Horses of God, 2010, Mahi Binebine ****

Horses of God tells the story of a boy who lives in abject poverty and squalor in Morocco, falls into Islamic indoctrination and is convinced to carry out a jihad. This book actually is written in remembrance of the 2003 Casablanca bombing. One of the suicide bombers from his grave narrates the story of his life and what led him to become a suicide bomber.

It is not a novel I particularly enjoyed however, I must say it is brilliantly written. An interesting read as we live in an era where there has been more often than not suicide attacks, a situation that creates
mental discomfort. This books takes you right into the lives of the jihadists where they tell you their story before their death from the beginning.

In Horses of God, the boys are marginalised, their parents couldn't care less as they've got a lot to deal with themselves. These children are easily manipulated, their young minds get tapped into and in a blink of an eye they are being convinced that others are the reason their life is meaningless.

Originally written in French, with title "Les étoiles de Sidi Moumen" it won and was nominated for many literary awards: The International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award Nominee for Shortlist (2015), BTBA Best Translated Book Award Nominee for Fiction (2014), Scott Moncrieff Prize Nominee for Lulu Norman (2014), Prix du Roman Arabe (2010), Prix Littéraire Mamounia (2010)

Mahi Binebine is the first Moroccan novelist whose book I have read, I look forward to reading more from the country. My first read of 2018.

The novel has been turned into a motion picture and I'd like to see it.

What is your first read of the year? Have you read this novel? What other novels by Moroccan writers would you recommend?

from Mary Okeke Reviews http://ift.tt/2EE3fHd

Comments

The Beautiful Faraway: Why I’m Grateful for My Soviet Childhood

At 10 I wanted to be an artist, practiced a hysterical form of Christianity, talked to trees, and turned a sunset at a local park into a visionary experience. My great-aunt lured me to Evangelical Christianity with the strangeness of Gospel stories where Jesus always ended up angry at his disciples’ failure to understand. I sympathized with being misunderstood, and latched on. Besides, Christianity was a forbidden fruit in Soviet Russia so I had to worship in secret. This was unnerving but also alluring. I was a breathless romantic who wanted to be surprised by a knight on a white horse. From the early ‘80s to the early ‘90s, my childhood was formed by the images, atmosphere, and allusiveness of Soviet songs. I grew up in an artistic family where emotions flew high. I was the kind of imaginative child who could spin an entire tale from an oblong stain on the kitchen table. But there’s more to it than that. My family was not always idealistic or romantic, especially not in New York in...

Dressing for Others: Lawrence of Arabia’s Sartorial Statements

Left: T. E. Lawrence; Right: Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia (1962) In the southwest Jordanian desert, among the sandstone mountains of Wadi Rum, there is a face carved into a rock. The broad cheeks and wide chin are framed by a Bedouin kuffiyeh headdress and ‘iqal, and beneath the carving, in Arabic, are the words: “Lawrence The Arab 1917.” If you are visiting Wadi Rum with a tour guide, you can expect to be brought to this carving. You may also be shown a spring where Lawrence allegedly bathed, as well as a mountain named after his autobiography, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, whose rock face has been weathered into a shape that does, from some angles, look a little like a series of pillars. I am familiar with the legend of T.E. Lawrence—fluent Arabist, British hero of the Arab Revolt of 1916, troubled lover of the Arab peoples—as well as with the ways the Jordanian tourism industry has capitalized on this legend. Nevertheless, I am still surprised when I hear someone mentio...

Philistines

Welcome to Disney World! Photograph courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. 1. Once I had to go to Disney World with my small children. On the way to the airport our taxi driver exhibited signs of Obsessive Disney Disorder—when he found out where we were going he started obsessively describing and listing and explaining everything that had to do with Disney World, even though he was a grown man. We stayed at the Portofino Bay Hotel, a Disney-owned property that is a replica of the storied village on the Italian Riviera. There were imitation Renaissance churches and Mediterranean piazzas clustered around a fake harbor with old Fiats parked on the cobblestones and fishing boats moored in the fake bay. Outside cafés ranged on the harbor, serving espresso under green-and-white striped awnings. Italian cypresses were planted along the pools. If you didn’t know it was a Disney replica of a real place, it would have to be characterized as being extremely tasteful and lovely. So you did tend to ge...

TOBI'S DESK

Search This Blog