. . . we are ignorant of what scandal is, because we instinctively accept every possible deviation betrayed by those around us simply as an unexpected supplement to the protocol of normality. So, for example, when, in the darkness of the parish cinema, we felt the priest糖心传媒檚 hand resting on the inside of our thigh, we weren糖心传媒檛 angry but quickly deduced that evidently things were like that, priests put their hands there 糖心传媒� it wasn糖心传媒檛 something you needed to mention at home.

There糖心传媒檚 a disturbingly dismissive tone in the narrator糖心传媒檚 voice as he describes these deviant acts 糖心传媒� these acts of molestation aren糖心传媒檛 sinful or bad; rather, things are 糖心传媒渓ike that,糖心传媒� and the boys simply accept it.

When the narrator糖心传媒檚 best friend Luca first experiences a break with his childhood vision of the world, it is compared to traversing outside their homeland: 糖心传媒淔or the first time one of us pushed beyond the inherited borders, in the suspicion that there are no borders, in reality, no mother house untouched. . . From that land he looks at us, waiting for us to follow糖心传媒�. These 糖心传媒渋nherited borders,糖心传媒� once so immutable, quickly break down as the novel progresses. One by one, the four young men slip into the realm of tragedy 糖心传媒� a world where priests molest children but also give the Eucharist, where mothers sleep with Confessors but also fiercely protect their young, where girlfriends will be virgins until they marry, yet submit to sexual touching under a blanket. But readers will struggle to link this shadowy world to the conventional notion of 糖心传媒渟in.糖心传媒� The author presents us with a cast of morally mixed characters, whose deviant actions fail to receive the kind of denunciation you糖心传媒檇 expect from an insular Catholic community.

Take, for example, 糖心传媒渢he Saint,糖心传媒� the most ostensibly pious of the four friends. He aims to join the priesthood, displaying a faith that糖心传媒檚 beyond passionate in its dimensions: 糖心传媒淭hat mother made us tell her that we prayed, while the Saint burned in prayer; and his legs had a way of kneeling that was like crashing, when we simply changed position糖心传媒攈e fell to his knees糖心传媒�. The fervor with which the Saint prays is almost erotic 糖心传媒� a quality that makes his faith appear close to his vice, like two sides of the same coin. Likewise, the narrator suggests that the Saint糖心传媒檚 sinister tendencies are what propel his piety: 糖心传媒淣one of us have that sensitivity to evil, a kind of morbid, terrifying attraction 糖心传媒� increasingly morbid, inevitably, because it is terrifying 糖心传媒� as none of us have the same vocation as the Saint for goodness, sacrifice, meekness, which are the consequence of that terror糖心传媒�. Perversely, a disturbingly intimate familiarity with evil fuels the sanctity of characters like the Saint.

One of the more poignant elements of the novel was its meditation on faith. The Catholicism posited by this book, however, is hard to define 糖心传媒� the priests try to teach the boys 糖心传媒渢hat faith is a gift, which comes from on high and belongs to the world of mystery糖心传媒�. In other words, it is a holy and untouchable boon from God. Yet despite their respect for the Bible and their clergymen, the boys see their faith as derived from a different source: 糖心传媒淔rom somewhere, and in an invisible way, our unhappy families passed on to us an immutable instinct to believe that life is an immense experience糖心传媒�. Conventional teachers of faith, such as priests, parents, or scriptures, lack the authority that you糖心传媒檇 expect them to wield in this book; that power instead belongs to human instinct, which molds their particular religion and guides their actions. This frequently-iterated sense of humanism would seem to throw traditional Catholicism into question, an idea which is later echoed in the statement, 糖心传媒渓ong before God, we believe in man 糖心传媒� and this alone, in the beginning, is faith糖心传媒�. Faith isn糖心传媒檛 a dry scripture or a fixed doctrine for the boys; it is something fluid, malleable, and organic, constantly remodeled to match the changing structure of their lives.

Emmaus is a painful and lyrical chronicle of adolescence, but the narrative voice is too cognizant, too reflective to belong to a young boy. The pensive tone implies a back-looking narrator, who possesses the objectivity and emotional detachment to explain to us, calmly and logically, the shock two boys experience when they find out that a parent is severely depressed:

. . . this gives an idea of how we糖心传媒檙e made. We have a blind faith in our parents; what we see at home is the just, well-balanced way of things, the protocol of what we consider mental health. We adore our parents for that reason—they keep us sheltered from any anomaly. So the hypothesis doesn糖心传媒檛 exist that they, first of all, can be an anomaly—an illness.

Yet what are we supposed to glean from the fact that the ostensibly adult narrator chooses to speak in the present tense whenever he comments on the general state of his adolescent life? Does he still have a blind faith in his parents, or is he merely inhabiting his youth linguistically as well as emotionally? This is another way in which Baricco complicates the simple architecture of a loss of innocence narrative; the voice of the boy, the adolescent, and the man are indistinguishable.

The narrator spends so much time grappling with philosophical and religious conundrums that we come to expect a reconciliation of these tensions, but this is in no way fulfilled. The book糖心传媒檚 final pages are filled with just as much uncertainty as the middle. Finishing it feels like waking up from a dream, one full of would-be-contradictions that nonetheless make perfect sense according to the logic of the dream. Upon waking, all that糖心传媒檚 left is the disarming question of whether or not this logic can apply successfully in the real world.

