Showing posts with label Mediterranean Sea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mediterranean Sea. Show all posts

In Search of Identity, by Anwer el-Sadat, Reviewed.

on Monday, July 1, 2013
I rarely read autobiographies; they tend to be showcases for the subject, with little concern for the truth. However, this one is different. Partly because it’s a mix of personal and political memoir, but mostly because the author was fundamentally honest. That is, he was as honest as any man placed in a position of power and probably more so than most in that situation. For those who are unaware of the man, he was the President of Egypt (for those Americans who believe the world ceases to exist beyond their borders, this is a large country in North Africa, on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea and site of the Suez Canal: sorry to all those other Americans who do know), from 15 October 1970 to 6 October 1981, when he was assassinated during a victory parade.

He was active in the military and in politics during a period of extreme upheaval in his country and took action that impacted on the whole of the Middle East and, possibly, the world.

The book is full of the detail that matters to the politician but it is written with a clear care for his country and a deep love of those he admired and respected. His relationship with Nasser in particular is told with such frankness but such affection that the reader feels present at many of the exchanges.
There is very little of his personal life in these pages. His wives each get a brief mention and his children are not even alluded to. This is a book about the public rather than the private individual. But he does detail his emotions and concerns during his period of imprisonment. And his matter of fact style does nothing to conceal his frustrations with fellow officers and politicians engaged in coups or revolution.

As a Brit, I was intrigued to learn of the hatred and sheer disrespect he and his fellow countrymen felt for Great Britain as we reached the latter days of imperial power. I had, of course, always known of the mistake that was the Suez War. And I was fascinated to learn of Sadat’s hero worship of Zahran, one of the victims of the appalling incident at Denshway. I knew of this shameful event that had typified the arrogant and despotic nature of British overseas rule at the time, as I worked on a piece for radio with a fellow author, Dave Wallis. It was never broadcast because the authorities felt it was too political.

The book also gives an insight into the gentler side of Islam, whilst unconsciously validating the opinion that faith schools that brain-wash young students do great damage to the ability of those pupils to make fully informed decisions or to question the reality behind the dogma they are fed.

As with many political memoirs, this is a book peppered with names. Some are world famous individuals carrying their own reputations; Jimmy Carter, Henry Kissinger, Aleksei Kosygin, Yasir Arafat, James Callaghan and Menahem Begin come to mind. But many are, of course, figures only really known within Egypt, with little exposure on the world stage. He brings these people to life, however, and places them into the context of a country struggling first with the ideal of independence and then with establishing the rule of law amongst a population dangerously divided by sectarianism.


It is a fascinating read. I recommend it to those who have an interest in world politics and, especially, to those concerned with past and present events in the Middle East. A good, if sometimes difficult, read.
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Sea And Sardinia, by D.H. Lawrence, Reviewed

on Saturday, January 12, 2013

Full of detail, contrasts, contradictions and signature Lawrencian repetitions, this travel memoir is a fascinating read. As regular readers of my book reviews will know, an important factor in my enjoyment of any work is how well written is the piece. This one does not disappoint. Lawrence uses language with a mix of expert observation and casual scholarship rooted in instinct. His descriptions of people and place are vital, complex, opinionated and full of character.

First published in 1923, when he and Frieda had been married for 9 years, the book is an account of their travels from Sicily to Sardinia. That he refers to Frieda initially as Queen Bee and then simply as 'q.b.' (yes, in lower case) says something of the relationship between husband and wife. Though it's never stated in any direct way, the reader is left with the impression that the marriage is a strange sort of equal partnership with Frieda accepting Lawrence's particular take on the battle of the sexes. There is almost nothing of their togetherness and, in fact, he rarely refers to her in anything other than an aside, almost as if journeying alone. It's an odd stance, but takes little away from the joy of the journey for the reader, merely excluding the emotional interaction between the pair.

There's an air of the stoic about the way in which he describes various tribulations of the journey. Bleakness, inefficient and argumentative officials, and potential disaster are all taken in his stride. In fact, he seems to actually enjoy some of the privations. Of course, I read this account from the point of view of the modern traveller, for whom the ordinary necessities are taken for granted. Perhaps what the Lawrences faced on their various trips was simply the 'norm' of their day.

Post-First World War Italy and the two islands, under Mussolini's fascist rule at the time, face change and so-called progress with a suspicion that is sometimes palpable. One of the aspects I find so intriguing in the account is that Lawrence, in spite of his often dismissive opinions, is not at all judgemental on most of those occasions when one would expect strong condemnation. He seems to simply accept that things are the way they are.

English: Tunisia, Sicily and The South of Italy
English: Tunisia, Sardinia, Sicily and The South of Italy (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I've never been to Italy, Sicily or Sardinia but I always associated them with warmth. They are, after all, seated well within the Mediterranean. But the book describes the cold on parts of the journey in such detailed terms that the reader shivers with the chill. The landscape varies enormously over the duration of their journey, much of it through rugged countryside still untamed, rather like the Sardinians who he appears to admire for their almost savage way of life.

The tone of the account is that of a man tired of the relative stability and conservatism he sees as personifying his homeland at the time. This is a man in search of something, though it's uncertain what exactly that is. There is admiration as well as opprobrium and he clearly loves the characters they encounter, describing them in living terms that bring them out of the page to sit beside you as you read.

I thoroughly enjoyed the language of the book; the idiosyncratic English style and use of metaphor and simile. I was entertained and informed, intrigued and stimulated. But, would the book encourage me to visit Sardinia? It's a much changed world now, almost a hundred years later, but there was an underlying history and tradition informing the people that left me feeling I wouldn't be comfortable in their company. So, no, it hasn't left me with a yearning to visit the land, unlike Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernières, which had me holidaying in Cephalonia the year I read it. The book is, nevertheless, a very good read and I have no reservations about recommending it to armchair travellers.

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