Review: Daughter of York by Anne Easter Smith

Author: Anne Easter Smith
Publisher: Touchstone (February 12, 2008)
Genre: Historical fiction
Trade paperback, 592 pages
Book Source: Second hand book store (The Book Trader)

From the author's website:

Daughter of York re-visits many of the characters from "A Rose for the Crown," as we follow Margaret, sister of Edward IV and Richard III, from the court of England where, as a pawn in Edward's political schemes, she is kept single until she is 22, when a Burgundian alliance is forged through her marriage to Charles the Bold, the new Duke of Burgundy.


Despite fulfilling her duty to her new country with intelligence and aplomb, Margaret never forgets she is an English princess and a daughter of the House of York. Her homesickness is exacerbated by having to leave behind the love of her life. Fate brings them together rarely after she becomes duchess to a man she only met a week before her marriage, and whom she discovers suffers from such a grandiose view of his place in history that he is capable of great cruelty towards anyone who stands in his way. He also prefers spending time on a battlefield than at home with his wife. She finds solace in the bond she forges with her new young stepdaughter, her friendship with William Caxton, learning to rule her new country, and her unusual confidante, a dwarf named Fortunata. But once in a while, she breaks the rules in the arms of her one true love...

My Thoughts:

This book covers a 20 year span in Margaret York's life. From Christmas 1461, a few months before the crowning of Edward IV, to 1480, three years after the death of Charles of Burgundy. All of the trials and tribulations of the York family are seen through Margaret's eyes. To her, family is everything and she loves her mother and especially her brothers very deeply. Margaret is proud to be a York. Being the King's sister makes Margaret a pawn, thus arranging the most advantageous marriage possible takes about six years. Margaret finally marries Charles the Bold when she is 23, but they have no children.

Margaret was very unhappy to leave to leave England. However through this marriage she comes into her own. Burgundy is a rich and powerful court, so Margaret's courtly training pays off. Although she is away from family and her beloved England, Margaret stays abreast of all her family's doings, and even convinces her husand to offer shelter to Edward IV while her other brother George, Duke of Clarence, helped to lead a rebellion.

Margaret is a likeable character. Her anxiousness to be married and settled, and her love for her family is palpable to the reader. Unfortunately, the plot of this book was way too s-l-o-w for me. I lost interest and skimmed quite a few chapters.

There were two aspects of the book whihc I did like. One, the portrayal of Margaret and her mother, Proud Cis as normal, likable people. My past encounters with the both of them always painted them in a negative light. Cis and Margaret are usually portrayed as evil, mean spirited witches. In Smith's book they are nice, family oriented people. I would not hesitate to sit down with a mug of ale and a trencher with them, no problem.

The second aspect of the book, is that I learned a bit about Richard III, Margaret's younger brother. I know very little about Richard III, and I believe most people have a love/hate opinion about him. In this book, he seems to be the most serious and forthright brother of the York bunch. I would love to read more about him, so if you have any recommendations please let me know.

Smith creates a secret love relationship between Margaret and Lord Anthony Scales. Unfortunately, the author's note at the end of the book left me disappointed upon learning the truth. I guess something had to be created for Maragaret since her real life was appparently pretty boring. Maybe that's why authors like to make her a witch.

As I said previously, I had to slog through this book due to the snail-like plot. The descriptions and secondary characters were richly described. Although, I wasn't crazy about Elizabeth Neville either. Now she just might be a witch.
I have heard good things about Smith's other two books, A Rose for the Crown, and The King's Grace. I think I just picked a dud.

My Rating: 80/100

Cross-Posted at Royal Reviews.

Review: King by Right of Blood and Might by Anna L. Walls

Author: Anna L. Walls
Publisher: Author House
Genre: Fiction, fantasy
Paperback 299 pages
Book Source: the Author

From Author House:

I would like to present you with my first endeavor, a book that I have written titled King by Right of Blood and Might. It is a story about a young prince who must learn how to run a country from sources other than his father. His father, the king, had been a paranoid recluse ever since his own father died and he ran his family accordingly. During that time, the infrastructure of the country collapsed and many of its citizens were enslaved and taken away. Knowing that he couldn’t teach his son the things he wanted and needed to know, King Aidyn sent his son to foster with the neighboring king to the south.

