and and that's not necessarily bad things in term of salience because we are sold. And the reason there is any interest in my book as opposed to other great books that don't get it is because it's Lebanese but sometimes I wonder how damaging that is. Hands down hands down. That cover was amazing and I had nothing to do with it. And it was the first try just like yes. You

say oh because a great I mean the whole idea of if ringtail is wonderful some of the best literature in terms of a thousand and one nights. I love the fact that everybody thinks it's an Arabic story and the truth is that doesn't in one night is the first global literature we've ever had. Because stories were brought from all over the place. You know Aladdin is Chinese it's Indian Sheherazade. An Iranian name. It has nothing to do sort of with but it's considered the Arabian Tales. So I loved the fact that it's. But you have you know whether it's Boccaccio's The Decameron or you know the Canterbury Tales or so it's been around. There was there's nothing new in terms of what I did and why I chose

that as a structure is because I love it. It gave me permission to to you know do things that I wouldn't do otherwise. Also it took me four years of work. Not knowing what the hell I was doing. So I took the first easy out oh sitting on a deathbed Yes. And that's been done so many times before. You know part of the thirteen hundred pages that were cut about 150 were more and I don't know. The deathbed and suffering. But I thought that was important. But yeah its stories are in many ways universal if you pick them up we're told. I mean one of my favorite lines and I can't remember where I read it was you know the first conquest of of Mexico and they there was a priest there and he wrote back to the pope saying that they make they make fun of our of our tails because they

had the virgin birth they had the sacrifice of Christ everything except for the Catholic or we're seeing this so then they making fun of it. But it wasn't the same story. So I loved that. I also liked the differences in terms of you know what makes you know if we if we have the same stories why do we hate each other so much. You know and it's it's differences. And every storyteller cannot you know keep his hands off a story. You know if I tell a story I will tell it you know I'll start adding things and making things up. And then with such happiness that people believe these stories. And so they start emphasizing the differences instead of what's at the core beliefs. You

know for the most part we are a family of readers and mostly on my mother's side. I mean I grew up first in Kuwait and there was nothing whatsoever. I mean at that time it was just pure desert. And my mother stayed at home. So I mean most of my early memories were she sits in one corner I sit in another and we read and I mean in many ways I read anything that came into my mind you know at first it was comics. I actually do believe that I believe that we get all of our stories sort

of before we attend. Before I'd say even earlier than that those are the stories that leave their marks but with me my father my mother was around. My father was not I mean he had to work. And I am in many ways now grateful. But we we were both separate because we were immigrants in Kuwait so I didn't have the family but in the summer we would move to Beirut and the mountains and then I'd be part of the huge family. And I'm talking cousins and second cousins and so my aunts would tell stories constantly and they would be Lebanese. Like I said one of my favorite things is gossip. They gossip like crazy. They can tell you. I mean I was doing a reading in New York and this woman came up and asked

to see me and I went to see her. And I sort of I mean I recognized the name and she was a relative and I called you know afterwards I called my mom. She told me every single thing that has happened to her in her life you know and it becomes a tale of you know how she got divorced why she left him where and we don't know whether it's true or not. And my mother is not that much of it. You know she's not a great storyteller. If I call it my at She'd probably make it really good really good. But then you know she told me about her sons and what her sons were doing and that she doesn't she hasn't seen her in 25 years. So all these stories sort of I've heard them when I was a kid. So yes but they weren't storytellers in the sense of the word. So I grew up you know in a huge family. And at the same time I grew up

separate so I was reading a lot because there was nothing better to do and I mean I read by the age of 12 I read Harold Robbins you know Jacqueline Suzanne. No I went to English schools and an American school and then at 15 I went to England at 17. I packed my bags and came over here. He is probably my favorite writer so has promised to send a bend in the river. I mean the house for Mr. Biswas is the book that shocked the hell out of me. I mean I read it at 16 and I was alone in a school in England and I hated everybody and I hate everybody but that was special. And I was a foreigner and you know to read a novel where the main characters are Third-World or it's just like I am and that their

life mattered just as much as it was. I mean read it to understand you to remember the times and what it was like. His book was a revelation for me. I mean I can't think of well if you ask me tomorrow I'll tell you of a different book. And after I tell you a different book but that was one of the seminal books for me. And he I don't care whether he's a jerk or not because I met him many years but I still admire it. Sure one or two more questions. Yeah. Because I didn't have any models

in our part of the world. There were two careers. And if you would go to if you're going to go to university you'd either go to medical school or engineering school or. And I mean this is not a put down if if your parents were rich and you were stupid they would send you to a liberal arts college you know there was no possibility of anything else I was good in math. I went into engineering. I mean I didn't know at the time but where as you know all the other Lebanese were taking you know simple electives I was taking Shakespeare and I was like because I enjoyed it but I hadn't never occurred to me that I could take a degree in anything other than engineering it never occurred to me you know and then the next was I got an MBA because I was stupid enough to think that I didn't want to do engineering. I hated it that I could get out of it and the only program that I could get into that I would not have to take an undergraduate

class in was an MBA. I got my master's degree. I was 23 24. I really didn't I didn't think I had any other options. I had no clue that anything like this could be done. So it took a long time it took a long time for for me sort of to find the courage to you know. And I knew that anything that I would write would be you know slightly offensive. So I was scared for a long time until one day I got dumped and my revenge was a book. Yes English. It's like I said I'm I'm in many ways I am an American and I can say it easier now with this administration.

Oh please please. If you weren't you wouldn't be attending my reading. I can tell you that. Actually there's a great story by the way in the New York Times today about Michelle Obama's ancestry and it's really stunning. But anyway yes I can't write in Arabic it's a very difficult language. I could read of course in but it's the classical Arabic is not the language that I think in it all. So I think in English I sometimes can think in French and I think in Lebanese basically the best way to describe it and we can't write in Lebanese really just say

is I don't know. Like I I like to read for example Richard Rodriguez. Yeah. That people hate him for many reasons but he is good. I like to read Dine-In Mendelssohn outside outside it's really good. But it depends on what kind of subject you're interested in. Oh got off the top of my head. I'm sorry I can't think of anybody. Does anybody know. Do you know. I say YES YES YES YES YES. That is good. Very good. Sometimes it's like Rushdie But as an essayist I haven't read much of his essays. I've read a few but not much. So you're funny because I'm

not a big fan of Naipaul as an essayist. I think they're fine but I'm not a big fan. I'm a big fan of his novels. There's a distance that he has when he's writing a novel that is amazing whereas when he's writing and essays that distance is troubling. I mean he's unable to see another side other than his Whereas with as a writer he's impeccable. I mean the distance is impeccable. Oh I love him. I absolutely love him for that. Yeah. But if you read for example the the two travels through Islam beyond belief and they're interesting they're really good but they're not great essays. There's still a distance that I find troubling where as you don't find that dust which

is sometimes really good because you know a little bit of a lot sometimes we have too much empathy. But at the same time I think he goes a little too far in the other direction. I mean he's he's he's funny in all the terms. Yes so let's wrap it up. Really. Thank you so much for