Lucas Bracco - A World Of Fallacies (Prometheus, 2023) ***

I have always been a keen fan of formal and informal logic. Every single day, you can hear and read people with high functions in politics, goverment, industry or other influential places to say things are logically incorrect. When debating their points, they easily fall back on an ingroup vs outgroup position, or claiming that they have other views on society, even if these responses are beside the point, because my comment had nothing to do with the content of their utterances, but everything with the technical aspects of reasoning. 

Lists of all fallacies exist, on Wikipedia, or the Cognitive Bias Codex with its great visual representation. 

This little book is also of interest, with a lot of quotes from everyday life to explain why some statements and reasonings are biased or wrong. Many of the fallacies presented were familiar to me, so I assume the book is more addressed to people without prior knowledge, although I wonder if any of them would spend money on a book on the topic. Nevertheless, it's an nice introduction. 

I never understood why logic is not part of our education system, since it is essential for critical thinking in everyday life, for policy and for science. It appears so vital for the quality of our society and democracy. 

 

Richard Whatmore - The End Of Enlightenment (Allen Lane, 2023) ****

In the back cover I read: "Richard Whatmore carefully reconstructs the historical context (of the Englightenment) and presents it as a powerful echo chamber for our own troubled times", and "This intellectually exhilarating book is particularly relevant today, when liberal democracy us facing new dangers, which threaten to drag us back into the darkness once more". These quotes gave me the wrong idea that Whatmore would make the link between 18th century enlightenment philosophy and liberal democracy today. 

That is not the case. He reviews the - primarily British - Enlightenment thinkers such as Hume, Shelburne, Macaulay, Gibbon, Burke, Brissot, Paine and finally Mary Wollstonecraft, all the subject of a chapter each. Whatmore explains the context for their philosophies and ideas, their reception, and the ensuing debates in the historical setting of the French Revolution, the American constitution and other political game-changers. 

Despite all the years of philosophy at university, and my subsequent reading of philosophy books, this book requires quite some knowledge to grasp everything and is clearly written for specialists, rather than for the interested lay person like myself. 

The real references to our time only come at the end of the book, which is aptly called "And By Confusion Stand": 

"The assumotion is that eighteenth century authrs, would, if they were beamed across time into the present, recognize and appreciate that many of their hopes and dreams about politics had been realized. They would praise the creation of democracies defending human rights. They would applaud the extent of toleration and the break­up of empire, even if the latter had been largely within living memory. They might accept that war remained part of the human condition, but the extent of social and technological progress would no doubt overwhelm them. Many of our intellectuals would seek to congratulate their ancestors on establishing the foundations of our world: many global traditions of revolution, we might tell them, can be charted from their historical moment, and so too can tradi­tions of gradual reform, the basis of breathtaking technological and social progress that deserves to be lauded" (p. 310)

"Those battling to prevent the end of enlightenment worried about the loss of cultural diversity, the loss of alternative political or economic systems, and the identification of happiness with the 

ever-growing consumption of luxury goods. They worried that their own world was a return to the past: to times of division, tur­bulence, sacrifice, war and death. Enlightenment figures saw what we call modern politics largely in religious terms, with politicians in free states presenting themselves as latter-day priests. They were concerned that fanatics had won the day, with enthusiasm the most powerful force in social intercourse. Political puritanism, they believed, had defeated enlightenment". (p. 312)

Indeed, I am one of those baffled and perplexed citizens who follow what's happening in the world almost by the minute, shocked by the lack of fact-based rationality, of social and legal justice, of human rights and the freedom of speech. We are witnessing a regression into darkness, with intolerance, brutal nationalism, imperialism and greed running politics. If only for this reason, every little brick that can help to bring society a step closer to real Enlightenment is welcome. Whatmore gave us the foundations again.

 

Jacqueline Harpman - Moi Qui N'ai Pas Connu Les Hommes (Stock, 1995-2025) ***

Apparently this novel gets some attention now that it's been translated to English as "I Who Have Never Known Men", which led to this re-issue in French too. The author was born in in 1929, the same year as my father, and like her, we are also born in Etterbeek, the same commune of Brussels, so there was some personal interest on my part to read this book. 

It's the story of 40 women who live in a cage, guarded by men, deep underground. The narrator is the youngest of them, and she has no recollection of what happened to bring them there, nor has she any notion of the context. The place and the time are not described, but we can assume it's sometime in the future. Early on, the guards leave in a hurry when the alarms go off, and the women manage to leave the cage, only to surface on an endless desert-like landscape with few reference points or signs of life, human or other. 

They gather some food and water and set out for the unknown. I will not go into further detail to avoid disclosing too much of the plot. 

When asked what the purpose of their existence is, the following dialogue ensues: 

"-      Les hommes, petite, c' etait être en vie. Que sommes-nous, sans avenir, sans descendance? Les derniers maillons d'une chaine cassée. 

- La vie donnait done tellement de plaisir?

- Tu as si peu idée de ce qu' était avoir un destin que tu ne peux pas comprendre ce qu'il en est d'être dépourvues au point où nous le sommes. Regarde notre façon de vivre : nous savons qu'il faut faire comme si c' était le matin car ils augmentent l' éclairage, puis ils nous passent la nourriture et à un moment donné les lumières baissent. Nous ne sommes même pas sures qu'ils nous fassent vivre sur un rythme de vingt-quatre heures, comment mesurerions-nous le temps ? Ils nous ont réduites au dénuement absolu." (p.61)

What is life without any future, any past, any action, any plans, any joy, there is not even a sense of time since the women live by the rhythm of the artificial light in the cave.  

The story is dark, dystopian, depressing. There seems to be no hope for the women, despite all their efforts. It's worth reading because of the coherence in the narrative, its singular plot and setting. The story is sufficiently strong to hold a mirror to the reader about his own life, and the sense of direction we have with all connections and perspectives. 

On the downside, there are a lot of contradictions or narrative problems. There is no reason why the main character suddenly starts asking questions when the narrative begins, as if she - like the reader - had never been in this place before. It's also bizarre that when they reach a river, the women do not decide to follow the river downstream, as this would be the easiest tactic to encounter other people, and to have drinking water at all times. 

Anyway, I will be generous in my comments. It's worth reading, and definitely a memorable novel. 

Philippe Claudel - Quelques-uns Des Cents Regrets (Stock, 2005) ***½

When his mother dies, the narrator returns to the place where he grew up, a small town in the north of France flooded by a rising river. During the three days he spends there, he is reminded of the figures that have disappeared: his mother, of course, whom he once loved more than anything else, and the more disturbing figure of his absent father, who, according to legend, died in a distant war.

