The Human Scale, by Lawrence Wright.

 

 

            So.  On the human scale, who is worth more:  an Arab or a Jew?  An Arab who has farmed and nurtured his ancestral land for centuries in the same family, or recent Jewish migrants who want to buy the land and settle on it themselves – because God and their Zionist leaders told them they could. This is their Promised Land, and if those Arabs won’t give it up, then they’ll find other means of taking it, and all the worthless Palestinians can drown themselves in the sea. 

            And by the time that American-born Palestinian FBI Agent Tony Malik decides to attend a family wedding in Hebron and renew old ties and acquaintances as part of his convalescence (he was the only survivor of an attempt TO dismantle a bomb built by Hamas to blow up a Jordanian aircraft), he is in a pretty frail state, certainly not up to his usual professional expertise, which means he is entirely unprepared for the lack of action by police against the flagrant, everyday abuse that Palestinian Arabs endure – and their savage retaliations against such injustice (Palestinian boys are athletes of Olympian stature when it comes to throwing stones.)  And stealing!  He saw one wearing his hat when he had his rental car robbed;  the consequent pursuit ended up with him being arrested by the local cops and a very surly bunch they were, too.

            Tony’s visit has not started well, and he is appalled by the blatant criminality, the corruption that he sees on both sides of the spectrum;  it’s only after he proves his worth in exposing the worst of that corruption that he starts to gain some respect – until the local police chief is discovered cruelly murdered.   Bridegroom Jamal (nicknamed the Peacemaker) immediately goes on the run despite the fact that he is innocent: – he knows how justice works in Hebron:  it doesn’t work at all.

            Lawrence Wright has produced an extraordinary, exhaustive and brilliant story of hatred and enmity as old as civilisation itself; the conflict and animus will never end, especially when the I.D.F. carefully targets the apartment of a Gazan family who has given Jamal the Peacemaker shelter:  that fatal attack turns Peacemaker into Avenger, with predictable, awful results

            A reader of this fine book before me gave it a score of 10 out of 10. And how right they were.  Thank you Lawrence Wright, for showing us what everyone has ended up with for all their machinations:  a lifelong burden of grief.  SEVEN STARS.      

 

 

 

 

The Last Living Cannibal, by Airana Ngarewa.

 

          1940’s Aotearoa New Zealand and the Second World War is raging:  Taranaki Maori have not joined the fighting by choice – the cream of their manhood has been decimated over the last century by colonialism, bringing on the Land Wars and unjust imprisonment for some warriors like Koko, who had to endure shame and humiliation because he had fought to retain ownership of his tribal land;  now Koko is  in his 90’s and the fight has gone out of him as it rightly should.  Younger men than he should step up to continue the fight – until he learns from his beloved grandson Blackie that Koko is known at his grandson’s school as The Last Living Cannibal by the pakeha teachers.

            Then insult is added to injury when he hears that Blackie and his mates are threatened with the Strap, a leather strip used for sharpening razors and capable of inflicting nasty welts on young skin:  Okay, that’s the last straw:  time to show that high and mighty schoolteacher who has the most mana.  Koko will cut him down to size.  And does, from the back of an unpredictable horse who will sometimes allow people to ride him – and sometimes not;  fortunately he must have been in a generous mood to carry Koko to his triumphant meeting with the gobsmacked teacher:  the effect they created is unforgettable, the only problem being a fatal heart attack for Koko on his winning way home.  Koko has lost his last battle.

            BUT!  More trouble awaits:  Koko is laid out on the Marae in advance of his funeral;  his spirit is still watching to see who is going to visit to pay their respects.   He is attended by his feckless son, Blackie’s dad and Blackie himself, plus all the old Aunties without whom these useless men can’t seem to function, when unexpected strangers arrive who don’t seem to be particularly friendly.  They are Tainui, the Northern Tribe of Blackie’s mother, and everyone is shocked to see her arrive and demand to take Blackie with her back to her tribal home on the Waikato.  She left Blackie’s dad after he beat her in a drunken rage – now she wants her son under the law of Muru, a just repayment for former wrongs suffered:  she wants her son:  Taranaki Maori  have had him long enough!

            Once again Airana Ngarewa has blessed us with unforgettable, exuberant characters – Blackie’s mates in particular, (and don’t forget that horse!)  – and lessons in history that pakeha would much rather forget but as always, he accentuates the positive and like Koko, we recognise that despite great tragedy and injustice optimists can still take heart in some parts of this troubled world.  SIX STARS.