The Hakawati

When my art gallery owner friend said “I loved it,” I knew I needed to read this book. Afterall, I admire my friend's taste immensely and his ability to read so many fascinating books while commuting between his gallery in NYC and his home in SF. Inspite of his intimidating lifestyle, he is smart, funny and extremely down to earth. I just knew we would be on the same page. And I was wrong.

“Hakawati” is storyteller in Arabic. And Rabih Alameddine provides us with many story tellers (himself included) as he weaves one giant book of classic tales, myths and legends with more personal stories of contemporary Lebanon. The story centers on a man returning from Los Angeles to Beirut to be with his dying father and his family. The stories of his family, both past and present are then woven around larger stories, classical and folk tales and adventures involving lust, love, murder, scandal, war and betrayal. As a novelist, Alameddine crafts a complex structure, shaping subtle parallels between the classic tales and the central story of a family in war-torn Beirut. Using multiple storylines, Alameddine digresses switching between the various narrative threads to create a rich tapestry which really does begin to feel like a magic carpet of sorts. The stories within the stories pile lavishly on top of each other, blending and becoming more and more entwined as the novel progresses. Alameddine’s mastery in pacing these stories is evident and admirable.

Still, I didn’t enjoy the read. While I appreciated the skills necessary to pull off a book of this complexity, I struggled almost from the outset to keep track of the various narratives which would jump back and forth, often with no warning (and sometimes for only a paragraph or two) between past and present, ancient and modern. As someone who has to constantly put down any book she reads, (to break up a sibling row or rush out for carpool), I would find myself coming back to the book completely disoriented. I would wonder what had just happened, who the characters were and why did I really care?

I knew intellectually that I was meant to love this book. So I kept telling myself I simply needed more practice in reading it. And perhaps I do. Art gallery owner refers to it as a "damn near perfect read" and I don't doubt his take on it. Jetting back and forth from NYC to SF, my friend immerses himself in the convoluted storylines and takes Alameddine's "magic carpet ride" for all its worth. My carpet ride requires dragging my over-amped kids across the floor on a worn blanket ten minutes before bedtime. It isn’t quite the same and I suspect it makes the difference.