The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak

Elif Shafak has been an author I have followed for many years now, one of the first authors I encountered before starting to read a lot of women in translation, who came from a non English speaking culture, who wrote stories that came from a cultural understanding that was not British or American, even if that was the audience she hoped to attract.

Since those first novels, she now writes in English and no longer lives in Istanbul. Since moving to London she has become more widely known. This book was shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction 2022 and the former Costa Novel Award. It is the 5th of her novels I have read. She also writes essay style non-fiction.

Review

In The Island of Missing Trees, she again takes the reader into another culture, to the island of Cyprus; a land with a long history that arrived at a point, where its humans decided to divide on their differences, here it was via origin, Turkish Cypriot or Greek Cypriot.

You belonged to one group or the other and were not supposed to stray. Until they created this divided line, young people would do what is natural for them to do before external influences corrupt their thinking, they develop friendships, they fall in love, they take risks. They get sent away, banned, forbidden from…

Physical Separation denies Ancestral Lineage

The story begins in London, late 2010’s with Ada, a daughter, at school on the last day of term. Ada lives with her father Kostas, her mother Defne has recently passed away. They are given a holiday assignment to write an essay, asked to interview an elderly member, they will be studying migration and generational change.

Ada dropped her gaze. She had never met her relatives on either side. She knew they lived in Cyprus somewhere but that was about the extent of her knowledge. What kind of people were they? How did they spend their days? Would they recognise her if they passed her on the street or bumped into each other in the supermarket?

Ada has never visited Cyprus, her parents only ever made excuses when she asked about family, gradually she would sense that her parents marriage had not been approved by their families. That she too was not approved.

Yet for as long as she was able to, Ada had retained the hopeful belief that if any of her extended family were to spend time with her and her parents, they would forgive them for whatever it was they had not been forgiven for.

Are Trees Conscious? A Fig Gives Voice

Photo by Daniel Watson on Pexels.com

Ada’s father digs up and buries their fig tree to protect it from the harsh winter. The fig is not in its natural climate or environment and special measures are required to keep it alive. The tree is given a narrative voice in the novel. It was a sapling from the island, it came from a mother fig that grew in the middle of a tavern, where Ada’s parents used to meet. In this way, the fig is all seeing.

The fig tree is a metaphor for the uprooted, the displaced, for the migrant, for the old ways. It is a symbol for not forgetting. It represents something of the motherland for the migrant and the way it lives through the seasons demonstrates something to humans about how to be.

Arboreal-time is equivalent to story-time – and, like a story, a tree does not grow in perfectly straight lines, flawless curves or exact right angles, but bends and twists and bifurcates into fantastical shapes, throwing out branches of wonder and arcs of invention.
They are incompatible, human-time and tree-time.

After a terrible last day at school, Ada arrives home to learn that her mother’s sister is coming to visit. She rages. She will have the opportunity to address the void within her where it resides.

Half hiding in the shadows, she watched the two adults by the fig tree, drawn to the strangeness of their behaviour but equally detached from them, as if witnessing someone else’s dream.

A Third Culture Kid Awakens

The novel explores what it is to be raised in another culture, severed from one’s own, as if not knowing it is enough to disconnect, as if assimilation is a cure for forgetting one’s past, one’s lineage, one’s identity. It demonstrates the effect of that denial, that severance, the dysfunction that arrives when one is deprived of a connection to one’s roots. And how differently each person deals with grief and loss.

It returns to Cyprus and slowly reveals the story of Ada’s parents that lead up to their separation and reuniting and the impossibility of being able to live there, the sacrifice that leaving demanded of them, the consequence.

A tree is a memory keeper. Tangled beneath our roots, hidden inside our trunks, are the sinews of history, the ruins of war nobody came to win, the bones of the missing.

The story is presented from different perspectives, showing the different realities that life is lived from depending on where one had been planted, uprooted from and replanted. It is a thought provoking read that doesn’t provide answers but offers to expand the reader’s awareness of the complications humans live under when love disrespects the rigid outlook that communities adhere to.

It shows the ripple effect of staying and/or leaving and the strangeness of being the protege of that, growing up in foreign lands that they have then acclimated to, except for the deep unsettled feeling that runs through their veins.

There is a delightful twist at the end that made me remember first encountering Elif Shafak and her describing her own childhood, of the stories her grandmother would tell, the superstitions she held. Here, I thought, is that little girl’s imagination, still going strong, writing novels that go deep into the realities of the human experience but are not above allowing something of the magic and wonder of an unbound imagination to run free.

