Alyan’s family saga contains meticulously crafted moments of betrayal, bitterness, and dashed ambitions.
Hala Alyan’s The Arsonists’ City offers a sprawling look at various fragments of Arab identity, carried across continents by several members of the same family, both first- and second-generation. It’s nearly impossible to believe that he was ever a stranger or that the shock wave of his demise would reach so far into the future - a realization that might complete the story’s circle but doesn’t quite fill the void at the center of the family, a space that shaped them all. When you finish the last page of Alyan’s book, turn back to the start and reread the first entry, the story of the young man’s death. And some revelations delivered more than others. For stretches, I felt trapped in a room with arguing siblings, my patience growing thin. Through such lyrical language Alyan, a Palestinian-American living in Brooklyn, marries her trades as a poet and clinical psychologist, unspooling inner monologues and memories to exhaustion, sometimes leaving me similarly spent. For those who’ve never known it, Alyan plants the riches of the city with stealthy precision, making the maddening conundrum of Beirut yours, whether you want it or not. For those familiar with the setting, this novel will dredge up long-held memories. Alyan takes command of all the senses to portray before, during and after the war, its beaches packed with oiled-up bathers, its smoke-filled bars and steamy street corners.
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