The Rabbi's Cat

Let me forewarn you. The Rabbi's Cat, by Joann Sfar, is just one of those novels that you read through once and go, "Wow, that was really good, but what in the HUELL did I just read?" ("Huell" is how you say "hell" after the magnitude of this novel gives you a crippling speech impediment). At the point of writing this blog post, I've read it through once, trying to pay attention to the words and the panels as two combating stories working toward the same ultimate message. The only problem is that every page is so packed with a blend of symbolism, wit, heart-rending sadness, and general good storytelling that it's difficult to comprehend everything being handed to you at once. Even more, to push past the initial whimsy and read this book on a deeper level is a challenge of its own that I'm still trying to surmount. I'd almost dare call this a flaw in the presentation of the book, but the fact is The Rabbi's Cat is a story so multifaceted and welcoming that one could read it at any different stage in their life and take a unique personal experience out of it after each read. Younger readers could certainly relate to Zlabya's "grass is always greener" complex while more seasoned readers can relate to the Rabbi's moral dilemma in finding oneself uprooted and still finding higher ground to resettle on.

The first thing I noticed about this novel is how starkly different the characters

are, but how they all work together as a family to overcome adversity. As in classic novel writing, the cat goes unnamed and thus seems to represent the people of Algeria as a whole, but you get into his head so much more than in a normal short story or textual novel.

Even though the cat doesn't give the whole story, you see through his world view and thus can draw your own conclusions on situations through people's expressions and other contextual clues. Then you have the Rabbi, a holy man who still struggles with his own human characteristics, but ultimately ends up being lovable because he is so perfectly human. We aren't supposed to see that he's perfect, we're supposed to see that he makes mistakes and gets pissed off and smiles just like the rest of us, and this theme of "everyone's still human, no matter what title they're given" gives this book its momentum. Then, his poor, naive daughter who has no idea what she wants out of life but acts completely on opportunity realizes that she'll never be happy until she's happy with herself; this kind of moral is something I wish we saw more of in our little model world we've made up in our brains. Best of all, every side character gives another little perspective, another inherent truth that the cat and rabbi learn from and assimilate into their lives. By the end of the novel, through all the tribulation that the Rabbi has endured in his grand uprooting, he learns a funny lesson. He learns that people just don't know. He doesn't know, and he learned everything he knows from people that don't know, so by proxy, he doesn't freakin' know if what he's been doing this whole time is right. So his answer? Well, may as well keep doing these rituals cause I'm good at them, but get them done fast so he doesn't get yelled at by his apprentice's wives.

I guess the reason I like this book so much is because it speaks to me as a fairy-tale rendition of Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut. Through all the trial and all the worry and everything that we put ourselves through in order to fulfill some book's definition of success, the world's not really gonna change that much. The birds will still chirp before and after we all kill each other in endless wars. The world's still going to turn even if you break a few silly rules, and you're certainly not going to be struck down by a vengeful creator with nothing better to do. Going back to my dubious disclaimer from before, I have only read this book once - these are my initial findings on some Rosetta Stone-magnitude material that's going to probably take me five good readings to get a proper grasp on. But wow, that was really good.

Nervous Conditions, part 1

Nervous Conditions, by Tsitsi Dangarembga, follows a girl named Tambu. The novel opens with the revolting statement, "I was not sorry when my brother died," and from there on it becomes quite apparent to the reader that Tambu's life is what we would describe as "jacked up." Now, that isn't to say that her life was backwards simply because she grew up in much different conditions - she was relatively happy with her daily routine of working in the fields, carrying water from the river to her family's home, and eating sadza day after day. It's fairer to say that the reason that Tambu's life was so hectic was because of outside pressures that seemed to systematically tear her from her ambitions. She has only one real mission in life, that being to attend school and attain the affluence and knowledge that comes from having a university education. Every step she takes toward realizing this dream, however, she meets resistance in unique, sometimes even disturbing ways.

When you boil everything down, Nervous Conditions is basically about a girl growing up, trying to live her dream of getting an education, seeing the harsh reality of everything that comes with that dream, but still boldly, if not blindly, chasing after that final goal. Think Ziggy Stardust, except without the drug use and if David Bowie lived in a society where he inherently wasn't allowed to succeed at anything. So Tambu tries with all of her might, and with her hard work in conjunction with a great bit of luck, she manages to go under her uncle's wing and attend his private school, and this is where things start getting really strange for Tambu. She's thrust into a world where everything is foreign yet awe-inspiring. This is the part of the book where I really started to feel like I could be in her shoes, that single, defining moment of "Oh my God, I have no idea what I'm doing here." She walks into her uncle's home and is nearly dumbstruck by the sheer amount of technology that she finds; things that we find in nearly every building in America and take complete advantage of, things like running water and ammonia cleaners. But her experience of it, her complete innocence of all things we consider basic amenities and the fact that she was almost floored by them is really an amazing bit of psychology at work. Although her old way of life kept her plenty happy and alive for the first 13 years, it only takes a few short months within this new, coddling environment to make her wish to never go back. This speaks volumes about our society, where we think the next thing Steve Jobs craps out is something we can't live without, yet experiences like Tambu's likely happen every day. And the scariest part is, just like Tambu, we grow so accustomed to this new, easier life that an honest living with stupid things like "manual labor" just seem backwards. It's an important question of whether we are progressing or actively regressing through our dependency on technology, but that's a philosophical question and I'm a physical therapist major. Apples and oranges, you know.

So, moving on, Tambu also experiences a major dilemma within her relationship with her cousin. As was stated in class, Nervous Conditions can be viewed as a semi-autobiographical novel, with the author's personality fairly evenly split between these two foiling girls, Nyasha and Tambu. While Tambu actively searches for higher meaning through concrete goals and institution, Nyasha actively rejects every goal suggested to her and tries to, more or less, tear everything down and just be her own person at whatever the cost. Tambu studies while Nyasha smokes cigarettes. Tambu goes inside when commanded and Nyasha stays outside and dances in a dress that barely covers her bits and pieces. Apples and oranges. The beautiful thing, though, is the fact that they both see through all the B.S. that their respective families have dumped onto them and find serious comraderie in their personal battles for a life worth fighting for. So even though Nyasha isn't exactly a good influence on Tambu, Tambu would give nearly anything to see Nyasha safe and happy, and this type of symbiotic love is something I think we can all relate to. I'm also excited to see how their relationship grows and mutates into either a huge hindrance or the most crucial step in Tambu's success in school and life in general. Personally, I'd like to see both of them lose the chains that bind them to their families, because that's when their true potential would have to come out.

From the pressure of her parents telling her she will only fail to the shackles that come simply with being a female in patriarchal Zimbabwe, Tambu's struggle is one that all of her followers can relate to, and possibly even to feel humbled by. Nervous Conditions raises many a good question about the implications of introducing technology to people that haven't needed it up until the moment they saw it, and I'm sure I'll be navel-gazing over this one for a while. I guess I have to leave this blog post in a "to be continued" state for now, because at only halfway through, I don't really know where to expect this novel to go next.