Taking place in eighteenth century Bosnia, Death and the Dervish follows Sheikh Ahmed Nuruddin as he attempts to navigate the corrupt Turkish bureaucrTaking place in eighteenth century Bosnia, Death and the Dervish follows Sheikh Ahmed Nuruddin as he attempts to navigate the corrupt Turkish bureaucracy to free his brother Harun from their city’s foreboding dungeon and almost certain death. Most of the story involves Nuruddin’s paralyzing internal conflict between his morals and cowardice, and this is to a large extent the aspect of the story that makes it something special––or at least it’s one special thing I can actually discuss without spoiling things. And I imagine I’m not alone in enjoying this psychological exploration, as I would find it hard to believe that I’m the only person who has been there, so firmly stuck between doing the right thing and doing the easy or safe thing, and getting just as shook up whenever I later regret whichever decision I came to. Even though Selimović’s story is written as an overt analysis of these thoughts and feelings––a stylistic choice I usually dislike––it works so well in this instance because the author so effectively verbalizes this struggle.
Bolstering this thoughtful exploration is a cast of characters that I not only found interesting and realistic, but often possessing traits that act as extreme contrasts to those of our flawed protagonist. On one hand, this counterpoint serves to add almost a demonstrative element to the discussions about the ideals of morality and justice and their relation to both power and religion that make up the meat of the text. And, on the other, it helps to endear these characters to the readers, thus making any tragedies that befall them significantly more suspenseful and meaningful when they occur.
But, beneath everything is something far darker, and it comes about so organically that I was almost in disbelief when I started to understand what was happening. For this, and even other small pieces of memorable and extraordinary writing throughout, Death and the Dervish is likely a hugely important work for any writer to read. Otherwise, anyone can likely emerge from this work a little stronger if they even take away a small portion of Selimović’s astute understanding of the human condition....more
I honestly don’t remember where I first heard about On Killing, but it sure intrigued me at the time. Grossman’s book is about the conditioning employI honestly don’t remember where I first heard about On Killing, but it sure intrigued me at the time. Grossman’s book is about the conditioning employed by modern militaries in order to persuade reluctant soldiers into effectively killing, the emotional and psychiatric toll killing has on soldiers, and––I didn’t realize this, then––how we’re effectively conditioning members of society to become murderers through violent media. To be perfectly frank, I likely would not have searched far and wide for the book had I known that last bit was part and parcel of the text, but search far and wide I did, eventually tracking it down at some obscure Toronto used book store. And so, after it lived on my shelf for some time, I undertook what turned out to be the hefty task of reading it.
Don’t get me wrong: I tried to give On Killing a chance, as much as it may be hard to believe after an introduction like that. And the author presents compelling concepts throughout, gleaning important, first-hand information from veterans of combat, but he not only brings up the same quotations and figures time and time again, he also hammers out points and examples long past any semblance of necessity for clarity’s sake. This effectively takes what feels like an essay’s worth of information and extends it into a long-winded, repetitive chore. And Grossman comes across as constantly being on the cusp of understanding as we move along, but his text is marred with numerous oversimplifications. He too often examines concepts through too narrow a lens and seems to attribute things to either the wrong cause or an erroneously singular cause, and I can’t tell if this is done knowingly––narrowing discussions in an attempt to give his argument more weight––or if he actually sees the world from such a limited perspective. Most memorable to me now is when psychiatric trauma for Holocaust victims was attributed to the up-close, personal nature of their tormentors, while I’ve been led to believe from reading other, reliable texts on the subject that this is undoubtedly only a small part of it. Oversimplification here comes across as callousness toward victims of such atrocities in the name of his militaristic and nationalistic exercise––as does simply defining atrocity as “the killing of a noncombatant.”
By the end, I struggled to understand why On Killing seems to be held on such a lofty pedestal by so many, but then I became reminded of Lee Strobel here, that Grossman’s probably preaching to an audience that really, really, really wants to believe what he’s selling. (Though, it’s probably unfair to compare Grossman to Strobel, as I have no real reason to doubt Grossman’s sincerity here, even if I find his arguments to often be misinformed.) But it’s not all bad. I found the section on PTSD in returning Vietnam veterans to be most enlightening––particularly when standing beside his discussion on violence in the media. (The latter actually got to be so preachy, I started to think I was reading Robert Heinlein for a minute there.)...more