After my young hero learned the things he needed to learn, he had to assemble an army and return home to reclaim and rebuild his own country. His unique friendships afforded him an unprecedented opportunity to do that. All that remained to be seen is if he can hold it all together long enough to achieve his goals.

During this time, we watch his mother descend into insanity and his love for his betrothed grow. We also learn more about how things in the country reached this state and more about his family.

My Thoughts:

A major catastrophe has occurred on Earth and only about 20% of the population survives the initial event. The aftereffects are devastating and climactic events follow, further decimating the surviving population. It isn't until over a million years pass by that the Earth has heals itself and humankind is able to live and survive. That's where this story begins. The prologue covers all of this.

Harris Penn is the son of the inept and shut-in King Aidyn of Pennland. Harris is sent to Carolinas to be fostered by that King. While there Harris learns how a real King should act and run his kingdom. Harris matures quickly and becomes quite knowledgeable, which is good since events cause him to have to raise an army to travel back and save his kingdom and people from evil doers.

The majority of the story is Harris' journey home and the relationships he makes with allies along the way. Harris respects the different people and their cultures and demonstrates his leadership potential. He is a very likable King and becomes well respected. Harris gives everyone a chance to join his cause since he is forthright and honest, but in the end he takes care of business, ridding the land of riff raff.

Overall this story has very good bones but I did have a few issues with the book. The reader sees the progression and growth of Harris, but he seems a little bland or wooden. It doesn't make him unlikeable. I just don't "feel" for him as much as everyone else in the book. I loved all of the secondary characters, even the bad guys.

There is a spiritual or religious element in the book called the Mother, which I interpreted to mean the Great Mother, like Mother Earth or the Goddess. I have no problem with that, but this religion is never explained. The significance or reasons for the Mother's actions (she makes several appearances) are never laid out. So I felt a little in the dark in that respect.

What I really liked was the set-up of the story and the story itself. Walls has some really great ideas, and I could definitely see a sequel or continuation. This story takes place on the East Coast of the United States and Walls uses the names of states for the names of her countrys, Pennland and Carolinas. The districts in Harris' country also have names that hearken back to before the "Big One".

All in all this is a pretty good story. Walls writing could use some tightening up, some of the dialogue was a bit off or something, but not so much that it was hard to read. For her first self-published book, Walls does a pretty good job and hopefully this only the first of many more good books to come.

My Rating: 88/100

Thanks to Anna for sending me her book to review. Good luck to you in your future endeavors :)

Announcing the 2010 Reading Resolutions Challenge

This is my first time creating and hosting a challenge. YEA!

Over the past year, I have come across a few books or authors I have never read and feel I really should. Some are classics and some are published within the last 20 years or so. Regardless, these are books that I feel I must make time to read soon.

I also was reflecting on my first year of book blogging. I have learned a lot about myself and the commitments of book blogging and reviewing. Getting involved with review copies and challenges is fun, but it can be a bit distracting. But through these mechanisms, I have met many people and made some wonderful friends. I think I just need better organization and maybe a list to guide me through the new year.

Hence, the idea of this challenge. I know I just stated the whole distraction of challenges thing, but for me, this one is different. Besides it's my creation.
I need a plan with some defined goals for the new year. So I figured I could do this and ask others if they want to join me.

As the name implies, 2010 Reading Resolutions Challenge, it's basically new year's resolutions for my reading. They can be anything you would like to accomplish in the coming year in the realm of reading, book blogging, or perhaps personal growth.

The rules are simple:

*Create your personal reading resolutions for the upcoming year in a post and link to it at the bottom. If you don't have a blog, that's cool too. Post your resolutions and updates in the comments of this post.

*Make sure to link back to this page so others can visit your pages and blogs.

