Book Review: Trail of Broken Wings

Posted on by Pete Harrison

Summary: “Trail of Broken Wings” reveals the lasting and varied impacts of abuse on a family, primarily through three sisters who converge around the sickbed of their comatose father. The author, Sejal Badani, switches the narrative voice between three sisters, enabling the reader to build up a more rounded understanding of each one.

Message: Abuse can have profound and lasting impacts, that will manifest differently for different people. Where abuse divides families, redemption must be sought through developing empathy and togetherness.

Highlights: There’s a nice twist near the end, that reveals another side to a character in whom reader’s may otherwise have been disappointed. Of course, I won’t spoil it by letting you know which character.

Limitations: For me, there were three major limitations or disappointments.

Firstly, when the reading the book, I felt like I was watching fairly low budget television series. The focus was much more on the characters than on the plot, but the characters were somewhat flat. Some of the plot elements felt melodramatic, leaving me with the same impression I get when looking at a photograph that has been over-sharpened and the colours over-saturated in the editing process.

The second limitation is the way in which the subject matter is explored. Arguably Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche’s “Purple Hibiscus” explores a very similar theme – though with a stronger religious bent – in a much more sophisticated and impactful way. This is not to say that literature should be composed of one definitive work per theme! But Badani’s offering repeatedly made me reflect on how much better Adiche’s novel is. Reading “Trail of Broken Wings” felt like wearing an uncomfortable pair of trousers while having a perfectly comfortable pair in the wardrobe.

I’m not sure why I’m so keen on similes, today.

Thirdly, in selecting the novel, I really hoped that Badani would offer more reflections on the central family’s experience of migrating from India to the United States, making their way in life as both “outsiders” and US citizens. Unfortunately, she failed to deliver on this. M. G. Vassanji’s “The In-between World of Vikram Lall” remains the most nuanced and beautifully articulated exploration of this theme that I’ve read so far. Of course, Albert Camus’ “L’étranger” is also brilliant in its own way. Its aesthetic is somewhat stark and sun-bleached, which doesn’t feel as nourishing or as earthy as Vassanji’s work.

Concluding thoughts: I’m interested to see how Sejal Badani develops as an author. “Trail of Broken Wings” is her debut novel, so we can expect it to be quite personal and rough around the edges. (Though there are certainly exceptions to this, such as Zadie Smith’s “White Teeth” – also a debut novel, but an absolute masterpiece).

I’m not sure what to take from the fact that the deficiencies of Badani’s novel brought to mind so many excellent works of fiction. Perhaps it speaks to the privilege many of us enjoy, being able to read and digest novels from such a vast array of authors, covering myriad themes? Equally, it could serve as a reminder that there’s real value in selecting one’s reading material based on recommendations from people you trust, rather than simple searching the Kindle Store.

Book Review: An Imperfect Offering

Posted on by Pete Harrison

Summary: confronted with horror and suffering caused by genocide and war, James Orbinski realises that the humanitarian principle of neutrality undermines the need for effective political engagement. This memoir recounts the journey towards that realisation.

Message: the factors that precipitate humanitarian crises are usually political, so it is important to engage on a political level to avoid or resolve these crises. Humanitarian workers responding to the needs of those who suffer or whose lives are threatened is vital, but not sufficient.

Highlights: Orbinski’s descriptions of people he encountered – those he served and those he worked alongside – beautifully display the humanity of both the subject and the author. A particularly stark, if bleak, example of this is found in his description of a women who was raped and severely mutilated during the 1994 genocide in Rwanda. She called him “friend” and encouraged him to take heart as he struggled to retain his composure when treating her injuries.

Limitations: the author seems to embody so much about Médecins Sans Frontières (MSF) that his message risks being pigeonholed as an MSF manifesto rather than being absorbed and applied by humanitarians and politicians alike. To be explicit about what I mean by embodying MSF: Orbinski is an intelligent, compassionate, fiercely independent medical doctor who completed short term missions in dire situations, gave everything he could, and coped with the trauma by drinking and smoking heavily. If one was to create a stereotypical MSF aid worker, they would look like Orbinski. The risk is that politicians would too easily dismiss the message based on MSF’s reputation for activism, and humanitarians working for organisations other than MSF could argue that they will never reach the level of independence that Orbinski promotes, because their own organisation does not have a funding base as large and flexible as that of MSF.

