Wild Thorns

Wild Thorns (according to the dustjacket) is, "a chronicle of life in Israeli-occupied West Bank." It opens with the young Palestinian Usama crossing the border into Israel, and we are given immediate insight to his character; "A romantic, right? No way! Not since the training, the shooting, the crawling on all fours; such things make a man unromantic in thought and deed."

The next thing that caught my attention was the section on house of Usama’s cousin Nuwar. "The house is always dirty,’ Nuwar said sadly. ‘See?’ She ran her hand lightly along the balustrade and showed him the dust on her finger. ‘And to think,’ she said, ‘that people are still proud of owning big houses like this. It’s an outdated way of life, it doesn’t work anymore. This house needs at least three servants, but it doesn’t even have one- except me!’ Usama nodded. ‘Yes, the time when everyone had servants is over,’ he said. ‘Does that bother you?’ ‘No, it’s natural. It’s up to us to learn how to look after ourselves." At first this section depressed me. The idea of people losing their way of life felt disheartening. But then, I realized it was simply an example of change. No society can stay the same; a society in stasis will atrophy. Besides, can I truly feel badly for people who no longer have their servants and have to take care of themselves?

The rest of the book is an emotional journey, with interesting characters interspersed. However, it wasn’t until the very end that my attention was caught again. The last few paragraphs just stunned me with their clear juxtaposition of the turmoil throughout the novel with the life right after: "The house lay in ruins. The men dispersed. The women came down from the roofs. Adil slipped away from the crowd, cutting through the narrow back streets and heading for the main square. He stood on the pavement watching the people on their way home, on their way to work. They lived their everyday lives stoically, silently. Nothing had changed. The square stood where it always had; the town clock ticked slowly as it always had. Only the flowers seemed to have grown larger, taller; otherwise nothing had changed...The liquorice and carob-drink peddler clashed his cymbals rhythmically...People went about their buisness, buying vegetables, fruit and bread." After everything that has happened in this novel, there is still no impact to the rest of the town, much less the country.