In his youth, a photo on the bedroom wall in an aviator's uniform evoked the missing hero. But one day the family legend collapsed: the teenager discovered that his mother had lied to him about this mysterious father. He left home suddenly. He was only sixteen. Now that is mother is dead, he returns full of grief and unresolved emotions. 

He talks to the few locals, trying to recreate and understand his own past. In his typical sensitive style, Philippe Claudel takes us by the hand to scrape away layer upon layer of unknown aspects in the narrator's life, with the precision and care of an archeologist, with the big difference that as he digs deeper into the past, the emotional weight starts shifting. He came for the funeral of his mother, more as a formality as the only son, yet gradually he starts to understand his past a little better. 

The overall atmosphere of melancholy and sadness is possibly the novel's greatest strength. Everything in the old village is a shadow of former times, the people who stayed are old and cannot go anywhere, the sense of desolation and decay is everywhere. 

Hannah Arendt - The Freedom To Be Free (Penguin Books, 2018) ***

In this little book, actually a compilation of three lectures, philosopher Hannah Arendt explores the value of freedom. She distinguishes throughout the lectures on various forms of freedom, negative freedom (to be free from oppression, to be free from want, to be free from fear) and positive freedom (to be free to participate in democratic society). 

Even if I can appreciate her conclusions and general vision on freedom, the way she presents it, with little evidence or substantiation other than what other philosophers wrote on the topic, makes it a little old-fashioned, while the subject is of course very relevant in today's context. Many of her statements are just statements, without any link to earlier premises and without connection to earlier steps in her reasoning. Or sentences such as : "Where everyone does the same, nobody acts in freedom, even when nobody is directly coerced or compelled" are hard to understand without any examples. A counter-example could be a rave party for instance. Why would the dancers not act in freedom? 

Nevertheless, despite the somewhat aged style and the lack of substantiation - it is after all just a lecture and not a scientific article - her thoughts remain of interest in today's world, where freedom is still far from being achieved for the large majority of the population, and certainly not the freedom to be free. 

Juan Carlos Onetti - De Werf (Meulenhoff, 1978) ***½

Ik heb me blind gezocht naar een Engelse vertaling van dit boek van de Uruguyaanse schrijver Juan Carlos Onetti, maar die zijn niet meer betaalbaar tweedehands, en niet meer beschikbaar als nieuw exemplaar. Na lang zoeken, heb ik toch een Nederlandstalige versie gevonden.

"El Astillero" (1961) is een aangrijpende verkenning van existentiële thema's aan de hand van het verhaal van de antiheld Larsen, die na een ballingschap van vijf jaar terugkeert naar het fictieve gebied Santa Maria. 

De roman beschrijft zijn vergeefse pogingen om weer aanzien te krijgen door een betekenisloze rol aan te nemen als algemeen directeur van een vervallen scheepswerf die eigendom is van de ongrijpbare Jeremias Petrus. Larsens dagelijks bestaan wordt gekenmerkt door een gevoel van verval en ontgoocheling terwijl hij zich vastklampt aan de hoop om de scheepswerf nieuw leven in te blazen, ondanks de schijnbare irrelevantie en het ontbreken van functioneel personeel. Interacties met verschillende personages, waaronder de geestelijk gehandicapte dochter van Petrus en cynische collega's, benadrukken thema's als misleiding, zelfbedrog en de absurditeit van de menselijke conditie.

Niemand heeft enig respect voor de ander in dit verhaal. Larsen werkt gratis, hopend op een deel van de inkomsten als hij de scheepswerf weer financieel vlot trekt, maar die werf is niet meer te redden volgens de boekhouder en ingenieur die er vreemd genoeg nog rondhangen, en regelmatig materiaal verkopen om nog een bron van inkomsten te hebben. Larsen is laf, net zoals de meeste andere personages. Ze zijn kleingeestig, inhalig, en wat ze doen lijkt volledig nutteloos in hun kleine universum. Echte communicatie is er niet, laat staan dat ze een gemeenschappelijk doel hebben. Een plot zonder karakters waarmee de lezer zich kan vereenzelvigen, lijkt het beste recept voor een slecht boek, maar Onetti slaagt erin om deze klip toch te omzeilen, vooral dan door zijn elegante - maar iets ouderwetse - stijl en door het algemeen gevoel van totale bevreemding en machteloosheid tegen een vaak niet te begrijpen realiteit. Vrolijk is het allemaal niet, maar wel intrigerend. Enkele voorbeelden: 

"Schor, gesmoord en weinig overtuigend klonk driemaal ach­tereen een misthoom op de rivier. Larsen tastte in zijn zakken naar sigaretten, maar hij had niet de kracht zich te ontdoen van de natte jas die om hem heen plakte en hem bedwelmde met z'n trieste, laffe geur, z'n stank naar een kater en naar ver­schraalde lotions uit eindeloos weerspiegelde kapsalons die mis­schien al jaren waren afgebroken en hoe dan ook irreeel ge­worden waren. Ineens vermoedde hij wat iedereen vroeg of laat beseft: dat hij de enige levende mens was in een wereld vol schimmen, dat communicatie onmogelijk en niet eens wenselijk was, dat medelijden niets meer waard was dan haat, dat ver­draagzame afschuw en half respecterende, half zinnelijke par­ticipatie het enige was wat een mens kon verlangen en moest geven." (blz. 96)

"Daarom moet Larsen, toen hij het plein dwars was over­gestoken, af en toe even in de motregen en wind zijn blijven staan om met verbazing, afschuw en onbeschrijflijke opwin­ding tot de ontdekking te komen dat het feit dat de werf een complete, oneindig geisoleerde, autonome wereld geworden was, het bestaan van de andere wereld, waarin hij nu liep en zelfs ooit gewoond had, niet uitsloot" (blz. 100)

Dit zijn misschien enkele frappante voorbeelden, maar zo is ongeveer het hele boek. Je vraagt je af waar het allemaal om gaat, je voelt de verlatenheid, de uitzichtloosheid, de zinloosheid van wat er gebeurt in elke zin. En naast het creëren van deze bevreemdende sfeer, houdt Onetti dit gevoel aan doorheen het boek. 

Het zoeken waard. 

 

Stefaan Top - Volksverhalen uit Vlaams-Brabant (Het Spectrum, 1982) ***

Op een rommelmarkt gevonden en gekocht, samengesteld door Prof. Stefaan Top, hoogleraar Volkskunde aan de KULeuven, van wie ik ooit les had kunnen hebben, maar niet gedaan heb. Het boekje bevat meer dan honderd verhalen die zijn opgetekend uit de mond van ouderen - soms zelfs genoteerd zoals uitgesproken - maar velen ook uit oude teksten. Het zijn sprookjes, straffe verhalen, religieuze gebeurtenissen, sagen en legenden. 