*Get started on your resolutions! Once every 2 months, starting on February 15th, I'll have a post to check-in and see how everyone is doing. Kind of as a reminder to you to check your own progress.

*Challenge runs from January 1, 2010 to December 31, 2010.

There is no pressure or consequences with this challenge. I view it more as a personal challenge I can grow from. (Sounds corny, I know.)

If you have ideas or suggestions feel free to drop me a comment. This is my first time so I'm sure I've missed something.

2010 Reading Resolutions Challenge

Here is my reading resolutions page for this challenge. I may add to this as I remember stuff.

Read the following books:

Bleak House by Charles Dickens
The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
Middlemarch by George Eliot
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
Anne of Green Gables by L.M. Montgomery
A book by Hemingway
A book by Steinbeck


Do the following things:

Be more selective in accepting review books.
Be more selective in joining challenges. (I get dazzled by pretty pictures/buttons)
Try to be more concise in my reviews. (They have gotten better over the past year, but there is always room for improvement.)
Be a better commenter. (Again, always room for improvement.)
Read more from my shelves of books at home.


Stop by here to see other bloggers who are participating.

Article: Tales of Thanksgiving Food and Friendship

Ahh, yes. Thanksgiving. In my house growing up, it meant having two dinners, and being stuffed all day. Two dinners??? Yes, two. I'm Italian-American, so at 1:00 pm we would have the Italian meal: escarole soup, antipasto salad, cheese ravioli, meatballs, hot and sweet sausage, and garlic bread. There were 6 of us, my parents, me, my brother, and my paternal Grandparents. Then we would clean up and get ready for the second course.

The second course was the traditional turkey dinner, which my mom also cooked. Her brother (my Uncle) and his family usually arrived around this time. They came down every Thanksgiving and stayed the weekend. They lived across the state about 8 hours away. That made 10 and then my maternal Grandpop started coming and that was 11. I did not grow up in a big house people.

It was always a lot of fun and although my mom busted her butt, we would still have a good time and laugh. We especially laugh now. So in this same vein, here is an article about Thanksgiving stories from the authors of The Recipe Club.

Tales of Thanksgiving Food and Friendship
By Andrea Israel and Nancy Garfinkel,
Authors of The Recipe Club: A Tale of Food and Friendship

For some people, Thanksgiving evokes warm feelings triggered by memories of a close-knit family gathering, where relatives share traditions and a home-cooked meal.
For others . . . it's the beginning of a holiday season stuffed with lunatic relatives, family dysfunction, bitter recriminations, and heartburn.

We heard a wide range of Thanksgiving Tales this year while traveling around the country for our Recipe Clubs. Inspired by the plot and structure of our book, Recipe Clubs are storytelling and friendship circles in which women gather to share true-life food-related stories along with recipes. Recipe Clubs are not about cooking; they're about creating community and fostering friendship . . . they're about laughing and crying . . . they're about honoring our own lives and the lives of others. They show us how the simplest, sweetest, or funniest tales about food can turn into deep revelations about our lives.

Just about everybody has at least one quintessential Thanksgiving food memory that perfectly captures the complicated feelings surrounding the holiday. Here are some of our favorites:

GIVING THANKS
One Recipe Club friend recalls the first time she ever cooked a Thanksgiving meal on her own. Her mother, who traditionally did the meal, was recovering from surgery. Her father was working. And her sister was flying in just in time for the meal, but not early enough to help cook.

So our friend rose to the challenge, proclaiming that she would do the entire meal, on her own. No problem -- until reality set in. She woke at dawn, shopped, chopped, and soon realized her oven was half the size it needed to be. By the time the turkey wanted basting the chestnut stuffing required baking -- and the brussel sprouts were definitely not cleaning themselves!

But things really went south when it came time prepare her grandmother's famous pumpkin pie. This was the pie recipe that had been handed down through generations. If it didn't come out perfectly, our friend knew she'd feel like a failure.
Of course, nothing went right. The pie crust was too wet, then too dry. There was too much nutmeg, not enough ginger. With every crimp of the dough her head swam with the imagined voice of her southern grandmother: "A woman is judged not just by who she is, but by what she can bring to the table."