Further Reading

Interview, Guardian: Elif Shafak: I’ve Always Believed in Inherited Pain

My Reviews of Honour, Three Daughters of Eve, The Happiness of Blond People,

Elif Shafak, Author

Elif Shafak is an award-winning British-Turkish novelist and a champion of women’s rights and freedom of expression. Her books have been translated into fifty-five languages.

Her novels include The Bastard of IstanbulThe Forty Rules of LoveThe Architect’s ApprenticeThree Daughters of EveHonour, 10 Minutes 38 Seconds in This Strange World, which was a finalist for the 2019 Booker Prize, and The Island of Missing Trees, shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Fiction 2022.

She is also the author of a memoir, Black Milk: On the Conflicting Demands of Writing, Creativity, and Motherhood.

She is a Vice-President of the Royal Society of Literature. Shafak was awarded the Halldór Laxness International Literature Prize for her contribution to ‘the renewal of the art of storytelling.’ An active political commentator, columnist, and public speaker, she lives in London. 

Admiring Silence by Abdulrazak Gurnah

 A young man grows up with his mother on the island of Zanzibar, without knowing his father.

Nobel Prize Literature 2021 fictionSome years later he is given a chance to study in England, by a family friend who is a strict disciplinarian, ensuring he succeeds in his studies. He discovers how much more difficult life can be when he becomes independent and no longer has the encouragement of his fellow countryman to push him.

“I began to understand how Ahmed had protected me, and how frightening England really was…In no time at all after I moved, I was overcome by the enormity of my abandonment, like someone weeping in a crowd. 

I was astonished by the sudden surge of loneliness and terror I felt when I realized how stranded I was in this hostile place, that I did not know how to speak to people and win them over to me,that the bank, the canteen, the supermarket,  the dark streets seemed so intimidating, and that I could not return from where I came – that, as I then thought, I had lost everything.Then Emma came and filled my life. I can’t describe that.”

The novel opens with the following lines that say much about our protagonist and are a reference to twin themes of memory and identity that thread throughout the narrative and an ever present silence, his accomplice.

“I have found myself leaning heavily on this pain. At first I tried to silence it, thinking it would go and leave me to my agitated content. That it would linger for a season, a firm reminder of the disquiet that lurks and coils below the surface of the stubbornly self-gratifying vision of our lives. Far from going, it became more clear, more precisely located, concrete, an object that occupied space within me, cockroachy, dark and intimate, emitting thick, stinking fumes that reeked of loneliness and terror. When I woke up in the morning, I groped for it, then sighed with plunging recognition as I felt it stirring inside me, alive and well.”

We meet him in middle age, when he is sensing this pain; the doctor will tell him his heart is buggered, informing him of the susceptibility of Afro-Caribbean’s to numerous complaints. And so to the first of his many silences, to the proliferation of thoughts never spoken, used as a tool to protect himself from racism and prejudice.

“Of course, after all this drama I did not have the heart to tell him that I was not Afro-Caribbean, or any kind of Caribbean, not even anything to do with the Atlantic – strictly an Indian ocean lad, Muslim, orthodox Sunni by upbringing, Wahhabi by association and still unable to escape the consequences of those early constructions.”

He had been surprised by Emma’s interest in him. They had become a couple and a had a child together. Amelia, now a teenager whom he is barely able to relate to. He has become a disappointment to her without understanding why.

Due to Emma’s rebelliousness against her middle class, conventional parents, they had never married. Our unnamed narrator never complained about this situation, he was beyond the reproach of his own culture, a place she had never visited, a culture his daughter knew nothing of.

Encounters with Emma’s parents predictably demonstrated racism, ignorance and insensitivity, as might be expected from an older generation when one culture or race encountered another, having had little or nothing to do them in the past – or worse – having lived and worked in a way where they had deemed themselves superior, as if it were an accepted fact. 

“Murmur audibly, smile brightly, say nothing. In general that did not seem to me at the time to be a contemptible philosophy, and there were many occasions when I rebuked myself for failing to live by it more consistently. I felt Emma watching me, waiting for me to take offence about something. I had been well primed for this, to expect to be offended by something her parents were bound to say, or imply, or disguise in an apparently innocent commonplace.”

Our narrator observes everything with a mild sense of detachment, he is curious but not judgmental. He often thinks of things he could have said, should have said, but didn’t. His silence will have consequences. He uses them as a pause or space between the past and present, a void that sets him on a collision course with reality, resulting in disappointment and self-deception.