De term "Vlaams Brabant" moet zeer ruim worden geïnterpreteerd: er zijn verhalen uit Leuven, Overijse, Schaarbeek, maar ook uit Ninove. Enkele voorbeelden: 

Van den man, die zingen moest

Arjaan moest den kelder van Mijnheer Pastoor witten.  De pastoor dacht bij zichzelf: Ik moet zorgen, dat hij van mijn wijn afblijft.  'Arjaan,' zei de pastoor, 'ge moet zingen, terwijl ge werkt. Dan gaat het goed vooruit!' 

En Arjaan trok den kelder in en zong, dat heel de pastorij er van dreunde, eerst al zijn liedjes uit de jongelingsjaren, dan de kerkzangen en ten slotte de mis der overledenen. 

Zoo had hij reeds verscheidene uren al zingende in den kelder doorgebracht, zonder een enkele minuut te zwijgen. 

Toen hij aan 't slot der mis gekomen was, ging hij over 't baar­kleed zingen: 

'Pater noster ... ' klonk het plechtig, en Arjaan zweeg. 

'Nu drinkt hij,' zei de pastoor.

Van een Vrouwken, dat alleen woonde

De man was dood en begraven, en luttel tijd daarna bracht de pastoor aan de weduwe een bezoek. 

En om haar te troosten sprak hij over den Hemel en over de eeuwige rust, welke heur man daar genoot. 

En nog, vrouw lief,' zei de goede pastoor 'gij moet eens denken op onzen God, op Kristus, die voor ons gestorven is .. .' Is die brave man ook al dood?' steende het vrouwken. 'Ja, wij weten toch van niets: wij wonen hier ook zoo alleen.

Sinter-Wijen als peerdeknecht

Sinter-Wijen, patroon van Anderlecht, was eerst peerdeknecht in die gemeente. Al het brood dat hij voor zijne peerden mede­nam naar 't veld, deelde hij uit aan de arme lieden. Dat was den eigenaar ter oore gekomen, en op zekeren dag trok hij naar 't veld bij zijn knecht, ten einde zich met eigen oogen te over­tuigen of Guido werkelijk het brood der peerden durfde wegge­ven. Toen Guido hem zag afkomen was hij heel en al uit zijn lood geslagen, en, in zijn schrik, raapte hij haastig eenige aard­kluiten op en stak ze in het broodzakje der peerden. En zie, de meester ging regelrecht op het broodzakje af, en vond het gevuld met brood. 

Deze korte vertelsels als voorbeeld van wat de lezer kan verwachten. Interessante lektuur, een leuke inkijk in de cultuur van onze voorouders, maar ons niveau van humor is - gelukkig - toch nogal wat geëvolueerd, net zoals het plezier in de spot te drijven met de goedgelovigheid van andere mensen. Alhoewel, misschien is het nu wel allemaal een stuk brutaler. 

 

Marcus Aurelius - Meditations (Penguin, 2006) ***

Marcus Aurelius was a Roman emperor from 161 to 180 AD and a philosopher. He wrote his "Meditations" on an almost daily basis while campaigning somewhere in his empire. His personal musings on life were never intended for publication, but eventually they were bundled into the 12 books that became the "Meditations". 

His philosophy is stoic - sobriety, humility, courage, strength of character, the power of reason. His meditations are also influenced by the naturaly philosophy of the Greeks, with a cosmic perspective on the broad universe and the tiny atoms that make all things. The relativity of human life is one of his key topics as well as the need to live a rational and moral life. Many of his sentences raise questions more than answering them. And often they are messages to himself: instructions on how to live. Some examples: 

• "No more roundabout discussion of what makes a good man. Be one!"
• "Keep constantly in your mind an impression of the whole of time and the whole of existence - and the thought that each individual thing is, on the scale of existence, a mere fig-seed, on the scale of time, one turn of a drill". 
• What dies does not pass out of the universe. If it remains here and is changed, then here too it is resolved into the everlasting constituents, which are the elements of the universe and of you yourself. These too change, and make no complaint of it. 
• 'If you want to be happy', says Democritus, 'do little.' May it not be better to do what is necessary, what the reason of a naturally social being demands, and the way reason demands it done? This brings the happiness both of right action and of little action. Most of what we say and do is unnecessary: remove the superfluity, and you will have more time and less bother. So in every case one should prompt oneself: 'Is this, or is it not, something necessary?' And the removal of the unnecessary should apply not only to actions but to thoughts also: then no redundant actions either will follow".
• Either an ordered universe, or a stew of mixed ingredients, yet still coherent order. Otherwise how could a sort of private order subsist within you, if there is disorder in the Whole? Especially given that all things, distinct as they are, nevertheless permeate and respond to each other."

Even if many of his reflections are outdated, many are equally still fresh today, with practical or spiritual questions that are worthy of thought for us now. In that sense, his "Meditations" are more than just a historical report of what the emperor wrote, but also still meaningful for people living today. 

The book is not meant to be read will be quickly obvious to the reader: there are endless repetitions on the same or similar thoughts. There is obviously no structure or build-up, let alone a coherent essay on his philosophy.  So it should be seen as a resource for little ideas to read and juggle with one in a while. 

Jean-Paul Van Bendegem - Abecedarium (Houtekiet, 2025) ***

Een beminnelijk en luchtig boekje over denken in onze tijd, over contradicties, paradoxen, wiskunde en humor. Elke letter van ons alfabet is een insteek voor filosoof Jean-Paul Van Bendeghem om ons aan het denken te zetten, vaak met frisse ideeën van hemzelf, of weetjes uit onze geschiedenis of feiten uit onze realiteit. Licht verteerbaar en met humor gebracht. Het boekje is een bundeling van teksten die oorspronkelijk in De Geus zijn verschenen. Een heerlijk tussendoortje. 

Álvaro Enrigue - You Dreamed Of Empires (Vintage, 2025) ****

Once in a while you come across books that are exceptional. This is one of them. It describes the encounter between Spanish conquistador Hernán Cortés and his arrival in Tenochtitlan, visiting Aztec emperor Moctezuma. The Spanish crew and the Aztecs are at a complete loss on how to interact. The Spanish are welcomed by the Aztecs, are bewildered by some of their customs, and it is the same with the Aztecs. One fine example is the Aztec habit to keep a bunch of flowers in front of their nose, which they do as an antidote for the terrible stench of the Spanish men. 

Álvaro Enrigue invents the whole story of course, based on very limited historical data of the real initial encounter. The Spanish are allowed access to the labyrintine palace of the emperor and Moctezuma himself gets lost in his addiction to halucinogenic substances that should help design his decisions. The whole novel describes this unreal world of misunderstandings and total bafflement, not only between Spanish and Aztecs, but also within each camp there are controversies, differences and misunderstandings. 

