Thinking Harder

and writing from the middle

Like many others this week, I have had a heavy heart. I have Jewish friends, I have Israeli friends, I have Muslim friends, I have Palestinian Friends. I am not here to argue for one side or the other; in the midst of a terrible, near unimaginable situation, this would represent a failure of my own imagination.

I have seen much posted on social media; loud proclamations, mostly from people who have very little skin in the actual game. It is this I feel that is the duty of the writer to avoid. How can I write about humanity, which is and always has been, the aim of the novelist, if I am to neglect my own humanity and that of others by fixing myself to either side. I have seen people ask for evidence of beheaded babies, I think this represents some breaking point in humanity itself; as if evidence of the worst atrocities is the benchmark by which all atrocities will now be judged. I have seen other people say the children of Gaza are all our children; neglecting to consider the equally innocent children of Israel. And this language in itself avoids the utter desolation of the situation, try telling that to a bereaved mother and see what they say, I’m sure they would not agree that my living, free children in any way are also her dead ones.

I have seen such deep divisions over the past week. They are evidence of schisms I have been afraid of for a long time. If empathy is the novelist’s necessity, fear is often their driver. I have been afraid for a long time too of social media. Its incessant memeification, reliance on easy soundbites underpinned by tech. architects whose main aim is to incite anger and division in people has eroded the ability of so many to think critically and at this critical juncture it is essential we do. As a writer, I often doubt the value of writing, but I do not doubt the value of the thinking that goes into deep writing. It is essential now as writers and readers we do not fall prey to social media, to the divisions it always intended to cause, to the proliferation of fake news and the ease with which we can align ourselves to a side. If we are to prove our worth as humans, we must see beyond propaganda and manipulation, we must ease back on the simplicity of finger pointing, of being armchair experts typing our outrage on phones whose batteries are mined by children, munching our cashew nuts whose acid burns the hands of farmers, our avocado toast from regions so drought ridden that water is regularly shipped in for residents, because who are you and who am I to point any finger of blame when our whole western existence is predicated on wider violence. The best book on this is Jesse Ball’s The Diver’s Game, a book I evangelically think everyone should read.

This discomfort I feel with online activism is something I built my next book, Ava Anna Ada out of. It terrifies me now to think things I hoped were fiction when I wrote them, now are not. I think the only thing I can do and this is where literature comes in, is to build empathy. Not to read to be seen, but to read to see. This week, Frankfurt Book Fair cancelled Adania Shibli’s prize ceremony and speech for her novel, Minor Detail. While Frankfurt claim this was a joint decision, Shibli says this was not the case. Today, I signed a letter in support of Shibli. Although Shibli is Palestinian, I would have signed this letter if she was Israeli. Why? Because what I object to here, is the cancellation of an event that would have stood as testament to both the power and enduring value of literature to allow people to see worlds they otherwise wouldn’t, to hear stories otherwise silent. Jacques Testard of her UK publisher, sums it up, saying ‘one of the purposes of literature is to encourage dialogue and understanding between cultures.’ And I think this is it, understanding between, by necessity this demands a back and forward, listening over shouting, understanding over the easy click and share of social media.