Seeking more exposure to real life outside my middle-aged, middle-ish class American bubble, I asked a fellow truckdriver about books to help me learn about "real life," in his home country of Somalia.

He told me about Somali writer Narrudin Farah, who became internationally famous for challenging his country's prevailing views on women, especially in his book, "From a Crooked Rib." "Rib," was not available to me on audio so I chose "Links."

This book is much slower-paced than I can usually bear; but I decided the pacing was an important element in the narrative itself, and stayed with it. The setting is 1990's war-torn Somalia, where simply moving about in public called for a lot of planning and caution (and protection, often in the form.of gun-toting children.) The characters' backstory and a central mystery (an abduction,) added even more suspicion and intrigue. The tension created by the slow narrative worked in my favor, so far as my experiment is empathy goes.

I suspect this book was written with western readers in mind. Long expository passages made for some unnatural dialogue - but was very helpful! I only half- remember the news reports regarding Somalia, and the US involvement there, in my twenties. This book (and a quick peek at the Wikipedia article on Somalia,) put those memories into context.

"Links," definitely fulfilled my objective of exploring the reality of life in this part of Africa. It also contributed to expanding my understanding that colonialism, and the dismantling of it, is much, much more complicated (and ruinous) than I understood.

Did I LIKE the book, you wonder? I had the same question when I finished it! Having thought about it a day or so, I would say, "yes."

I absolutely feel enriched by having read it. The writing (and fantastic audible narration,) kept me engaged once I adjusted to the pace. I thought the characters were mostly well-developed and complex, and I had a good handle on the protagonist's emotional journey. I do feel like I may have missed some cultural subtext or symbolic meaning relating to the children at the center of the story, but it didn't hinder the experience too much.

This book was neither plot-driven nor character-driven, and the themes as explored here are not easily grasped by my western mind. I think it will take time and effort to fully appreciate when Farah has to say, and I will endeavor to devote more of both to "Links." ( )

My first book by Farah who, it appears, often (always?) writes about Somalia and the effect of its civil war on both those who have stayed and those who have left but later returned. The book is (intentionally) disorienting from the very beginning, reflecting the experience of the Somali protagonist who has been exiled to the US and is coming home for the first time in twenty years to visit his mother’s grave. The capital is divided into zones ruled by competing clan warlords and Farah’s gift is his ability to convey in fine detail the impact of this situation on those who live there and their daily struggle for survival. Farah never overtly philosophizes but is largely concerned with the issue of meting out justice—who has the right, who has the ability, and who can even say what it means—and the subject of responsibility. The story starts with our protagonist stepping off the plane and follows him through his decision to stay and involve himself in a search for two young girls who have vanished. Although the story never wavers (though it has tangents), it is rivetingly told and I look forward to reading my next book by him. ( )

He is a good writer but there is a disconnect here. It's as if his heart just wasn't in it. The story flounders in a murky soup of characters and blurry ideas. Themes struggle with their identity crisis. Maybe this is exactly the intent. That's what I believed on first reading the book, that the style was recapitulating life in Somalia. ( )

I struggled with this book, persisting because I am interested in trying to understand something about Somalia and the history of conflict there. I have moved on to another of his novels, Maps, and am reading that now. I find Farah's writing to be indirect and allusive, giving me the feeling that I might understand it better if I were Somali. But having said that, I did come to care about the main characters and to be able visualize the environments where the story took place. I feel like I don't totally get the symbolism (if it is that) of the two small girls that the story turns on. In any case, I'm glad I read this novel. ( )

He is a good writer but there is a disconnect here. It's as if his heart just wasn't in it. The story flounders in a murky soup of characters and blurry ideas. Themes struggle with their identity crisis. Maybe this is exactly the intent. That's what I believed on first reading the book, that the style was recapitulating life in Somalia. ( )