"Atotoxtli smiled. Neither of you has a clue about anything, she said, but Moctezuma doesn't either, so we're all equal. She looked at the cihuacoatl as if he were a foolish child. You're his only friend, the only person in the world who doesn't want what he's got, she said; he took you out of the game to get the priests off your back; he's doing what he thinks he must, but not saying anything, like the ant." (p. 157)

"The cihuacoatl grimaced. I should worry, shouldn't I? Cuauhtemoc shrugged. I asked the shaman, and he said maybe not, because Moctezuma nearly fell over laughing when he gave the mes­sage to be delivered, but he also said that maybe you should, because the emperor was swimming in slides. Tlilpotonqui felt his chin and said: So be it. Then he added, so as not to be left wondering: What about the Tlaxcalteca? The general could hear that the question had the ring of the last wish of a con­demned man, whether Tlilpotonqui was one or not, so he told him the truth. They're still divided: the young lords want to come to an agreement, but the old ones aren't sure; they won't do anything until Moctezuma has spoken to El Malinche. Whatever for? asked Tlilpotonqui. I don't understand it, the general said; they're like the emperor, they think the Caxtilteca are important; it's a mystery. The cihuacoatl rolled his eyes and went back to his grandchildren." (p. 178)

Nobody knows how to proceed. Nobody seems to know who is even in charge at times. Moctezuma's sister and wife Atotoxli plays a key role in all this, working on her own agenda. The emperor, mostly undecisive and drugged, is mesmerised by the horses of the Spanish, and the Spanish are only interested in obtaining power over the land, obtaining riches and slaves in the process. 

The quality of Enrigue's writing is exceptional, as is his imagination for funny story-telling and comic situations, as when Cortés and Moctezuma compare the lives of their gods with each other. After a while to - again - misunderstand each other, assuming that the Greek language and Xleek are the same, and Moctezuma offers hallucinogenic cacti to Cortés so that they can speak with each other without translators. 

Moctezuma gets some hallucinations which allow him to hear - and appreciate - rock music from the 20th century (T-Rex!), Cortés has a vision of the future of Mexico including Eufemio Zapata. Absurd. Enrigue's fantasy rotates around what might have happened in these few days of their first encounter, inventing situations and stories around his main characters. He is funny. 

"Friar Geronimo never attended the religious services held by the chaplain, though he lived like a priest in every sense of word. He was always praying, he spoke Latin and Greek, he was learned in church doctrine, he refused to wear military garb, he slept, ate and drank as austerely as a Carmelite, and he only bedded handsome youths." (p. 65)

Álvaro Enrigue has written a novel that is extremely unique as a reading experience. At times all the Aztec names and words demand some effort, but that adds to the fun of reading. Like Cortés and Moctezuma, you will be in for a strange experience, one of bizarre interactions, absurd and surreal, of light-footed cruelty, deceptive scheming, dreamlike sequences, and funny situations. Unreal.

Gerwin van der Werf - De Krater (Stichting CNPB, 2025) **

"De Krater" is het Boekenweekgeschenk van 2025. Het brengt het verhaal van twee broers en een zus die heel verschillend zijn. Benjamin is een astronomie nerd, zijn oudere broer Johnny eerder een losbol en Eden is ergens tussen hen beiden in. Om Benjamin uit zijn depressieve gedachten te trekken, rijden ze naar Duitsland, waar ooit een meteoriet een diepe krater heeft geslagen. De jongeren hebben geen idee van afstand en weinig geld, maar ze gaan toch zonder al te veel na te denken op stap.

In een interview zegt de auteur: "Het persoonlijke zit ‘m verder vooral in de gedachtenwereld van die jongeren: alledrie staan ze dicht bij de mijne. Vind ik dit leven eigenlijk wel leuk? Is dit de moeite waard? Dat zijn de vragen die mijn personages zich stellen. Ik worstel daar zelf natuurlijk geregeld mee, en zie dat bij meerdere jongeren, dus het is belangrijk dat we die vragen stellen en het daarover hebben met vrienden, familie en lotgenoten. Het zijn of niet zijn van Hamlet heeft me altijd wel beziggehouden.”

Het is een fijn boekje. 

Lize Spit - De Eerlijke Vinder (Stichting CNPB, 2023) **

"De Eerlijke Vinder" is een mooi verhaal van vriendschap tussen Jimmy, een Vlaams jongetje en Tristan, zijn Kosovaarse buur, van wie het gezin na de asielprocedure wordt uitgewezen. Dit Boekenweekgeschenk uit 2023 is gebaseerd op waar gebeurde feiten. 

Het leest vlot. Is goed geschreven. Ontroerend. Maar niet echt baanbrekend. 

Richard Dawkins - The Genetic Book Of The Dead (Head Of Zeus, 2024) ****½

Richard Dawkins writing purely about our biology and the impact of evolution, without any attacks on religion. This is new territory for me, and this book is a treat. Dawkins "Book of the Dead" has nothing to do with the Tibetan or Egyptian "books of the dead". This one is about how we can trace back some of the characteristics of animals to their genetic origins, including the environments in which they lived and evolved. 

How camouflage evolved in some animals, how some animals evolved to land and returned to the see, how eye-sight changed and developed, ... He gives hundreds of bizarre and quite exceptional behaviour in animals that become easy to understand once Dawkins explains what has or might have happened in the genetic archives of the species. He also explained how different species developed similar characteristics independently from each other. He does this with layman's language, with sufficient science to make it interesting, but still focused on delivering a text that many without a scientific education can read without any problem. And to his credit, he also comes with quite a number of "scientific intuitions" or theories on what needs further exploration. 

The book is nicely illustrated by Jana Lenzová and contains a wealth of pictures. 

Apart from the interesting subject itself, Dawkins's enthusiasm and wonder about our living world makes it an even easier to recommend book. 

Dahlia de la Cerda - Reservoir Bitches (Scribe, 2025) ***½

Wild, honest, brutal, bloody, cruel, sensitive, fast-paced, funny. "Reservoir Bitches" tells the interconnected stories of thirteen women from their own personal perspective and tone of voice. There is the daughter of the drug lord, her friend, a prostitute, a murder victim, ... They tell their stories like short narratives, presented in the first person, in a very direct style, without any descriptions or context, just like a young woman would recite events if asked to give a testimonial. 

"I became pregnant and gave birth twice. Both times I felt like a sinner because my children were not the fruits of love but of violence and degenerate sex. I baptized them Adam and Eve.

