The immigrant experience
For our anniversary, T gave me two books, one is The Lazarus Project by Sarajevo born Aleksandar Hemon, which I finished this afternoon. The fact that I was able to get through a book in these days and times is a testament to three pages a night and a fair chunk on the flights I just took because thankfully there is NO WIRELESS on the plane (yet).
I was wondering why she chose to give me this book on our anniversary as it is about a man in the throes of a major identity crisis and while he loves his American wife, he loves her less the closer he gets to his real home in Sarajevo. The comparisons that go back and forth are almost carbon copies of our life.
The wife is a true American – a brain surgeon no less, industrious, overworked. He wonders why she is nonplussed over the existential meaning of life and broods about his place in the world and his inability to deliver on any of his promises to himself.
Don’t get me wrong – it’s a good book, the writing is engaging – he wrote this in English and that is not his first language. The plot is compelling, he is wanting to write a book about an immigrant Jew who died at the turn of the century, an anarchist who was wrongfully shot by the Chief of Police in Chicago.
But it’s typical of boy drama, where the protagonist is the lonely man, dreaming of screwing someone other than his wife, and resenting that no one truly understands him – his lament throughout. Reminds of me of Richard Ford, whose writing I like as well, but who offers up the same boy themes throughout his writings.
Tonight I finished cleaning and sealing all the Carrara marble countertops in our house. This is something I’ve been waiting to do and was anticipating T’s departure as the opportune time to get it done. It was one of many things on my to do list that included three and a half hours in Metairie, a trip uptown, a trip to the Quarter, and lots of fast time here at the LaLa – the closet cleaned out for mother in law, the counter tops done, etc.
What remains is the scrubbing down the front and back porch but it is way too chilly for even this enterprising gal to do that.
What I wonder though is while T is in Spain, sipping espresso with her fellow European academics, perhaps even discussing the perils of capitalism, while I am here running down my to do list at nano speed, I wonder if she really understands that I do love her for her differences as well as our similarities, however vast they may seem, particularly when penned by a boy.