Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms
In recent weeks, Ezidis, Druze, Mandaeans and other Middle Eastern religious minorities have appeared in the world's headlines. For the most part, these groups, unfamiliar to most Westerners, have been no more than names attached to tragedies. Gerard Russell's Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms: Journeys into the Disappearing Religions of the Middle East appears just in time to answer readers' questions about some of the world's most ancient and least understood religions.
Russell describes Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms as a series of personal and informal investigations, begun during his fourteen years as an Arabic- and Farsi-speaking diplomat in Iraq, Iran and Lebanon. Much of the book's considerable charm rests in Russell's accounts of his often-uncomfortable travels into remote regions of the Middle East and his interviews with members of the seven religions he discusses. He pursues his investigations in places as diverse as the Zoroastrian ruins of ancient Persepolis and a Chaldean community center in Detroit. But make no mistake, this is not a dilettante travelogue.
Building on extensive knowledge of both comparative theology and the region’s history, Russell places each religion in historical context and describes them as they exist in the 21st century. He considers both how these faiths have survived and why they were endangered even before the current attacks began. He considers ancient languages, long traditions of secrecy--and the difficulties both present to diaspora communities attempting to practice their faith away from its historic heart.
Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms is an important and engaging book for anyone interested in the Middle East.
This review previously appeared in Shelf Awareness for Readers.
The Thrill of the Vote
This post first ran on election day in 2008. My feelings on the subject haven't changed:
It's election day in Chicago. I just walked home from voting for a new mayor and a new alderman--and I miss my old neighborhood.
For ten years I lived in South Shore: a white graduate student/small business owner/writer in a neighborhood dominated by the African-American middle class. My neighbors were police officers, schoolteachers, fire fighters, electricians, and social workers. We didn't have much in common most of the year--except on election day.
As far as I'm concerned, voting is thrilling. My South Shore neighbors agreed. Voting in South Shore felt like a small town Fourth of July picnic. Like Mardi Gras. Like Christmas Eve when you're five-years-old and still believe in Santa Claus. No matter what time of day I went to vote, my polling place was packed. Voters and election judges greeted each other--and me--with hugs, high fives, and "good to see you here, honey". First time voters proudly announced themselves. Elderly voters told stories about their first election. People made sure they got their election receipts; some pinned them to their coats like a badge of honor. An older gentleman sat next to the door and said "Thank you for exercising your right to vote" as each voter left. The correct response was "It's a privilege."
Except for occasional confusion when the machine that takes the ballots jams, my current polling place is low key. Election judges are friendly and polite, but hugs are not issued with your ballot. When the young woman manning the machine handed me my receipt, she told me to have a good day. I said "It's always a good day when you get to vote." In South Shore, that would have gotten me an "Amen." In politically active, politically correct Hyde Park, it got me an eye-blinking look of surprise and a hesitant smile.
I started home, thinking maybe I was the only one in the neighborhood whose pulse beat faster on election day. A block from the polls I ran into a young man walking with a small boy, no more than six years old. The little boy stopped me, with a grin so big that he looked like a smile wearing a wooly hat.
"Did you vote yet?" he asked. "My dad is taking me to teach me how to vote."
"It's a privilege," I said.
He gave me the highest five he could manage.
* * *
So tell me, did you exercise your right to vote today?
History on Display: En Guerre
I’ve spent most of this week in a small carrel in Regenstein library, head down and fingers flying as I try to push my way through a mini-proposal for a book I’d like to write.* It’s not my favorite way to work. Instead of getting up at the end of a stint to make a cup of tea, take care of a task and dance around my study for a few minutes, I have to plan breaks that will let me stretch body and brain.
Yesterday afternoon my brain was dead and my eyes were aching when I walked into the small gallery space connected to the Special Collections department to see an exhibit titled En Guerre: French Illustrators and World War I. Instant wake up!
I’ve been fascinated by the art produced in connection with the First World War for a long time, but this work was new too me: magazine illustrations, postcards, children’s books and prints in the crisp brightly colored style that I associate with advertising posters and children’s illustrations --but with a bite. I was particularly fascinated by the pieces designed to illustrate the diversity of the Allies: pictures of Allied soldiers in uniform, illustrations of national anthems and--my favorite--an odd depiction of the various Allies as flowers** threatened by worms and beetles wearing the distinctive German pickelhaube.
The exhibit is small, but thoughtfully curated--definitely worth a more thoughtful visit than I was able to give it yesterday. I’ll be back.
The exhibit will remain on display through January 2 for any of you in Chicago, or planning a visit. For those of you who aren’t going to be in Chicago anytime soon, the library offers a related on-line exhibit and an excellent catalog.
* Crossed fingers welcome.
**England is a thistle--a subtle suggestion of the prickliness that marked Anglo-French relations for several centuries.
Image courtesy of the University of Chicago Library