The Old Testament says that the Lord reveals himself to his servants in different ways - for example, as the scent of myrrh or as fire, like he did with Moses and the burning bush. The message was always the same: "Your prayer has been heard". Every night, as I prayed, I begged God to free me from my hushband. "'Our Father in heaven. Hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done. Abba father, I know your will is for your daughter to be treated like lillies and caressed with fine linen here on earth. Adonai, take this chalice from me, and let it not be my will but yours". In my prayers, I only ever asked for one thing: to be a widow. God never revealed himself to me, but He did answer my prayers: five years from the day the holy sacrament of marriage was profaned, meaning from the day I was wed, the man I was forced to call my husband came home drowning in alcohol and fell asleep in the living room. As I watched him snore like a beast I prayed even more fervently to God. My prayers were heard. Vomit trickled from his mouth, smelling of liquor. I dropped to the floor with tears in my eyes and prayed he would choke. ''Dear Lord, let the walls of Jericho fall before my eyes, throw off my shackles and drag this man to the gates of Hell. Give me victory over my enemy, knock down the walls of my prison and the fortresses that cast down my heart. Like David before Jehovah, I danced and danced and rejoiced as I watched Efrain's face darken from red to purple. Then, to the sound of trumpets, I confirmed that he was dead. My spirit glorified and praised the seed of Abraham who crushed the head of the serpent. I called an ambulance and after the mandated autopsy, had him cremated. I did this so there would be no body to rise among the dead on Judgment Day." (p.91)

What's not to like about this? It is straight from the heart, and whatever the wealth or education level of her characters, De la Cerda manages to create a unique voice and style for each of her female protagonists. It's a pleasure to read, even if the subject matter is at times very cruel. The stories of the thirteen women are obviously not representative for the overall situation of women in Mexico, yet they are taken from the brutal reality that exists nonetheless. 

Javier Marías - Tomás Nevinson (Penguin, 2024) *****

Another brilliant book by Javier Marías, his last and final novel before his death last year. Marías's prose will not be to everyone's liking: it is slow, repetitive, with a lot of rephrasing, and re-thinking the same topics and issues, looking at them from different sides and perspectives, sometimes touching on something concrete and actionable, but more often than not remaining vague and tentative, approaching reality with a default position of uncertainty and a wide array of possibilities, both as explanations of the past as well as options for the future. 

The lead character is Tomás Nevinson, who we already met in his "Berta Isla" novel, a British/Spanish undercover agent, who gets recruited again by MI6 to go back in service and leave his job at the British embassy in Madrid. His role is to become a teacher in the Basque Region, with the goal to eliminate a female ETA terrorist. The problem is that three women living in the city could be the terrorist, and could also be none of them. Nevinson has to find out and kill the right one. The British secret service gives him the ultimatum that if he is not able to kill the right one, as a measure of precaution all three will be killed. 

Javier Marías's slow prose considers and reconsiders the options, the moral and ethical aspects of his situation and role, he tries to uncover the real truth behind the deceptive characters of the three women, as a kind of mirror for his own duplicity, wondering what is real and what is false, what is truthful or fake. It is also a psychological thriller, deeply carving into the weird situation of the protagonist to act full-time as a fake person, pretending to be what he is not, living the life of a non-existent person with the sole purpose of killing someone else. This duality is what his supervisor uses as the argument to lure him back into the service: to be part of some of the bigger geopolitical happenings, or to be outside of this, and be considered as a nobody who's no longer part of the system. If he wants to be part of the system, he has to relinquish his real self and live the unreal life of teacher Miguel Centurión. He is the non-existent Somebody or the existent Nobody. Either way, he is trapped. 

"'After having been Someone,' he added, 'it's very difficult to go back to being no one. Even if that Someone was invisible and almost no one would recognize him" (p. 51)

This requires of course to be able to disappear in one life, and to create another, fictitious one, with all its challenges: 

"Any­one in hiding, though, if she's smart, must appear to be the opposite of - or as far removed from - what she was and possibly still is. I know from personal experience how difficult this is, and I have, on occasion, allowed my real or my old me to resurface, or have some­times aroused suspicions by not totally rejecting the old me: one's natural tendency is to discourage or avert misfortunes when what you should be doing is fomenting and even precipitating them." (p. 249) 

The reason and the motivation for all these actions is of course to eliminate evil. 

'Cruelty is contagious. Hatred is contagious. Faith is contagious ... It can turn into fanaticism at the speed of light .. .' Now his tone was part assertive, part recollective. 'That's why those attitudes are so dangerous, because they're hard to stop. Before you know it, they've spread like wildfire. That was one of the very first things we were taught, that you need to spot the initial symptoms and nip them in the bud. (...) 'Madness is contagious. Stupidity is contagious,' he said, complet­ing the list. 

I remembered that list very well, I had all too often found out how very accurate it was. People adopt a faith and grow, first, very ser­ious, then very solemn. They start to believe everything their faith embraces and involves, and then they become stupid. If contradicted, they fly into a rage, they won't accept you calling them stupid or challenging what has suddenly become their all-in-all and their raison d'etre. From that point on, they develop a purely defensive, irrational hatred of anyone who doesn't share their fanaticism. And they treat anyone who openly opposes it with great cruelty. Once they discover cruelty, they embrace it and pass it on to others, and it takes a long time for them to grow weary of putting their cruelty into practice" (p. 104)

The narrator tries to look at his choice to eliminate the alleged terrorist from all possible angles, trying to justify, to rationalise and to question the approach at the same time. 

"They had chosen to help the people they were helping or hide the people they were hid­ing, or serve the cause they were serving and to dedicate themselves to whatever they were dedicated to, although they had sometimes been duped or hypnotized into doing so, as had many inexperienced men. The woman I was charged with uncovering and identifying in that town in the north-west, whichever one of the three she turned out to be, had been responsible for massacres and should pay for that. Or if not 'should', it would be appropriate that she did. Or if not 'appropriate', since she no longer presented any danger and had turned around her unhappy life, it would be best to interrupt that life just in case, and because we were by our nature avengers. If we weren't, who would be, in this forgetful world?  

Tupra was right: hatred was an emotion unknown to us, but we were the archive; the record, the ones who never forgot what every­one else forgets out of weariness or so as not to wallow in bitterness. I don't know if he realized it, but the words he had spoken made us - with all our human, mortal limitations - rather like the God of all those past centuries of belief, or should that be credulity: the God who retained and stored away everything in his motley, moveless time, in which nothing was new or old, remote or recent. 'For us, what happened ten years ago is yesterday or even today, and is hap­pening right now.' This is how that God - now outmoded, but very much a force to be reckoned with for most of recorded history-must have regarded everything. That's why he forgave nothing, for that really wasn't in his remit, for in his eyes no crime has an expiry date or grows less heinous, they are all simultaneous, and all persist. There was, though, another motive behind my decision to return to active service, to accept this mission: the only way not to question the usefulness of what you have done in the past is to keep doing the same thing; the only justification for a murky, muddy existence is to continue to muddy it; the only justification for a long-suffering life is to perpetuate that suffering, to tend it and nourish it and complain about it, just as a life of crime is only sustainable if you persevere as a criminal, if villains persist in their villainy and do harm right left and centre, first to some and then to others until no one is left untouched. 

