Three Memoirs

I read three memoirs recently, each so unique and heartbreaking, I found myself in prayer after finishing them. Daughters of Palestine by Leyla K. King is a memoir spanning a hundred years of the women in her family, from the demise of the Ottoman Empire to WWII to the creation of Israel, and what it meant for their family to be displaced from their ancestral homeland. We often forget the plight of the Palestinian Christians who are caught in the crossfire between Jews and Muslims. It is sad that there are so few Christians remaining in the Holy Land, the place where Christianity as born. But Christians have a unique perspective: we know we are merely pilgrims on this earth; we pray for the grace to be brought to our eternal home in heaven with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Ms. King has captured the voices of her ancestors in this book. It's an intimate portrayal of a family amidst the tumultuous and bloodiest events in recent history. You can see some of the family photographs here: Daughters of Palestine: – The Thankful Priest – Leyla King I highly recommend this fast-paced memoir. You can pair it with Lawrence of Arabia by Scott Anderson to get a sense of how the modern Middle East was created. Many thanks to Eerdmans for a review copy of Daughters of Palestine. 

Coincidentally, today is also the Feast of St. Charbel Makhlouf, a Lebanese priest-monk known for his holiness. Let us pray to him for peace in the Middle East. 

Kiki Latimer interviewed me on Catholic Bookworm and when I learned she'd gone to India and shared her letters and journal entries in a book, Seeing God's Face, I knew I had to have it. It is such an honest account --of being moved to tears by poverty and injustice, but also experiencing the simple joys of sharing tea and sweets. Even though these writings are from 20 years ago, they evoked so many memories of my own from 50 years ago. This picture of the family on the moped could've been ours. The writing is beautiful and uncensored--how I wish I could write like this, with searing honesty.

 

This last memoir, Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy, is one I devoured. I'd read her first novel, The God of Small Things, when it came out nearly 30 years ago, when I had just returned from a month in India after a 20-year absence. It slayed me. I didn't realize how much of it is autobiographical until I read the memoir. My heart broke for the little girl who never knew unconditional love and for the young woman who was so poor, she lived in a shanty while going to school (to study architecture). I loved that she had the courage to leave the home she knew to forge a better life for herself. She worked hard. She was writing screenplays with her husband before she turned to novel writing and what a debut! I could see how all the beautiful and ugly things shaped her. She's tenacious, clinging to life from the beginning, and following her dreams. Winning the Booker granted her everything that money could buy and she continues to be generous with her wealth, having known abject poverty and injustice herself. I sensed a wounded heart that hasn't healed. She's prickly. Because the one thing that comes up again and again is that the place of refuge becomes a dangerous place. Is it any wonder that I am moved to pray for her, that she may discover the unconditional love of God for her. I hope someone places Henri Nouwen's Life of the Beloved in her hands. It is so hard to believe in God when one is abandoned by the very people who are supposed to care for you, love you. Love doesn't have to be a transaction. Thanks to Net Galley for a review copy.