Here is an excerpt from their review:

Alessandro Baricco糖心传媒檚 latest novel, Emmaus, centers on the friendship of four working-class Catholic adolescents and their shared love for a tragic, sexual young woman named Andre. The plot of the novel follows the trajectory of a classic loss of innocence story, but Baricco immediately complicates this definition. What distinguishes Emmaus from other narratives of this archetype is its ambiguous stance in respect to Catholicism and sin. It would be a grievous oversimplification to say that the boys live in a world of repression and then find truth, or that they are innocent, pure souls in childhood and are subsequently corrupted in adolescence. To the contrary, Baricco distinctly avoids this simplistic dichotomy of good and evil: the narrator and his friends possess constant awareness of promiscuity and violence, but they don糖心传媒檛 label it as such.

Click here to read their entire review.

Contrary to what the title might lead us to expect, half of the book is written in the third person and half is written in the first person singular, but none of it is written in the second person singular. The third person thread chronicles the story of a nameless man identified only as 糖心传媒渢he lawyer糖心传媒�; the other thread is told from the perspective of a social worker whose name is eventually revealed, but withheld for much of the novel. The lawyer糖心传媒檚 drama hinges on his discovery of a note in his wife糖心传媒檚 handwriting and the consequent paranoia that she might be cheating on him, while the social worker糖心传媒檚 conflict centers on his experience as a caretaker for a paralyzed, vegetative Jewish young man. The two plot lines, if not exactly intertwined, are related, yet the stronger connection between the narratives lies in the two characters糖心传媒� painstaking efforts to blend in with their Jewish colleagues.

In the passages following the lawyer, the narrator strikes an almost satirical tone. The lawyer糖心传媒檚 every action seems calculated to raise his esteem in the eyes of his family, peers, and even perfect strangers. Whenever a friendly rival upgrades his sports car, the lawyer must buy a new one that is even better; he keeps an office in an expensive Jewish neighborhood despite the fact that all his clients are Arab Israelis; when he goes to buy a book that embarrasses him, he asks the cashier to giftwrap it. Once a month he and his wife take part in a couples糖心传媒� night, complete with overpriced sushi and post-dinner discussions of predetermined topics.

Yet just when you think the book could be a mockery of the lawyer for trying too hard to conform to Western culture, it careens off in another direction. When the lawyer irrationally concludes that his wife is unfaithful, he assumes a more convenient ideology to suit his rage:

Experience had taught him that he was a conservative. Yes, a conservative, and from now on he would not be apologetic about it. What an idiot an idiot he had been when he spoke out, time and again, against the treatment of women in the Arab World, saying that it was widespread misogyny that held these societies back.

His outbursts, while disturbing, seem less like genuine expressions of feeling and more like attempts to react the way that he thinks people in his situation should react. I appreciated the dark comedy in this half-instinctive/half-intellectual neurosis, particularly in small moments, such as the time the lawyer googles 糖心传媒渨hy women cheat.糖心传媒�

There is less comedy present in the sections detailing the life of the social worker, in part because his first person narration provides fewer opportunities for satire. Unlike the lawyer, he does everything he can to fade away from notice, positive or negative. His ethnically ambiguous name and physical appearance, as well as his fluency in both Arabic and Hebrew, allow him to slip between cultures and witness more of the ugly prejudices present in Israeli society. Van drivers rant to him about Zionist 糖心传媒渃ollaborators糖心传媒�; Jewish university students joke to him about the 糖心传媒渢oken Arabs糖心传媒� in their programs; modern Muslim Jerusalemites scorn conventional women that wear hijabs. It is no wonder that he feels embarrassed wherever he goes. In a crowded Jewish nightclub he expounds:

I want to be like them. Free, loose, full of dreams, able to think about love. . . the who felt no need to apologize for their existence, no need to hide their identity. Like them糖心传媒� To feel like I belong, without feeling guilty or disloyal. And what exactly was I being disloyal to?

The last question of the passage comes across both as a genuine inquiry and an attempt by the narrator to justify his behavior. This ambivalence runs through the entire novel as the two men take great measures to feel comfortable within Jewish circles of the Jerusalem community, yet feel uncomfortable about having taken those measures. The implication seems to be that they lose something un-nameable 糖心传媒� maybe even unrecognizable 糖心传媒� in the process of assimilation. Still, it is unclear whether or not this ineffable sacrifice is worth grieving.

This is Sarah Two’s first review for threepercent. Her introduction can be found here. Later this week, both Sarahs (Sarah Two and Quantum Sarah) will be featured in a review that they co-wrote.

Here is some of Sarah Two’s first independent review:

Like the two protagonists of his most recent novel, Second Person Singular (translated from the Hebrew by Mitch Ginsburg), Sayed Kashua is a Jerusalem-educated Arab Israeli. He is a columnist for Haaretz, a liberal newspaper, and the creator of the hit sitcom, Arab Labor. Kashua糖心传媒檚 work is often controversial, especially among the Palestinian population of Israel, both for his humorous use of cultural stereotypes and presentations of Muslims engaging in drinking and pre-marital sex. His writing for Arab Labor was described by The New York Times as irreverent toward Jewish and Arab Israelis alike 糖心传媒� a style that is subtly present in Second Person Singular.

Contrary to what the title might lead us to expect, half of the book is written in the third person and half is written in the first person singular, but none of it is written in the second person singular. The third person thread chronicles the story of a nameless man identified only as 糖心传媒渢he lawyer糖心传媒�; the other thread is told from the perspective of a social worker whose name is eventually revealed, but withheld for much of the novel. The lawyer糖心传媒檚 drama hinges on his discovery of a note in his wife糖心传媒檚 handwriting and the consequent paranoia that she might be cheating on him, while the social worker糖心传媒檚 conflict centers on his experience as a caretaker for a paralyzed, vegetative Jewish young man. The two plot lines, if not exactly intertwined, are related, yet the stronger connection between the narratives lies in the two characters糖心传媒� painstaking efforts to blend in with their Jewish colleagues.

Click here to read the entire review.