Terrorist organizations cannot give in voluntarily, because if they do, an abyss opens up before them, they see themselves retrospect­ively and are horrified by their annulment, and therefore their ruin. The serial killer keeps adding to his series of murders because that's the only way he can avoid looking back to the days when he was still innocent and without stain, the only way he can have meaning. To do otherwise would be to reach Lady Macbeth's horrified realization, something almost no one is willing to do, for it requires great integ­rity, a quality that has vanished from the world: 'Nought's had, all's spent.' In other words: 'We have done infamous deeds and gained nothing.' (p. 138-139)

The undercover agent, the eliminator, has to above all these emotions, and act like a cold-blooded rational being: 

"Justice can obscure, can wrap everything in a mist as time moves on, and when it expires, it can erase and cancel out, can decree that what happened didn't hap­pen or has ceased to happen. We are neither the victims nor the family of the dead, but we are memory, those who never forget. In that sense, and only in that sense, we are like the terrorists and the mafias from whom we differ in one vital detail, as Tupra reminded me on that January day: 'They're also ahead of us when it comes to hatred. But hatred isn't our style, as you know. That's unknown ter­ritory for us.' That's true and as it should be, for we must always remain immune to the five contagions as taught to us by our former legendary instructor Redwood. 'Cruelty is contagious. Hatred is con­tagious. Faith is contagious. Madness is contagious. Stupidity is contagious. We must avoid all five.' (p. 435).  

And what is true of the need to avoid hate, is also true for love. Tomás Nevinson may be in love with his wife, even if they are divorced, and his alter ego Miguel Centurión may become infatuated by one of his potential victims, this is indeed to be avoided, because he could kill the one he loves. 

He is of course in essence a Spanish author, often referring to Spain's dictatorial past yet linked to the situation in general today of the relationship between electorate and politicians: 

"One must never forget that Spaniards from all over Spain - even those who don't consider themselves to be Spanish - have a deep-seated tendency to elect the worst possible leaders on offer and to cheer on whatever tyrants are imposed on them, as long as they make nice promises and seem pleasant enough, even if they have lar­ceny written all over their faces and are clearly very nasty pieces of work. (p. 498)

I copied some passages that are highly abstract, yet of course the story actually consists primarily of dialogue and interaction of the many characters, their interesting pantomime of possible double roles and the hiding of reality. 

Marías's prose is an absolute delight, although I can understand that it may be too long-winded for many readers. At a certain level, you want the action to move on, but the stalling, the reflections, the analyses and the exploring of all the options is part of the mesmerising power of his style. And it is fun to read that in a book of 634 pages, the following paragraph starts a new chapter on page 532: 

"It seemed that the action, the act, the deed was getting closer. And that I would not escape. One always nurses the vain hope that some­thing will· crop up, that the sentence will be commuted ( even a prisoner on the scaffold has high hopes), that the orders will be rescinded or cancelled, that someone will back off at the final moment. And if that doesn't happen, you appreciate and treasure each day's delay, each hour's deferral, each minute of procrastin­ation, anything that allows you to keep telling yourself: 'It will be, it will be, but not yet, not yet.' (p. 532)

So, reader, beware: the book is not about the final deed. It is about the dilemmas and internal battles leading up to the deed. 

Brilliant!

Sally Rooney - Intermezzo (Faber & Faber, 2024) ***

"Intermezzo" brings the story of two brothers: Peter is a lawyer in his thirties, and Ivan is a chess prodigy in his twenties. The story starts after the death of their father, which forces both brothers to face a new reality, bringing them together, or rather confronting them. Peter has a girlfriend who was in an accident and their relationship is compromised as a result, which makes him enjoy life - and sex - with the much younger Naomi, who sees life more as a joke. Ivan meets the much older Margaret at a chess game and they start a relationship. 

The chapters are written from the perspective of the two men, almost alternating, in a totally different style. Peter's stylistic voice is nervous, with shorter sentences, almost panting, and with much more cynicism in his reflections. Ivan's is more traditional, composed, thoughtful. Both men cannot without each other, but they could not be more different. Ivan is trying to extract himself from his older brother's fatherly attitude, while Peter feels responsible for Ivan now that they are orphaned. They become mirrored in the story. Peter can reproach Ivan that Margaret might take advantage of his youthful innocence, while not realising that Ivan can think the same of Peter's relationship with Naomi. 

Rooney is a wonderful writer. She knows how to give her characters their profile and voice, she creates an intricate web of emotions, conflicts and situational tension, in a very balanced and orchestrated way. 

Despite all the stylistic and writing capabilities of Rooney, I kept wondering why I was reading this? Why would I care about these two individuals? Why is this relevant in any way? It's not a comment on human nature, or society, or history, or politics, or any wider topic that might make it great. Or anything with a strong statement that may make it Art with a capital "a". Rooney remains within the confines of easy prose. It's entertaining and a literary version of a romance novel. 

Books of the Year 2024

 

It's been a great year, with 50 books read, thanks to the shitty weather, especially during the holiday season. The choice is hard, especially in the non-fiction area. 

In the non-fiction space, I loved the two major books by neuroscientists about whether or not we have free will. The challenge came from Robert Sapolsky, the reply by Kevin J. Mitchell.  An equally important and excellent book is Sarah Bakewell overview of the history of humanistic thought. 

In fiction, many of the great writers, such as Murakami, the posthumous Garcia Marquez, or Han Kang, did not meet my high expectations. The winner in my opinion is again Olga Tokarczuk, now stylistically totally different, reminiscent of the Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain, published a century ago. We see again great literature from Mexico and Cuba, Spain and France, the UK and Australia. As a total coincidence, four books describe a strange form of paradisiac themes: Paul Harding's "The Other Eden", Murakami's "The City And Its Uncertain Walls", Jim Crace's "Eden" and Abbott Kahler's "Eden Undone". 

I also felt quite happy to have (re)read Douglas Hofstadter's unparallelled "Gödel, Escher & Bach", and to have read Martin Amis's "Einstein's Monsters", which makes him feature on my list of authors of whom I've read every novel (further featuring Roberto Bolaño, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Mario Vargas Llosa, Milan Kundera, Haruki Murakami, Michael Chabon, Thomas Pynchon and the translated works of Olga Tokarczuk).