When the pie came out of the oven, the crust was too brown, and there was a giant crack running down the middle of the filling. Our friend fought back tears, took a deep breath, and set the pie out to cool, knowing more clearly than ever that neither it -- nor she -- was, or would ever be, perfect.

But when it came time for everyone to gather at the table, something shifted. Her parents and sister praised her hard work and loved the meal. And our friend realized she had somehow been carried on the wings of the generations of women who had cooked before her, without complaining, to serve a Thanksgiving meal to their family. She felt truly thankful for all the work that her mother, grandmother, aunts -- indeed all the women she'd known through her life -- had accomplished each holiday. Triumphant, connected, and happy, she understood that food cooked with love is its own kind of perfection.

FINALIZING THE DIVORCE

One Recipe Club friend recalled her first Thanksgiving after her divorce.
Since carving the bird had always been her ex-husband's job, she delighted in finding a new, turkey-free recipe. She settled on an apricot-glazed ham, and went to work cooking a glaze of brown sugar, cloves, and apricot nectar (an ingredient that gave her extra pleasure knowing her ex-husband detested it.)

When her grown children came for dinner, they were childishly upset not to have their usual 12-pound bird. But it was delicious, and in the end each one complimented the chef. On her way out, the youngest daughter told her mother, "maybe we all need to learn how to gracefully accept change."
For this new divorcee, serving ham became a way of asserting her independence, showing her children there was life after marriage, and teaching the whole family to find new ways to be together.

IT'S ALL RELATIVE

The truth is, we don't pick our relatives. So if the Thanksgiving gathering of the clan is an annual emotional challenge, you aren't alone.

In a recent Recipe Club circle of old friends and new acquaintances, we met a woman who admitted that for most of her life she dreaded Thanksgiving; all it evoked for her were memories of family fights. The contrast of what she knew Thanksgiving was "supposed" to be, versus what it was in her home, always made her feel ashamed and disappointed. And yet every November she felt compelled go home for a family Thanksgiving meal.

But one year, that changed, when her parents and brother decided to have Thanksgiving away from home. They journeyed together to Nantucket, where they ate dinner at a seaside inn. The inn served a New England clam chowder, rich with cream and warm on a cold autumn night. And they discovered that a new location, with new foods, away from the house where memories were often more fiery than the jalepeno cornbread, turned out to be just what the family needed.
Now, every year, back at home, they have a new tradition: serving New England Clam Chowder at their Thanksgiving feasts, each spoonful bringing back fond memories of a peaceful and loving family holiday.

A FAMILY OF FRIENDS

Finally, a little tale of food and friendship.

A reader of our book told us that she had a choice this year. She could invite Uncle Tim and Aunt Zoe, the way she does every year, and spend the entire holiday worrying about whether or not the perpetually complaining couple were happy. She could include cousins Beth and Sean, knowing they would be competitive, putting down her choice of food, her way of cooking, her table setting. She could extend an invitation to her brother and dreaded sister-in-law, who would sit in silence the entire meal and pick at the food.

Or . . . she could shake things up and do something entirely different: invite only friends. True friends. People she enjoyed being with. Who made her laugh. Who spoke truthfully. Who shared her passions for good books, good wine, and good music.
She took the leap. She dumped the whiners, broke with tradition, irritated several family members -- and never looked back. The moral: good food and good friends are the perfect combination. Sometimes it's a good idea to trim the guest list before you serve the bird with all its trimmings.

©2009 Andrea Israel and Nancy Garfinkel, authors of The Recipe Club: A Tale of Food and Friendship

Author Bios for The Recipe Club: A Tale of Food and Friendship

Andrea Israel is a producer/writer for ABC's Focus Earth. She was a producer/writer on Anderson Cooper 360, Dateline, and Good Morning America (which garnered her an Emmy Award). Her story In Donald's Eyes was recently optioned for a film. Ms. Israel is the author of Taking Tea. Her writing has appeared in many publications.

