Book Review: "Use of Weapons" by Iain M. Banks

In general, there's a tendency in the world of literature to look down on science fiction books and other "speculative fiction" literature. True, most scifi/fantasy is escapism and offer very little in the way of beautiful prose or other literary devices, especially during its infancy in the 50's/6o's when they were little more than "cowboys in space" or at best an interesting concept burdened with workman-like writing. But its been a long time since the days of Asimov, Clarke and Heinlein. The genre has matured. And few books showcase this fact better than Iain M. Banks' "Culture" novels. Banks, already an established writer of "normal fiction" turns his literary skills to science fiction, creating an interesting world inhabited by the Culture; an extremely advanced race of genetically modified humans and sentient machines living in symbiosis and playing caretaker for the rest of the universe. I've yet to read all the books, but so far "Use of Weapons" is my favorite by a long margin.

Zakalwe is a highly regarded and skilled mercenary soldier who is constantly being recruited by Culture agent Diziet for jobs considered too dirty for the Culture to undertake by themselves. Riches beyond his imagination is constantly being promised, yet Zakalwe always asks for one reward, seemingly trivial. A reward that intrigues Diziet to no end. A dark secret lies in Zakalwe's past and Diziet is determined to find out what it is.

The thing I most like about this book is that it stands well by itself even without the trappings of science fiction. Remove all the space ships, robots and other paraphernalia and you would still have a very good and extremely well written book. The most interesting aspect is Banks' use of two narrative streams. One, traditionally enough, follows our protagonist's adventures forward in time. The other stream flows backwards, gradually delving deeper into Zakalwe's past. The two streams alternating chapters. If you've ever seen the movie Memento (if you haven't, you really really should) then this device might feel very familiar. Yes it can feel confusing at first, especially when you're not expecting it, but it flows logically afterwards. Both lines culminating, interestingly enough, into the same climax (in two different time lines).

For people who enjoy interesting to read books I can't recommend Use of Weapons enough, even if they don't usually read science fiction.





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Ganging up on Saudi Vice

A few months ago there were troubling rumors making the rounds about turning the Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice (AKA Saudi Vice) into a full fledged ministry. As if these hard line extremists should have even more power than they already have. The prospect looked bleak to me. I saw what little hope I had of seeing this institution abolished withering in front of my eyes.

Then one day a brave brave lady dared challenge the mighty Saudi Vice. And suddenly the dam broke. That's the thing about Saudi society. Change takes a long time to come, but when it does come (usually triggered by a tragedy) it cascades through society at an amazing pace. It happened years ago when tragedy broke out in a Makkah school for girls and a lack of safety precautions meant that a simple fire cost the lives of many innocent girls. The tragedy and the rage brought down the Presidency for Girls Education, and prompted the long sought after merging with the (then boys only) Ministry of Education into one monolithic entity. For months after, the newspapers and the media hounded dilapidated schools all over the kingdom.

Now its happening to Saudi Vice.

When a conformist sad excuse for a newspaper like Okaz prints something like this article (translated and published in English by Arab News) you just know that change is in the air. Even the Shoura Council has taken up kicking the down on their luck Saudi Vice.

You could almost feel sorry for them.

Not.

The Saudi people have finally spoken up. We no longer want a Big Brother-like institution to tell us what is moral and what is not. Change now, or be brought down smashing into the ground.



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Warning to Car Drivers in Jeddah

Calling all cars. Calling all cars. Well ... Cars in Jeddah anyway...

If at all possible avoid the intersection of Prince Majid (Sab'een) street and Rawdah street, formerly known as Meedan al Tayara.

Aside from the stifling traffic due to the reconstruction work and the hordes of water tankers waiting in line to get filled up from the water station, there's also the Mother of All Potholes.

Now Jeddites are no strangers to potholes, dodging holes in the ground is the norm here, but boy oh boy is this one a woozy. I had just escaped the traffic around the congested square, and happy with my release I accelerated towards the intersection of Majid and Tahliya when I fell into the worst pothole I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. My whole car jumped. Then I heard that dreaded sound. The rumbling sound of a ruined tire.

F@&*!!!!!

A quick stop and a look confirmed it. Luckily enough there was a tire repair shop nearby, so with the tire making that awful bumpy noise I drove in. The prognosis? Worse than I thought. The pothole not only managed to give me a flat, it also ruined my expensive aluminum wheel.

F@&*!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And I wasn't alone! I counted three other cars at the tire shop with ruined tires and/or wheels during the time I was there. Hmmm. That tire shop must be making an awful lot of money from all these repairs. Hmmmm.

If you find yourself in the stretch between Meedan al Tayara and Tahliya Street, watch out for Potholezilla.


Thanks for nothing city of Jeddah!



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The Expat Effect

As part of my job I get to visit Riyadh a lot. Now for those who are not too familiar about the ethnic distribution in Saudi Arabia the thing you should know is that Saudi Jawas (and other naturalized non-Arab ethnic groups) are almost unheard of outside the Hijaz region. Which is why I get plenty of stares when I'm wearing Saudi clothes and dismissed as just another Pinoy expat when wearing western clothes when I leave the comfort of my home region.

I admit, at first this bothered me to no end. Why should I be judged differently just because I look foreign?

But being the ultimate optimist that I am, I soon learned to have fun. Imagine the following scene:

Interior shot: It's a fast food restaurant. Saudi Jawa enters, wearing a pair of jeans and a Metallica T-shirt. The Egyptian clerk smiles and starts speaking in English.

Egyptian Clerk: Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?

Saudi Jawa (in perfectly accented Saudi Arabic): وعليكم السلام أخوي. ممكن الوجبة رقم 3 الله لا يهينك (Wa alaikum assalam, brother. Can I have meal no. 3, may Allah never humiliate you?)