It is also remarkable that in my top-5 of novels, four were published by the excellent publishing house Fitzcarraldo. 

Fiction 

1. Olga Tokarczuk - The Empusium ***** 
2. Fernanda Melchor - Hurricane Season  ****½ 
3. Carlos Manuel Álvarez - The Tribe  ****½ 
4. Paul Harding - This Other Eden  ****½ 
5. Munir Hachemi - Living Things **** 
6. Sorj Chalandon - L'Enragé **** 
7. Jim Crace - Eden  **** 
8. John Banville - The Singularities **** 
9. Teju Cole - Tremor  **** 
10. Tim Winton - Juice  **** 

Non-Fiction 

1. Kevin J. Mitchell - Free Agents - How Evolution Gave Us Free Will ***** 
2. Sarah Bakewell - Humanly Possible  ***** 
3. Irene Vallejo - Papyrus  ****½ 
4. Michael Taylor - Impossible Monsters ****½ 
5. Robert Sapolsky - Determined - Life Without Free Will  ****½ 
6. Anne Applebaum - Autocracy, Inc. **** 
7. Bart D. Ehrman - Armageddon - What the Bible Really Says About the End **** 
8. Daniel Kahneman, Olivier Sibony & Cass R. Sunstein - Noise - A Flaw in Human Judgment **** 
9. Giorgio Parisi - In A Flight Of Starlings **** 
10. Bart Van Loo - De Bourgondiërs **** 

Michael Taylor - Impossible Monsters: Dinosaurs, Darwin and the War Between Science and Religion (Bodley Head, 2024) ****½

What a wonderful treat of a book. It describes the discovery of "impossible monsters", the skeletons of dinosaurs and other reptiles in the cliffs of Lyme Regis in Dorset, Southwest England, first by the 12-year old Mary Anning. The ongoing discoveries of other skeletons created a completely different view on ancient animals and on the age of the earth, questioning biblical stories in which these strange animals never even featured. But the book is not about the animals themselves, but how they became the subject of intense debates with the Church and scientists who claimed that the earth was only 6,000 years old. 

Not much later Darwin developed his theory of evolution of the species which added even more fuel to the heated discussions. 

The book gives a wonderful overview of the debates that ensued between religion and science, the opposing views, the discrediting of scientific evidence by religious dogma, but also the whole public debate, including the reports of the actual meetings of the Royal Society of Science in which the topics were debated. 

Michael Taylor was born in 1988 and graduated with a double first in history from the University of Cambridge, where he earned his PhD. He is also the author of "The Interest: How the British Establishment Resisted the Abolition of Slavery". The discoveries of Mary Anning have been made into a worthwhile movie, called "Ammonite" with Kate Winslet in the leading role. 

The discoveries of ancient animals and Darwin's theory of evolution found fertile ground in the now formal questioning of the actual reality of the Bible stories: 

"In 'The Essence of Christianity' (1841), Ludwig Feuerbach developed an anthropological approach to religion, which he described as merely 'the dream of the human mind'. Here, the God of justice represented human ideals of justice, and the God of love was the perfection of human ideals of love; it followed that Christ the miracle-worker was 'nothing else than a product and reflex of the supernatural human mind'. In 'The Life of Jesus' (1835) David Strauss had meanwhile looked at the gospels, striving to separate historical evi­dence from mythology. Though he did not deny that Christ had lived, Strauss decried the New Testament's 'false facts and impossible conse­quences which no eye-witness could have related'. Fatally, in his view, 'there was [for a long time] no written account of the life of Jesus', so that 'oral narratives alone were transmitted'; such tales had become 'tinged with the marvellous', growing into 'historical myth[s]'. For Strauss, these stories 'like all other legends were fashioned by degree', only in time acquiring 'a fixed form in our written Gospels' (p. 133)

The discoveries shoock the very foundations of religious belief, of the concept of right and wrong: 

"And what of the Lord Himself? (conservative priest) Richard Froude despaired at the 'goodness' of a god who had chosen to bless 'arbitrarily, for no merit of their own, as an eastern despot chooses his favourites, one small section of mankind, leaving all the world besides to devil-worship and lies'. Just why were the chosen people chosen? And how could Sutherland believe the Lord to be 'all-merciful, all-good' when He was 'jealous, passionate, capricious, [ and] revengeful, punishing children for their fathers' sin', tempting men 'into blindness and folly' when He knew they would fall, and punishing them eternally in a 'hell prison-house'? This god was not divine. He was 'a fiend' (p. 135)

The broadening of the number of scientists and other amateur scientists to deal with the information and the data, led to even further destruction of the foundations of religious belief: 

"Here, he (William Parker Foulke, an American lawyer) compared 'the modified bird Archaeopteryx' with 'the ordinary Dinosauria' in which class, in con­tradiction of Wagner, he placed the Compsognathus. There were differences to be sure, but Cope remarked upon 'the union of the tibia and fibula [of the Compsognathus] with the first series of tarsal bones, a feature formerly supposed to belong to the class Aves [ that is, birds] alone'. He also looked at 'the transverse direction of the pubes', the hip-bones, and again observed 'an approach to the birds'. After describing other 'bird-like features' such as the number and nature of its vertebrae, Cope suggested that the Compsognathus stood 'inter­mediate between the position in most reptiles and in birds' (p. 249)

"All this was proof, he concluded, that 'the facts of palaeontology . . . are not opposed to the doctrine of evolution, but, on the contrary ... enable us to form a conception of the manner in which birds may have been evolved from reptiles'. The 'fowl that may fly above the earth', sup­posedly created by the Lord on the fifth day of the first week, had in fact evolved from the sixth day's creatures 'that creepeth upon the earth'. The book of Genesis lay in ruins, the dinosaurs had tri­umphed, and even Richard Owen recognised the quality and force of the bulldog's performance. (p. 251)

"John William Draper (American chemist, professor at New York University) moved from the library at Alexandria to the 'pillared halls of Persepolis', from the Arabian schools of mathematics to the courts of the Inquisition, and from Renaissance universities to the learned societies of London. There was no question of his favour: 'The history of Science', he declared, 'is not a mere record of isolated discoveries; it is a narrative of the conflict of two contending powers, the expan­sive force of the human intellect on one side, and the compression arising from traditionary faith and human interests on the other'. Of that 'traditionary faith' he was unsparing, describing the development of Catholicism as an 'intellectual night' which settled on Europe, .during which spiritual affairs passed from the control of classical philoso­phers 'into the hands of ignorant and infuriated ecclesiastics, parasites, eunuchs, and slaves'. At last, however, that night was lifting, and civi­lised society had recognised the truth: 'that Roman Christianity and Science are recognized by their respective adherents as being abso­lutely incompatible; they cannot exist together; one must yield to the other; mankind must make its choice - it cannot have both'. (p. 286). 