Nancy Garfinkel is co-author of The Wine Lover's Guide to the Wine Country: The Best of Napa, Sonoma, and Mendocino(Chronicle Books, 2005). A creative strategist, design consultant, writer, and editor for magazine, corporate, and non-profit clients, she has won a host of graphic arts and editorial merit awards. She has written extensively about food and graphic arts.

For more information please visit www.therecipeclubbook.com

Teaser Tuesday (Nov. 17)

Teaser Tuesday is hosted by Miz B from Should Be Reading.

The rules are as follows:
*Grab your current read
*Open to a random page
*Share two (2) “teaser” sentences from somewhere on that page
*BE CAREFUL NOT TO INCLUDE SPOILERS! (make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away! You don’t want to ruin the book for others!)
*Share the title & author, too, so that other TT participants can add the book to their TBR Lists if they like your teasers

I have two this week, and both books are different yet similar in that they are about children growing up.

"Where are we?" I asked, my voice echoing as if through a thousand invisible hallways.
"We're in the seven heavens," she replied. (She being the author's mother)
pg. 71 Children of Dust, by Ali Eteraz


Luke sat alone at a booth, facing away but I could see him stealing glances in the mirror. I have to admit I loved the feeling I got when I knew it bothered him to see me with Ben.
pg. 134 The Recipe Club, by Israel and Garfinkel

For more teasers stop by here.

Children of Dust: Chapter 1 Excerpt

I was offered a copy of this book for review by FSB Associates, and I accepted because I like learning about different cultures and their traditions. A little part of me wishes I was a culturual anthropologist.

Children of Dust is an interesting read so far. I am up to page 75. Obviously Islam is a big part of this story, and some readers may be offended. In my opinion, learning about each other's cultures and their differences allows for more harmony and discussion in the long run. We are all humans and we are all different.

Anyway, below is an excerpt of Chapter 1 of you are interested.

Chapter I
by Ali Eteraz,
Author of Children of Dust: A Memoir of Pakistan

My mother, Ammi, had just returned from Koh-e-Qaf, where women went when they were annoyed with their husbands. It was far up in the heavens, far beyond the world of men, above the astral planes of the jinns, and hidden even from the angels. Upon reaching Koh-e-Qaf a woman became a parri and congregated with others like her. Then all the parris gathered upon rippling streams and rivers of celestial milk. They bathed and splashed and darted around on rich, creamy froth.

I was just a seven-year-old child living in a tiny apartment in Lahore, Pakistan. I couldn't get enough of Koh-e-Qaf.

"What happens there?" I asked Ammi. "Please tell me! Please!"

"It's a safe place where I can gather my thoughts," she said. "When women go there, we don't take our earthly concerns with us. We don't even need our earthly clothes. Allah restores to us the cuticle skin we had when He first created Hazrat Adam and his wife, Havva."

Ammi said that Koh-e-Qaf was created secretly at the time the universe was made. Allah had asked each one of His creations whether they would be willing to bear the burden of free will. He asked the mountains and they said no. He asked the skies and they refused. He asked the sun and the seas and the plants and the trees and the angels. They all said no. But Adam, the first male -- "who took too many risks just like your Pops" -- accepted the burden. "And he didn't even ask his wife what he was getting into!" Upon hearing the news, a chagrined Havva went to Allah and told Him that men would make a big mess of things and "then take out their frustration on their wives." So, for all the wives of the world, Havva convinced Allah to create Koh-e-Qaf, a sanctuary for all time.

"Then she made Allah give long nails to women so they could remember their special place."

"That's not fair," I said, poking a finger through Ammi's curly black hair. "I don't have a special place to go to."

"You don't need a special place," she replied. "My little piece of the moon is more special than the whole world."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not," she said. "Haven't you ever thought about what your name means?"

"Abir?"

"Your full name. Abir ul Islam."