The narrative voice comes across like he is explaining things to to the uninitiated, to others also not from England, to the outsider; perhaps as a warning, not to do as he has done.

“So I went to see my doctor in the end. I became afraid for my pitiful life and went to see my doctor. You can say that in England. My doctor. Here everyone has a doctor all to themselves.”

His observations of the nuances of the cross-cultural, inter-racial relationship are bittersweet. Following fond memories of a holiday in the lake district where they read poetry and take long walks, he ponders the moment things changed with his daughter.

I have photographs of that time and I know I don’t imagine the impossible contentment they portray.

Then she grew up, I suppose. She spoke to her mother about things that she must have thought I would not be able to help her with.It was predictable, but it was also oddly painful. She wanted to do things differently, in ways that seemed strange to me, and when I said this to her I felt a distance growing between us. I suppose I was slow to realize that she did not want to be treated as a beloved child any more, who would listen avidly to my wise thoughts and advice and then change her plans accordingly. So the first time she shouted angrily at me, I cried. I remember her distress then, but perhaps there was nothing either of us knew how to do to prevent the distance growing. Maybe it was more my fault then hers, because I was slow to learn to make room for her, to withdraw gracefully and with affection. And the distance grew into a habit, with only moments of fondness breaking into the hurtful watchfulness.

Admiring Silence Abdulrazak Gurnah

Photo by Charl Durand on Pexels.com

Due to the political situation in Zanzibar, it is 20 years before he returns. He has not told his family about his personal life in England. His relationship with Emma is increasingly difficult, as they fall into patterns they seem not to be able to extract themselves from.

When he returns home, he finds that little has changed. His family set about doing what they have always done, intervening. Though he knows he probably won’t go along with anything they are arranging for him, he allows situations to progress further than they should, given his circumstance. It will require him to be more present and to do more than just observe what is happening around him, he ought to take action he tells himself, before things get out of control.

It is a recognition of heightened awareness, the consequence of which is a loss, an understanding, whose price is to live in the ‘in-between’, to make one continually ponder who they really are, to where they belong.

Brilliantly told, observed and felt. Gurnah’s portrayal of the unnamed narrator is insightful, and realistic, capturing what it might feel like to be trapped between two cultures, with a foot in each camp, neither quite belonging to one or other, seeing through them both, existing in a kind of no man’s land, a threshold that many occupy, though rarely under the exact same circumstance.

The way the novel ends feels realistic, it leaves some of the story to the reader’s imagination, it reminds us of how many different combinations of circumstances exist with people being born and/or raised in cultures not of their parents, or marrying across cultures. 

“Gurnah’s dedication to truth and his aversion to simplification are striking. This can make him bleak and uncompromising, at the same time as he follows the fates of individuals with great compassion and unbending commitment. His novels recoil from stereotypical descriptions and open our gaze to a culturally diversified East Africa unfamiliar to many in other parts of the world. In Gurnah’s literary universe, everything is shifting – memories, names, identities.” Anders Olsson, Chairman of the Nobel Committee

I loved the novel, it was a 5 star read for me, highly recommended, I hope to read By The Sea  next.

Abdulrazak Gurnah, Author

Abdulrazak-Gurnah-Nobel-Prize-LiteratureAbdulrazak Gurnah is a Tanzanian-born British novelist and academic. He was born in the Sultanate of Zanzibar and moved to the UK in the 1960s as a refugee during the Zanzibar Revolution. 

After liberation from British colonial rule in December 1963, Zanzibar went through a revolution which led to oppression and persecution of citizens of Arab origin; massacres occurred. Gurnah belonged to the victimised ethnic group and after finishing school was forced to leave his family and flee the country, by then the newly formed Republic of Tanzania. He was eighteen years old. He did not return until 1984. 

Gurnah has published ten novels and a number of short stories. He was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2021 “for his uncompromising and compassionate penetration of the effects of colonialism and the fate of the refugee in the gulf between cultures and continents”.

The theme of the refugee’s disruption runs throughout his work. He began writing as a 21-year-old in English exile, and even though Swahili was his first language, English became his literary tool. In his work, he consciously breaks with convention, upending the colonial perspective to highlight that of the indigenous populations. 

Memory of Departure (1987) Pilgrims Way (1988) Dottie (1990) Paradise (1994) Admiring Silence (1996) By the Sea (2001) Desertion (2005) The Last Gift (2011) Gravel Heart (2017) Afterlives (2020)

Further Reading

Biography + Bibliography of Gurnah’s WorksNobel Prize for Literature Committee

Interview with Abdulrazak Gurnah