As a means of getting more visitors engaged with the novel itself, and not just the social or political issues surrounding it, I'll now be posting every Thursday through mid-March an excerpt from the book, encapsulating some portion of the text that I find poignant.
Enjoy, and know that I'll always equate questions, feedback, and criticism with that thing called gold!
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(Chapter 2, Washington, DC)
“You read the Qur’an,” she said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“In college?”
He smiled, said, “No. 10th Grade.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not exactly.”
She shook her head, bewildered, as if he’d just revealed a mental defect; the kind of defect that made her quietly happy.
“Can I ask the infamous why?” she said.
He looked across the Mall. The sun clung soft to its three o’clock posture, the Washington Monument stark on the skyline.
“There’s this guy called Thomas Jefferson,” he said. “He buys a copy of the Qur’an from the Virginia Gazette, reads it cover to cover a dozen times over . . . even teaches himself basic Arabic . . . all in the name of wrapping his mind around something fresh, something totally new.”
He laughed and turned back to her.
“That’s how my sophomore history teacher opens his lecture on the first day of school. We’re all thinking, wow, that’s cool. That’s really, really cool. Then seconds later he blows the whole thing up, telling us, all Jefferson ever did with that knowledge was to bolster his case for the invasion of North Africa – the good old, ‘I know our enemy now’ routine. I guess the point of the lecture was how things never change, but that’s not what I took away from it. Instead I bought a copy of the Qur’an that night and skipped class the next three days so I could finish reading it. I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
She smiled. Shook her head again. Folded up her book and slipped it in her bag.
“Tea?” she said.
“Please.”
Enjoy, and know that I'll always equate questions, feedback, and criticism with that thing called gold!
---
(Chapter 2, Washington, DC)
“You read the Qur’an,” she said.
“Yeah,” he replied.
“In college?”
He smiled, said, “No. 10th Grade.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not exactly.”
She shook her head, bewildered, as if he’d just revealed a mental defect; the kind of defect that made her quietly happy.
“Can I ask the infamous why?” she said.
He looked across the Mall. The sun clung soft to its three o’clock posture, the Washington Monument stark on the skyline.
“There’s this guy called Thomas Jefferson,” he said. “He buys a copy of the Qur’an from the Virginia Gazette, reads it cover to cover a dozen times over . . . even teaches himself basic Arabic . . . all in the name of wrapping his mind around something fresh, something totally new.”
He laughed and turned back to her.
“That’s how my sophomore history teacher opens his lecture on the first day of school. We’re all thinking, wow, that’s cool. That’s really, really cool. Then seconds later he blows the whole thing up, telling us, all Jefferson ever did with that knowledge was to bolster his case for the invasion of North Africa – the good old, ‘I know our enemy now’ routine. I guess the point of the lecture was how things never change, but that’s not what I took away from it. Instead I bought a copy of the Qur’an that night and skipped class the next three days so I could finish reading it. I don’t know. It just seemed like the right thing to do.”
She smiled. Shook her head again. Folded up her book and slipped it in her bag.
“Tea?” she said.
“Please.”
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