Hello, friends! Thank you for joining me here. The aim of this project is to examine the Israeli/Palestinian conflict through the lens of literature.
This thread is for the discussion of TO THE END OF THE LAND, by Israeli novelist David Grossman, published in Hebrew in 2008 and in English (translation by Jessica Cohen) in 2010. The previous thread (for Adania Shibli’s MINOR DETAIL) is here.
You are welcome to introduce yourselves below and say something about your interest in this book or in the region—and its literature—more generally.
As I wrote in my last newsletter, I was initially reluctant to approach this novel based on its plot: an Israeli mother whose son is serving in the IDF journeys on foot through the country, hoping to avoid the dreaded knock of the “notifiers” who will inform her of his death. So I decided to try listening to it instead of reading it, and was immediately drawn in by the initial dialogue between Ora, the novel’s protagonist, and Avram, whom she first meets when they are both hospitalized as teenagers.
Ora’s journey begins in middle age, when her son Ofer, who has just finished his compulsory IDF service, is suddenly called up again. She had planned to take him on a week-long hiking trip to the Galilee, in the north of Israel, but instead she finds herself accompanying him to the army meeting point to bid him goodbye. Back at home, she finds herself possessed by dread: “Never before had she had such a clear feeling. All day, freezing cold shards have been digging into her lower abdomen.” If she stays on the move, she reasons, and no one can inform her of his death, perhaps he will somehow be protected. It’s magical thinking, she knows, but she cannot resist it. (The title in Hebrew is “A Woman Runs Away from News.”)
At one point, Ora, Avram, and Ilan were a trio: best friends and sometimes lovers. She and Ilan married and raised a family, but he has recently left her. Now she seeks out Avram to accompany her on the journey. At first, his presence seems mainly a useful narrative device: Ora needs someone to whom to tell the story of Ofer’s life, and thus the story of her life. But it becomes clear—I won’t spoil it for those who haven’t finished—that there is another reason for Avram’s presence.
Below are a few points I want to highlight for discussion—please feel free to respond to these or to add your own! These reviews by Colm Tóibín and Jacqueline Rose are also well worth reading.
“Israel is the one country in the world whose elimination is most openly called for,” Grossman writes in a recent op-ed. At the same time, he laments that Israel has become “more fortress than home,” offering “neither security nor ease.” What is your impression of the way this novel navigates the imperative of Israelis to survive versus the costs of endless war?
Ora and her family are friendly with Sami, a Palestinian taxi driver who figures prominently early in the novel. They are close enough that Ora thoughtlessly asks Sami to drive her and Ofer to the army base camp, to his great discomfort. Later, he will take advantage of another demand from her to sneak an ill Palestinian boy into Tel Aviv, where a group of activists have turned an elementary school into a makeshift underground hospital. What do you think of the way this relationship is portrayed?
Ora recounts Ofer’s childhood in all its sweet, quirky details. Which of these seem particularly striking or meaningful? Why do you think Grossman lavishes such attention on family life in this novel?
The novel’s structure is circular rather than linear. The characters revisit the same episodes multiple times from different perspectives; key details are withheld until they can’t be delayed any longer. Why do you think Grossman chose to tell the story this way instead of in a more traditional form?
Finally, what should we read next? Suggestions of both Palestinian and Israel works are welcome.
I, too, was struck by the recursive character of the novel: when I reached the end, I realized that I needed to reread the first hundred or so pages in order to makes sense of the opening. This recursiveness makes perfect sense given Grossman's preoccupation with the representational status of memory. The novel is a hall of mirrors.
I, too, was struck by the recursive character of the novel: when I reached the end, I realized that I needed to reread the first hundred or so pages in order to makes sense of the opening. This recursiveness makes perfect sense given Grossman's preoccupation with the representational status of memory. The novel is a hall of mirrors.