Pause and double take.

Egyptian Clerk (surprised Egyptian Arabic):!ده انت بتتكلم عربي حلو أوي (Hey, you're speaking excellent Arabic!)

Call me mischievous, but I just love the shocked looks I get when people get confused over exactly what I am. I once opened the elevator door for a Sudani guy and he thanked me in English and I voiced my "you're welcome" in Arabic, in a friendly attempt to inform him of my linguistic skill and preference. He didn't get the hint, or else he was just too confused. We had a whole conversation during the elevator trip where he spoke in English and I replied in Arabic! I loved it!

Another perk that has more practical merit is that when people think you're an Expat from a developing country you get better prices. Yes. Better prices. I remember the first time I came to Riyadh on business I had to stay longer than I planned to so I went to a nearby clothes store to get some extra changes. I piled my purchases in front of the Indian clerk and when I was informed of the total cost I did a half-hearted attempt at haggling (more out of habit than anything else). The clerk surprised me when he said: "Sadeeg*. You are not Saudi. Don't worry, I'm giving you the best price. I would never dream of over charging you."

To this day, whenever I'm in Riyadh and I happen to be shopping I always cheat and wear western clothes and stop speaking Arabic.

I love being a Jawa :)

*"Friend" in pidgin Arabic.

Cake Mix

"Would we still be in love five years from now?" she asked me.

I could feel a sense of dread behind that query. Just a hint, bravely disguised as a joke question, but it was there. I could feel that it was bothering her, that it bothered her to even think about it. A waft of bitter poison in a tranquil icy lake.

"Oh I know we'll still be in love." I assured her, then added: "But it would be different. A different kind of love."

That bothered her. "Different?" she asked, a tinge of fear poking its ugly head around the corner.

"Have you ever made a cake?" I said, "You know how good the batter tastes even before it gets baked? Our love right now is like that. Delicious, spontaneous, exciting and slightly messy. Five years from now the batter would be baked. It's a cake now. It's still delicious (some would say even infinitely more delicious) but now it's more mature, solid, comfortable ... more real somehow."

She laughed and we shared one of those rare Zen moments when every little thing feels perfect. A moment where you sing and feel the world singing in harmony with you for once. I felt the heavy air of trepidation lift, and I laughed back as the fresh breeze played with my hair.

"You think a lot about food don't you?" she giggled.

Yes. Yes I do. Damn this diet...

Saudi People vs Religion Police (Round 1)

Arab News reports on this Saudi first:

The Court of Grievances in Riyadh yesterday postponed until July 2 the first ever compensation lawsuit against a member of the Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice filed by a Saudi woman after commission members failed to respond to a court summons.

Al-Lahem is representing a mother and daughter who were stopped by commission members in 2004 in front of a Riyadh shopping center. They accused the women, who were waiting in their car together with their driver, of not conforming to customs of decency.

As you can imagine I'm watching this very closely, and I have to say that it fills my heart with joy that this brave lady is not willing to back off despite the setbacks. I remain only cautiously optimistic though. Should the Saudi Vice lose this case then it would set a precedent. The flood gates would open on full blast and somewhere out there a boombox would be playing "Who Let the Dogs Out?". It would signal that the Mutaweens are no longer above the law and are in fact answerable to it. Are they really going to let go of all that power without a fight?

Oh, the Pain .... The Agony

"This will be over very soon." my torturer informed me in his infuriatingly calm voice, "Just a little more."

Like Jonathan Harker in Bram Stoker's Darcula I was trapped in that hellish chair, held down by the sadist's three lovely assistants as he looked over the tools of his trade. He picked a hook, a needle, then a scalpel, then a power tool; a friggin drill! Even as these instruments left their marks on me, I couldn't help noticing their excellent craftsmanship. Top quality stainless steel. The man might have been a cold calculating torturer, but he took pride in his tools. I wanted to yell at them, to stop, to have mercy. After all, what have I ever done to deserve all this pain? I was no saint, but to be subjected to this purgatory? But I didn't. I knew my pleas would fall on deaf ears. Not even the assistants, lovely as they were, would bat an eye at my supplications. In fact, they showed great curiosity and interest at my tormentor's work. Like apprentices learning their trade. I only prayed that none would be subjected to the horror of their care.

Just when I thought the man had done his worst, out comes the real instruments. A small rotary saw and, I swear I'm not making this up, a chisel and a pair of pliers as a makeshift hammer. "Open him," he ordered his assistants, as coldly as he might've done had he asked them to make his dinner. The ladies of the landscape of pain pulled my mouth wider than I ever knew was possible. It's not supposed to open that much, I could've told them with a nervous laugh. If my tongue and face weren't numb that is. If I wasn't staring madly at the new tools, my imagination running rampant with the possibilities. Curse my over active imagination!

The chisel entered me and the man started hammering. I could feel it all the way to my brain. Blood splattered. My blood I thought coldly. It stained my clothes, and sprayed the man's face. It filled my mouth with that oddly metallic taste. Iron I thought, trying desperately to fish inside my head for all those insignificant factoids they crammed into our heads back in school. Hemoglobin, red and white cells, platelets. Anything to keep my mind away from the rising crescendo of pain. It was a losing battle I knew, but one that I knew I had to fight or else go insane. Then I heard the crack of bone. The sickening crunch as my torturer's target finally gave way after three hours of work.

"Congratulations sir. We have successfully removed your wisdom tooth." the dentist said, looking at the x-ray, "It took some work but you can now finally rest. It won't trouble you ever again."

I sighed with relief so much that I was afraid I was going to blow my lungs inside out. It was over. It was finally over. I can rest now.

"Now, sir." he added with a malicious glint in his eyes, "Let's schedule another appointment for the other wisdom tooth."

I told you he was a cruel cruel man....