"So what? It's just a name."

"Not just a name."

I shrugged. Compared to intergalactic travel and teleportation and heavenly drinks, my name didn't inspire much awe.

"Come on," Ammi said, taking my hand as if she could read the disappointment on my face. "You don't believe me? Let's go see Beyji. She will tell you that you are the most special."

Beyji was my maternal great-grandmother. She lived in a white marble bungalow in Lahore. She was a saint because she had forgiven the woman who used black jadu to kill Beyji's husband. Beyji regularly met with the Holy Prophet Muhammad in her dreams. One year, during the Night of Power in the month of Ramzan, she got chosen as one of Allah's elect and saw a glimpse of the Light.

Ammi led me past my grandfather's room, where he was busy listening to old Noor Jahan recordings, and toward Beyji's darkened quarters. We went inside and Ammi pushed me toward Beyji's bed. She wore a floral print shalwar kameez -- loose trousers with a tunic top -- and had cast a gauzy blue dupatta over her head. Taking my wrist with one hand and holding my chin with the other, she gave me a smile. Her gummy mouth murmured a series of prayers.

"Beyji," Ammi said. "This one doesn't believe me when I tell him that he's special."

"The most special," Beyji corrected.

"I told him that his name is Abir ul Islam."

"Such a beautiful name, isn't it?"

"He doesn't think it's such a big deal."

"Is that right?" Beyji looked at me for confirmation.

I made my case. "Ammi flies around like a parri and goes to Koh-e-Qaf. I just sit here." Beyji looked at me with compassion. She pulled a piece of dried orange out from under her pillow and handed it to me. "Come and sit with me," she invited. "Then ask your Ammi to tell you the story of your birth."

"What about it?"

"She'll tell you," Beyji said.

Ammi sat down on the other bed and rested a cup of chai on the palm of her hand. With two fingers she pinched the cream congealed on the surface.

"When I was pregnant with you," Ammi said, licking her fingers, "Pops moved to Saudi Arabia for work. When he was there, he went to the Ka'ba in Mecca and made a mannat. Do you know what a mannat is?"

"No."

"A mannat is like a covenant with Allah. You promise to do something if Allah grants one of your wishes."

"Like a jinn in a lamp!"

"Except God imposes conditions!" Beyji amended.

"Your father's mannat was that if his first child was a boy," Ammi continued, "he would be raised to become a leader and servant of Islam. Are you listening?"

"Yes," I said, orange sticking out of my mouth.

"Then you were born -- a boy -- which meant that the mannat must be fulfilled."

"Are you still listening?" Beyji prompted.

I nodded and adopted the serious expression that their intensity seemed to require.

"So we needed to give you a name that reflected your purpose in life," Ammi said. "There were many options, but Pops said that your name should be Abir. It means perfume. Full name: Abir ul Islam. Perfume of Islam. You were thus born to spread Islam as if it were a beautiful fragrance. Special, no?"

"It's just a name," I said skeptically.

"Ah, but that's not all," Beyji said, nudging me affectionately. "Keep listening."

"Then," Ammi continued, "right when you were born we moved to Saudi Arabia. When you were barely eleven months old, you and Pops and I went to dohajj -- the pilgrimage to Mecca. I dressed you up like all the other pilgrims. You looked so cute wrapped in all white. You had been trying to walk for many weeks, but I swear as soon as we got to Mecca you began walking properly. It had to have been that holy sand. You really took to Mecca. Walking around. Greeting everyone. You even ran away from me in the middle of the night. We were frantic until you were discovered hours later with a pair of Bedouins. It was like you were meant to be there."

"Did the Bedouins have goats?" I asked, my attention momentarily derailed.

"I think they did," Ammi said. "Anyway. One night I went to circumambulate the Ka'ba and took you with me. The place wasn't as crowded at night. There was a long row of Africans walking with their elbows locked like a chain. I stayed behind them until they made their turn and I found myself right at the border of the Ka'ba . . ."