Concluding thoughts: Orbinski’s book caused me to reflect on two themes in particular.

Firstly, compassion must remain at the centre of what drives humanitarians to save lives and relieve suffering. The aid sector has transformed from being driven by big-hearted volunteers to being much more professional, with significantly higher barriers to entry (in terms of specific education and experience, at least). Additionally, there is a new focus on innovative solutions to problems being piloted and then scaled either through public-private partnerships or through adoption into national policy. This transformation should be beneficial, in terms of the quality of services received by people in need. However, a side effect is that humanitarian work has come to represent a steady job for NGO workers; something that applies to workers hired locally and internationally. I believe that compassion is a driving force for providing the best possible services to the people who most need them, but the professionalisation of the sector has arguably led to a net loss in the prevalence of compassion among those involved in the work. This can lead to complacency, to prioritising business continuity over need, and to isolation from people served: their humanity reduced to a cost-per-beneficiary figure.*

Secondly, one cannot escape politics, so it is better for humanitarian workers to be politically aware rather than to be wilfully naïve in the name of maintaining neutrality. Personally, I’m grateful for the core humanitarian principles (humanity, neutrality, impartiality, independence), because in situations where they are understood, they allow access to people in need that would not otherwise be possible. Thus, there’s high value in preserving specialisation within the sector: humanitarians are humanitarians, missionaries are missionaries, and activists are activists. I believe that all do valuable work, but that as far as possible, their work should be kept separate. An Imperfect Offering nudged me to resist the temptation to leave politics to the activists, serving to intensify my desire for a deeper understanding of the local, national, and international politics that influence the situation in eastern DR Congo.

*Cost-per-beneficiary: within humanitarian work, this is key value for money metric, calculated by dividing the amount of money a project will cost by the number of people the project will serve (usually inclusive of the overhead, logistical, staff and supply costs). As an example, the cost-per-beneficiary of a USD 2,000,000 project that serves 160,000 people is USD 12.5. Whether or not that would be considered good value for money depends on the type of services provided and the difficulty of reaching the people served.

Book Review: We Are All Weird

Posted on by Pete Harrison

Summary: Seth Godin describes the transformation of marketing from mass to niche, explaining how people have diverse interests and desires that are nonetheless shared with others (in Godin’s terms, their ‘tribe’).

Message: marketers can no longer afford to pitch normal products to the majority, and must cater to niches in order to reach consumers with products that they actually want.

Highlights: though this book was published in 2011, its conclusions provide an explanation for increasingly polarised politics in the United States and Europe. If people can develop niche views and connect with others via social media and online fora to reinforce these, then the earlier trend of regression to the mean (i.e. the political centre) has much less traction. Instead, those with views that might have been considered as extreme in the 1990s and early 2000s find their ‘tribe’ and feel normal among them. Political discourse – among tribes, and arguably in the media and from major politicians – pushes these tribes further apart rather than closer together.

Limitations: Godin’s emphasis on weirdness (or diversity) is understandable, but I was disappointed by the lack of reflection on the ways in which people are inherently the same. There’s a huge body of philosophy on our commonalities, as humans, from Jung’s ideas on the collective unconscious and archetypes, to Christian doctrine on humans being made in God’s image, to Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Maslow describes five levels of need: physiological (related to the body), safety, love & belonging, esteem, and self-actualisation. We Are All Weird operates almost entirely in the two highest levels: esteem and self-actualisation.

Focusing on what is distinctive rather than what is the same can be a dangerous path, leading to dislike or mistreatment of others, and perceptions of superiority and inferiority based on characteristics such as behaviour, appearance, or belief.

Concluding thoughts: if you are interested in marketing, in politics, or in the way groups of people converge based on their interests or opinions, I would encourage you to read this book.

While hard copies and electronic copies are available, the audio book has also been uploaded to YouTube. I expect that Godin would approve, as he is more interested in sharing his ideas and winning your trust than cash from a book sale.

