This book captured me at the first line, the first paragraph, the first page, the first chapter, and it captivated me until the very end. I wish I could recommend this book by telling you that "this is the fastest I've read any book for the Cannonball Read," "it was so good I couldn't put it down," and it was going that way for a while; I read the majority of the book, about two-thirds, within 24 hours. But then, somehow a week passed without reading a single word until last night when I finished it, and here we are. woops. It was really good though. Really good. Read the first four pages and I think you'll know if this book is for you.
Cockroach follows the escapades of an Arab immigrant in Montreal who lives on the fringes of society, relatively unnoticed, and reveals him in the context of Montreal's Middle Eastern immigrant community filled with refugees, exiles, and immigrants - yes, there is a difference. These people aren't 'mainstream' by any means. They all have issues and are psychologically effected by their pasts.
We find out right in the beginning that this Arab man - I don't like referring to people as 'narrator,' let's call him Jihad... Immediately we discover that Jihad is in love with an Iranian exile named Shohreh, he's sitting in his therapist Genevive's office due to a court order because last week he tried to commit suicide by hanging himself from a tree in a public park. He failed obviously because a runner passing by came to his rescue. Oh, and he also thinks he's a cockroach (sometimes).
Jihad is an interesting character because even though he's not completely 'good,' he is also very charming and likable. He suffers from delirium which is usually triggered by drugs, so at times he believes that he's a cockroach. He hides from the sun, blaming it for his suicide attempt. He's a self-proclaimed thief, and he sometimes breaks into peoples' houses including that of his therapist just to snoop around or eat some food. And, he'll sometimes pick fights for absolutely no reason.
What I liked about this book was that as I was reading, Jihad seemed completely normal - just a normal guy doing his thing, living his life, but then he would do something not so normal like break into his therapist's apartment for no apparent reason. Or at other times he'd be hanging out with people, but then he would start giving physical descriptions of his cockroach self. That sounds a little crazy, fine. But the book wasn't too crazy because Jihad still had a firm grasp of society and the true nature of people including their hypocrisy. He saw through everyone and everything. He was just a little off mentally. Ultimately, if you take away the cockroach talk, this book describes a man living the struggle. He's hungry, and he's trying to eat.
The most captivating part of the book revolves around Jihad's therapy sessions. As you read, through Jihad's present actions you get a feel for what his current issues are, you see that he's a little disturbed and suicidal and that he's at the margins of society, but you don't know why. The therapy sessions are exciting because every week Jihad reveals his personal narrative; he gives the story of what led up to his current psychological condition. Jihad takes us back to the violence of his childhood in a chaotic, war-torn Arab country - I'll assume that it's based on the Lebanese Civil War because that's where the author is from. His past is chilling and at times shocking. You get a taste of Shohreh's dreadful experience in Iran as well: as a political prisoner she was the victim of torture and rape.
I recommend this book in any context. I think this might be my favorite book so far. It's pretty exciting to read regardless of your taste and background. Me, I liked it because I like stories about immigrants, and I especially liked it because the Middle East was represented, so there were certain culture specific elements that spoke to me.
I like quotes, but I didn't want to ruin the flow of my review, so if you're interested in examples of the things I mentioned keep reading -
Middle Eastern context-
For days after the party, I begged that asshole Reza to give me Shohreh's number. He refused. That selfish, shady exile would only say, in his drooling accent, You are not serious about her. You only want to sleep with her. She is not that kind of girl, she is Iranian. She is like a sister, and I have to protect her from dirty Arabs like you.
But, Reza, maestro, sisters also fuck, sisters also have needs, too.
This upset him and he cursed, Wa Allah alaazim. I will prevent you from meeting her again!
Bourgeois Hypocrisy-
I need a bus ticket, I said, and I am short a dollar and twenty cents. I will pay you right back, when I get a cheque in the mail. And without waiting for an answer, I picked dimes and quarters out of his palm. I wanted something from him. It angered me that the socialist does not want to be identified as poor, a marginal impoverished welfare recipient like me. At least I am not a hypocrite about it. Yes, i am poor, I am vermin, a bug, I am at the bottom of the scale. But I still exist. I look society in the face and say: I am here, I exist. There is existence and there is the void; you are either a one or a zero.
Cockroach's suicide attempt-
It was not deceit, depression, or a large tragedy that pushed me to go shopping for a rope that suited my neck. And it wasn't voices. I've never heard any voices in my head - unless you consider the occasional jam sessions of Mary, the neighbour above me. No, the thing that pushed me over the edge was the bright light that came in my window and landed on my bed and my face. Nothing made any sense to me anymore. It was not that I was looking for a purpose and had been deceived, it was more that i had never started looking for one. I saw the ray of light entering my window and realized how insignificant I was in its presence, how oblivious it was to my existence. My problem was not that I was negligent towards life, but that somehow I always felt neglected by it.
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