Taylor's erudition is a pleasure to read, as is the fluency of his writing style. Highly recommended reading. 

Kamel Daoud - Houris (Gallimard, 2024) ****

Algerian author Kamel Daoud has taken a risk by writing about what cannot be written according to the rules of his country of origin, much like Salman Rushdie took risks or Orhan Pamuk took risks (and was jailed for it). 

The story of Aube, the narrator, takes place against the backdrop of the Algerian civil war (1992-2002), when the government and the army took control when it became clear that the islamists risked to win the elections. This 'dirty war' in this 'black decade' possibly resulted in the death of 200,000 people, mostly civilians. 

Aube, 26 years old, is pregnant and tells her story to her unborn child, addressing her as "houris", the word for the virgins in paradise. Gradually her story unravels in between long moments of opinion and reflection on her situation and that of women in Algeria. During the initial uprising, her village was raided by bearded men, who killed every person and animal, cutting their throats and moving on. Five-year old Aube miraculously survived, yet her vocal chords were destroyed and a scar on her throat gave her an internal smile under her face. 

Now, more than twenty years later, this story is still hidden. Daoud brings it back to life in a very personal and intimate way, and it may even be that the story is inspired by a real story: according to the Algerian media, Saâda Arbane, a survivor of a massacre during the black decade, who was treated medically by Kamel Daoud's wife, says she recognized herself in the main character of “Houris”. As soon as he came to power in 1999, Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika passed a law, still in force, prohibiting the sale of books about this period.

"Les gens ici ne te parleront jamais de la guerre qui a tué les miens le 31 décembre 1999. Je passe souvent par ce boulevard, et ces vieillards qui preétendent avoir vaincu la mort frarnçaise se trouvent toujours la à nous épier, nous les nés-plus-tard, a nous scruter comme si nous étions des voleurs. Je détestais reciter cette légende nationale a l'école ; le professeur d'histoire ne comprenait pas pourquoi je décrochais de si mauvaises notes dans cette matière. Il ne voyait pas que je voulais également une voix pour ma guerre. Apres dix ans de tueries, nous n'avons rien pu obtenir comme butin, pas même des corps. Pas même une parole." (p. 116)

She has become independent, with her own hairdresser's shop and beauty salon. After the place is ransacked, she goes back to her native village to find possible relatives. 

Daoud tells the story gradually, in a very lyrical manner, with lots of metaphors. The whole story is built around the opposing forces: Aube has no voice against the amplified voice of the minaret, Aube makes women beautiful while religion wants to hide them from view. She is the victim but is seen as a perpretator, whereas the ones responsible get all the rewards.

"C'est ma vie, ce salon, ma piece de monnaie rare. C'est la que je gagne mon argent et mon indépendance, et le privilège d' avoir les cheveux a l'air et les épaules nues, et de fumer et de boire du vin. Ce n'est pas grand comme commerce, mais ça rapporte de quoi tenir les autres à l'écart. Tu sais, ma perle, l'Etat donne une misère aux victimes survivantes de la guerre civile comme moi et le double aux families des egorgeurs." (p. 56)

When her shop is ransacked, the finds a package, containing a veil and a copy of the Quran, as a token that she needs to submit to the powers of religion. She defies the threat an goes in the street, lighting a cigarette: 

"Puis je l'ai vu, la, le gros paquet, et je ne sais pour quelle rai­son, les histoires de la guerre, la mienne, me sont revenues. A l'époque, lorsqu' on affichait aux portes des mosquées la liste des gens a abattre, on leur envoyait un linceul propre et un savon parfumé. Pour la dernière toilette mortuaire. J'y songeai, tourmentée par cette irruption du rève rouge dans ma vie de tous les jours. Je l'ai ouvert : on m' offrait un voile en mauvais tissu, noir et ample. Et un Coran, vert et impassible, avec des lettres dorées (...) J'allumai une cigarette et, devant les curieux, clans la rue qui sépare le salon de la mosquée, j'ai fumé. En plein jour, je fixais leurs regards durs. Je laissais l'odeur du tabac lentement glisser vers leurs narines indignées. Un moment, j'ai pensé briser les vitres de la mosquée ou crier des insultes, mais avec quelle voix, ma Houri?" (p. 71)

It's not only her own voice that is literally destroyed, no women's voice has the power to be louder than the voice of the minaret.  

"Une grosse voix tonna clans le ciel en suspendant le temps. Elle hurlait, tour a tour suppliante et dédaigneuse, bou­deuse et exigeante, comme le cri d' un délaissé. Aucune femme n'avait cette force vocale ni le droit de l'imiter clans un minaret. C'etait l' appel a la prière de 13 heures. Tout le monde accourut, et la rue se vida." (p. 72)

Aube is the complete opposite of the oppressive political and religious authority of the system. She wants feminine beauty, self-expression and personal choice.  

"Je crois que je suis soulagée d'avoir ete cambriolée. Parce que cela ramène a la surface une guerre muette entre mes houris et les houris de l'imam d'en face. Certains devinent mon identité véritable, la tueuse en moi, la morte. L'imam de la mosquée par exemple. C'est lui, j' en suis presque sure. Quand on s' est croisés pour la première fois clans la rue, qu'il a vu mon « sourire » et le trou clans mon larynx, il a battu en retraite avant de se ressaisir. Chaque fois que je le rencontre, le rire clans mes yeux vert et or l'incommode et lui arrache ses vêtements, devant tous les fldèles, auprès de son propre Dieu. Mon métier est de rendre belles les femmes, vendre des parfums, lisser des chevelures pour qu'elles soient plus longues que les fleuves du paradis. Le sien c'est parler de jihad, de guerre, de butin, de la France, des lois, du pêché sous toutes ses formes, de paradis et de prophètes." (p.78)

To demonstrate the political value of the book, publisher Gallimard issued a formal statement in protection of the author: “Since the publication of his novel, Kamel Daoud has been the target of violent defamatory campaigns orchestrated by certain media close to a regime whose nature is known to all,” The publishing company was banned from presenting Daoud's works at the Algiers International Book Fair, in October 2024. 

In sum, a courageous and major achievement by Daoud, whose main character, the plot of the novel and the balance between action, reminiscence and reflection are beautifully constructed, as well as the moral dilemma of the mother who's considering to abort her foetus as the best measure to protect her about the world she risks to be born in. 

In my personal opinion, the text could have been better served with less excursions outside of the main plot. The slow progress of the main character back to her roots diminishes the tension needed to keep the reader's attention. 

A real-life horror story.