Book Review: Land of Second Chances

Posted on by Pete Harrison

Summary: this book by Tim Lewis focuses on the history of cycling in Rwanda, through to 2013. It shares the stories of Rwandan cyclists and people who have supported Rwandan cycling in recent years.

I was interested to read Land of Second Chances because I live in Goma and regularly cross the border to enjoy Rwanda’s smooth roads and epic climbs (at the time of writing, these sorties are on hold due to COVID). I’m also part of Goma Cycling Club; some club mates of mine cycle for the Congolese national team or semi-professionally for a Rwandan club. I wanted to read about the Rwandan set-up in order to fuel my imagination for the potential ways that Congolese cycling could develop.

Message: Tim Lewis seeks to go beyond recounting the history of cycling in Rwanda to ponder the impacts of professional cycling on the cyclists themselves, and the ways that professional cycling could or should be supported in sub-Saharan Africa. Cycling appears to be symbolic of Rwandan post-genocide redemption, but as the book begins to explore: it’s not that simple.

Highlights: personally, I most enjoyed reading about the road races that took place in Kigali in the 1980s. I once ran a marathon on those roads and suffered due to the heat and hills (and, let’s be honest, due to a lack of fitness). Consequently, it was special to imagine riders whizzing around the same roads at breakneck speed on steel racing bikes.

I imagine that other readers may particularly enjoy reading about the colourful cast of characters, comedic moments reminiscent of Cool Runnings, the context on Rwanda’s history and economy, and the redemptive theme: following the horror and hurt of the genocide, the cycling team symbolises Rwanda’s apparent march towards a brighter future.

Limitations: the author’s attempt to dig into the psychology of Rwandan cyclists is laudable, but he does so with limited success. While Lewis demonstrates self-awareness about some generalisations, he readily makes others apparently without blinking. I don’t particularly blame the author for these limitations, due to the fact that he is a journalist rather than an ethnographer, and am grateful that he willing to pose important questions such as “is riding in the Tour de France really ‘The Dream’ for many of these cyclists, or is the concept somewhat foreign and secondary to more locally immediate dreams such as establishing a good life for oneself and one’s family?”

Aside from this limitation, I also feel that the book was unfocused in places, devoting several pages to recounting the backstories of some characters – in particular, Tom Ritchey – whose story (while fascinating) was of negligible importance to the overall narrative. The description of an initiative to support coffee producers with improved bicycles was useful for highlighting the diverse use of bicycles in Rwanda, but was included in a somewhat disjointed way. This indicated sub-standard editing – a conclusion corroborated by the presence of several typos.

Concluding thoughts: I would highly recommend this book to readers interested in cycling or in Rwanda. While there are limitations, the book represents a happy divergence from dominant narratives concerned with African sport and with Rwanda. Namely, it’s a book about African endurance athletes that doesn’t focus on runners from Kenya or Ethiopia, and it’s a book about Rwanda that doesn’t focus on the tragedy of the genocide or President Kagame’s ambitious economic agenda.

Book review: There Is No Map In Hell

Posted on by Pete Harrison

Summary: the author, Steve Birkinshaw, is a keen runner with a background in orienteering. The book is autobiographical, with a focus on Steve’s attempt to break the record for running the Wainwrights – 214 peaks in the Lake District… in under seven days, one hour, and twenty-five minutes.

Message: Steve isn’t preachy, but the way he writes naturally communicates great enthusiasm for running and deep appreciation for the outdoors. He doesn’t tell you to go out and run in the hills. Rather, he inspires you to do so.

Highlights: the author’s self-deprecating style makes the book lightly amusing throughout. I particularly enjoyed Steve’s descriptions of generating interest in his record attempt through creating a Twitter account and a blog. Being public about his plans was unnatural for him, which makes for descriptions that are comical and affirming in equal parts.

Limitations: happily, Steve did not try to do anything through the book beyond sharing his experiences in running, culminating in an epic record attempt. My only gripe with the book is the incongruence between the title and Steve’s own personality: “There Is No Map In Hell” comes across as quite brash, whereas the author is anything but.

Concluding thoughts: I would recommend reading this book if you wish to be inspired to get outdoors, or to feel nostalgic about time spent in the mountains. It’s an easy read …apart from the sentences in which Steve describes the agony he experienced due to wear and tear on his feet.