Dishonour

 

I have loved Elif Shafak ever since I read The 40 Rules of Love but I found it difficult to get through this book. Maybe because it dealt with a son killing his mother for the sake of family "honour" as if it was his right, his responsibility.

I couldn't understand how the sister, who justly hated him for it, could go pick him up when his stint in jail was done and allow him to stay in her house until he found his feet. And I couldn't understand the people around her, coaxing, urging her to do this, to forgive him, as if what he had done could ever be forgivable. 

I cringed through his mother's partiality for him, referring to him as 'my prince, my sultan', and allowing him to assume head of the household role when her deadbeat husband left her for a stripper.

I cringed and cringed and had arguments in my head against all mothers who thought of their sons as princes and sultans, and who saw all of their crimes as forgivable or someone else's fault. 

And because of this I delayed reading and finishing this book for the longest time but I read the last 90 pages or so in one sitting and discovered twists that would have made the book more bearable if I had come to them earlier. 

Instead I had let the book drag out although it was a fairly easy read and her prose, as always mellifluous. 

I thought of not writing a review for this blog but changed my mind. 

I would. 

And here it is. 

And now, I am going to take a shower, defrost some chicken for a curry later on, and finish baking my last fruitcake for the year.