Around halfway through the book.
Not an easy book to read. And I don’t why a novel has took me so long, around 2 months, to get to the midway. But the story is very funny. A very insightful accusation of hatred due to border question, a political history that stretches far back to Joan of Arc in the 11th Century, using a theatre set in the 80s in Northern Ireland, a renouncer zone – I have been guessing Derry. Funny as I only know 3 cities in Northern Ireland – Belfast, Derry an Armagh.
From the perspective of the antagonist, a 20-year-old young girl, the story pointed out the absurdity of having history and politics distorting everyone and everything in the a community, as to love, praise, ambivalence, sex, honour, deeds, change, future, fear, ……. and the definitions of all of them.
It struck me, as a man born in the 80s in Hong Kong, a border city and witnessed the massacre of June 4th in 89 somewhere in Beijing. My cohort more or less developed a fear and even hatred towards the concept of China since then. A hatred so much that we now start refusing to positively value anything happening over there, and from there. But this novel struck me, that, my cohort is getting thinner, is fading, with our witness and memory. Even we have anecdotes, even movies and documentaries of what used to happen over there and between them and us, they mean less and less to the here and now in our place. Our offspring, like my son and daughter, will never value that piece of history and hatred, even justified, as much as we do. To them it’s inconsequential. And trying hard to make it as important as we think it deserves, may turn out twist the community, the place we love, and everything inside, to weird thing as the protagonist in the novel thought of her place at her time.
What should I do? I’ve got no answer. I don’t have answer to most of the things around me do I?