There is nothing I love more than gift certificates to bookstores. I have received some amount of money in this form for every Christmas and birthday since I was old enough to read; in fact, it’s what I ask for. (Complaint from family: “But gift cards are boring!” Response: “Has a Barnes and Noble gift card ever failed to make me happy?”) Especially given my circumstances, i.e., unemployed and so depressed by months of fruitless job searching that I don’t even know what to do about it anymore, I try not to spend too much money on books. I probably spend more time at the library than the grocery store. So a Barnes and Noble gift card is great, because it forces me to buy a brand new shiny book to take home with me.
I spent a lot of time wandering the shelves a few weeks ago, wavering between a couple of choices. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, one of my new favorite novels that I would like to own? A science fiction book I haven’t read before, to explore something new? A real-life exploration of game theory?
Ultimately I decided that I couldn’t resist the urge to spend what was effectively my very Republican aunt’s and uncle’s money on Al’America by Jonathan Curiel, a book which seeks to “[cut] through fear and misunderstanding” surrounding Arabic and Islamic culture to reveal that they’ve already woven themselves into American life with no ill effects. (I especially enjoyed picturing what my uncle’s face would look like if he could see merely the title of the book I was purchasing with his gift money.)
It was ultimately a good choice: vivid and detailed, if somewhat lacking in analysis. I finished the book with quite a few new interesting facts in my arsenal, but would have enjoyed even the glimmer of some new and interesting insight.
This much-needed book from The New Press highlights Arabic influences on American culture in impressively varied areas- from architecture to language to fashion. After touching on the unfortunate displays of anti-Arab and anti-Islamic sentiment in the US in the wake of 9/11, Curiel sets out to demonstrate that Arab and Islamic culture isn’t fundamentally incompatible with American culture, as some red-faced screaming pundits (who shall remain nameless) would have you believe. On the contrary, elements of Arab culture can be found woven into the facades of buildings inspired by Moorish architecture (notably the Twin Towers) and in the background of the lives of some of our country’s most famous icons (again demonstrating remarkable variety, those famous icons include both Ralph Waldo Emerson and Elvis.) After all, isn’t that what the melting pot is all about?
It is particularly telling that this thesis isn’t obvious. I couldn’t say if it’s a current problem or just a timeless hypocritical quirk of the American psyche- we are simultaneously proud of being a nation built by immigrants and fearful of outsiders who might continue that tradition.
Al’America is a rich and detailed story, spanning hundreds of years and several continents to reveal the winding paths of cultural exchange. Although the number of examples is somewhat small, the scope is impressive, reflecting a surprisingly broad range of fields in which Arabic influence can be seen, heard, and felt.
My only real complaint about the book is that it fails to reach just a little further. This is somewhat unfair of me, since the book perfectly achieves exactly what its subheading proclaims it to be: “Travels Through America’s Arab and Islamic Roots.” However, I found myself occasionally wishing that the author would curtail some of the detailed history in order to squeeze in more analysis or discussion of American sentiments about these cultural elements. It does me no good to know that there are buildings in the US with Islamic style arches if I don’t know whether Americans tend to love or hate them. It’s hard to see how half a chapter devoted to the storied history of coffee (fascinating as it may be, and eloquently as it may be related) does much to promote the author’s ostensible goal of convincing American readers that they should welcome Arabic culture with open arms. The author attempts the difficult task of showing rather than telling, and on occasion he fails when the text seems to wander into detailed history of a solitary example without relating much of it back to the impact on contemporary American culture or the consequences of that influence.
However, when he succeeds, the book becomes a fantastic and eye-opening tour of important cultural history. It is at its best when it surprises us- more than once I felt my jaw drop (“No way the best-selling poet in America is a Persian cleric!”) or resisted the urge to smack myself on the forehead (“I can’t believe I never realized that song has Arabic influences!”). It is even better when it draws a human face over its research- for example, describing the young white man from a small town in Pennsylvania who speaks fluent Arabic and defends his Arabic calligraphy tattoo to skeptical Americans who confront him about it.
The book’s closing pages quote Nizar Qabbani, a Syrian poet who attended a 1976 conference on “Arab and American Cultures.” His words sorely need to be heard across the world, in America, Saudi Arabia, and France, both for content and context:
Any culture should be open to all other cultures. It should affect them and be affected by them continuously…Culture should strive to bring the world together and unify its dreams.
In those moments of cultural surprise and personal touch, the book’s message gracefully transcends its examples- not that varied cultures share a few details, but that they share a common humanity.