For a book with such a cheesy title, this book really surprised me. It really wasn’t as bad as I was expecting it to be and there was a quiet pleasure in reading it. Admittedly, the title WAS the reason I was attracted to it and wanted to read it. The word “Jinni” just has such a pull to it, at least for me because of the mystery surrounding the legend rooted in our culture and religion. Regaled with stories from our parents and friends as kids about these mythical creatures that are made of fire and have powers that could allow them to rule the world if they so wished, our level of interest just got wired at the very mention of the word “Jinni” making us hungry for more information, any story that could reveal the nature of these beings so hidden from us.
The myth of the Golem was not something I have heard of. From what I read and will now research, it is a Hebrew legend. Beings made of clay as opposed to the Jinni being created from fire. In my religion, humans are made of mud and clay too. Does that make humans a form of Golem too? Hmm. I wonder. It’s unfortunate that Wikipedia doesn’t have the answer to life. It would make my life so much easier.
Anyways the book read like an epic and in a good way. The language was expansive enough to keep it interesting and not formal enough to be a difficult read. It was poetic and yet easy to make it an enjoyable read. The ideas were there, woven together and just like in life, some characters didn’t play an interesting enough part or have much of a role in the overall story and it seemed like it was close enough to real life and how some people just don’t play an important enough role in your life to make a lasting impression.
Her future unrolled before her like a dreadful tapestry, its pattern set and immutable. There would be a wedding, and then a house somewhere nearby on the avenue, with a nursery for the children that were, of course, mandatory. She’d spend interminable summers in the country, traveling from estate to estate, playing endless games of tennis, chafing under the strain of being constantly a guest in someone else’s home. Then would come middle age, and the expected taking-up of a cause, Temperance or Poverty or Education—it did not matter so long as it was virtuous and uncontroversial, and furnished opportunities for luncheons with dowdy speakers in severe dress. Then old age and decrepitude, the slow transformation into a heap of black taffeta in a bath chair, to be displayed briefly at parties and then put out of sight; to spend her last days sitting bewildered by the fire, wondering where her life had gone.
It’s true isn’t it? Sometimes I feel like we are all following a script and we are expected to play the roles that we are supposed to. Our entire lives are planned out by our society and we can’t choose a different life for ourselves. If we want something different for ourselves, we have to fight for it every step of the way.
She didn’t have the stomach for prolonged family strife, nor the fortitude to make her own way in the world.
And that brings us to this quote. Who has the strength to extend wars we have to fight to live the life that we want, that may be different from what others want for us.