"The House of God," Beyji said, her eyes shining. "I've been there twice in my life. It's the most beautiful thing in the universe. Astronauts will tell you that the world sits right in the center of the universe, and that Mecca sits right in the middle of the world, and that the Ka'ba sits right in the middle of Mecca!"

"There's a semicircular wall around the Ka'ba," Ammi continued. "It was built by the Prophet Ibrahim thousands of years ago. I forget the name of that space, but it's said that if you pray there, it's as if you'd prayed inside the Ka'ba. It was peaceful there that night. No one else was in the area. Imagine: millions of people wearing the same thing and chanting the same thing -- Labbayk Allahumma Labbayk -- all around us, and a mother and son just all alone with the Ka'ba. It was beautiful."

Beyji interrupted again: "Don't forget! Mecca was founded by a mother and son, too. At Allah's instruction, Hajira and baby Ismail were left there by the Prophet Ibrahim. They had no water, so Hajira put Ismail down in the sand to go and find something to drink. While she was gone, little Ismail kicked his feet and the Zamzam spring sprouted from the desert sand. A town was built there when some nomads discovered the spring."

Ammi nodded and continued: "I had you stand next to me and we made a pair of nafal prayers together. I asked Allah to place Islamic knowledge in your heart and make you a true servant of Islam. Then I removed your clothes, lifted you up, and rubbed your bare chest against the ancient wall -- back and forth a few times."

As I listened to the women, my heart beat fast and my face became warm. I felt connected to this distant place that I didn't remember. The reverence it elicited in my mother and great-grandmother poured into me.

"Then later, when I was resting," Ammi continued, "your Pops took you with him. He went to rub your chest against the heavenly Black Stone at one corner of the Ka'ba. He wasn't able to get to it because it's always so crowded with people trying to kiss it, but he pressed you against the bare walls of the Ka'ba itself. He made the same prayer I did, about you serving Islam."

"Subhanallah," Beyji said and put her hand on my heart. "One day you should go back to Mecca and kiss the Black Stone. It will absorb all your sins. But not yet. Go when you are older. Right now you are sinless."

I nodded eagerly.

"So," Ammi said. "Do you believe you are special now?"

I felt as if the entire universe was listening to my answer. God. The angels. Even the parris.

"Yes. I believe you. I believe that I'm special."

"By the way, did you know that when the Black Stone first came down from heaven it was white?" Ammi said.

"What happened to it?" I asked.

"People touched it and it became dirty," she said.

I imagined billions of hands touching a large, egg-shaped crystal over thousands of years and gradually making it black. Suddenly I pulled away from Beyji and stood up in the center of the room, feeling proud and powerful.

"I will take a towel and make it white again!"

Beyji kissed my hand and told me that I would be Islam's most glorious servant.


The above is an excerpt from the book Children of Dust: A Memoir of Pakistan by Ali Eteraz. The above excerpt is a digitally scanned reproduction of text from print. Although this excerpt has been proofread, occasional errors may appear due to the scanning process. Please refer to the finished book for accuracy.
Copyright © 2009 Ali Eteraz, author of Children of Dust: A Memoir of Pakistan

Author Bio

Ali Eteraz, author of Children of Dust: A Memoir of Pakistan, was born in Pakistan and has lived in the Middle East, the Caribbean, and the United States. A graduate of Emory University and Temple Law School, he was selected for the Outstanding Scholar's Program at the United States Department of Justice and later worked in corporate litigation in Manhattan. He is a regular contributor to True/Slant; has published articles about Islam and Pakistani politics in Dissent, Foreign Policy, AlterNet, and altMuslim; and is a regular contributor to The Guardian UK and Dawn, Pakistan's oldest English-language daily. His blog in the Islamosphere received nearly two million views as well as a Brass Crescent award for originality. Eteraz has spoken publicly about the situation inside Pakistan, Islamic reform, and Muslim immigration. He currently divides his time between Princeton, New Jersey, and the Middle East, and is working on a novel.

For more information please visit www.alieteraz.com.