How the Irish saved civilization, or at least literature
Now that's what I call a literary award: $155,000. And it goes to Beirut-born Rawi Hage, recipient of the IMPAC Dublin
Literary Award, for his debut novel De Niro's Game. Amazingly enough, the award is run by the Dublin Public Library system, according to AP, though it's financed by a Connecticut-based management consultancy.
Hage beat out Yasmina Khadra (The Attack); Sayed Kashua (Let It Be Morning); Andrei Makine (The Woman Who Waited); Yasmine Gooneratne (The Sweet & Simple Kind); Gail Jones (Dreams of Speaking); Javier Cercas (The Speed of Light) and Patrick McCabe (Winterwood).
Here's what Herald reviewer Rayyan Al-Shawaf, who lives in Beirut, had to say about the novel:
Shortlisted for the Scotiabank Giller Prize and the Governor General's Literary Award in Canada, De Niro's Game does for Christian East Beirut what Ziad Doueiri's much-acclaimed film West Beirut did for the predominantly Muslim half of the Lebanese capital. Narrator Bassam and his best friend George -- nicknamed "De Niro" -- were kids when the war erupted and have seemingly grown inured to its effects. Most of their neighbors, however, remain foolishly preoccupied with dodging death. Hage eerily conjures up the paralytic terror experienced by densely populated neighborhoods when pummeled by indiscriminate shelling: "There was that silence, that quietness before bombs fall and teeth chatter and kids piss in their older brothers' shorts, and young girls menstruate before their time, and windows shatter, and glass slices our dark flesh wide open."
Increasingly, Bassam and George view the war as a means to make money. They concoct a scheme to siphon off funds from a militia-run casino where George works. This proves lucrative, but soon George joins the militia and is drawn into mindless violence. While George sinks ever deeper, Bassam contemplates emigration and eventually makes his way to France. The final third of the novel features a pretentious mix of fantasy and existential philosophizing -- Bassam borrows Camus' L'tranger from an Algerian hotel clerk in Paris -- and generally proves a disappointment.
Though a number of Arabic words and expressions are incorrectly rendered, Hage skillfully evokes the contradictions of Lebanese culture and the madness of wartime Beirut through arresting visual imagery and a sensitive probing of communal sentiment. Haunting descriptions of Armenians who survived the 1915 Turkish massacres and found refuge in Lebanon, passing references to neighborhoods populated by Syriacs and one character's stark reminder that Christians in Lebanon should remain vigilant lest they end up like their counterparts in Egypt all provide readers with a glimpse into the siege mentality of East Beirut.
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