market – Miriam Drori, Author

The “Fictional” World of Loyalty and the Learner

How fictional is the world inhabited by Nathalie, Asaf and friends (and foes)?

On Day 2 of the blog tour for Loyalty and the Learner, I’m pondering this question. Here’s why:

Before I go any further, you can find links to all the tour posts so far in this post.

Yesterday, GB Williams posted this when writing about my book:

…I also know little of life in Israel, other than what we see on the news, which I have tried to forget as the real world is a different one to the world this story inhabits. That’s what fiction is for, taking us away from the real world.

I actually wrote this novel more than a year ago, its publication having been delayed for several reasons. But even before the seventh of October 2023, and going back long before independence in 1948, Israel has been plagued by conflict and wars, by enemies who will agree to nothing less than its complete destruction. It has always known terrorist attacks of various sorts.

By the way, despite all that, I believe Israeli cities are among the safest in the world, especially for women.

Not one of my novels set in Israel – Neither Here Nor There (not currently available), Style and the Solitary and Loyalty and the Learner – mention wars or attacks, other than Asaf saying of Israel’s problems in Loyalty and the Learner, “One of those is the security situation.”

Why?

There are plenty of novels set in Israel that highlight the security situation and explain it much better than I ever could. I wanted to portray ordinary life here, to show the beautiful and the not so beautiful but without the wars. Does that make the world of my novels fictional?

I don’t think so. The reality is that Israelis live in two parallel worlds simultaneously. We work in offices or building sites or fields. We go shopping in markets and supermarkets and smaller shops. We exercise in the gym or by walking, runnning, cycling, dancing. We love to spend time with our families.

The other world is more frightening. We hear about it on the news and hope it won’t come any closer to us, but of course it does, even if it’s only when we run for shelter. No, it’s never only that, because we all know people who’ve been affected much more, who’ve lost family members and had their worlds changed forever in a single moment.

In normal times, but not during the past year, it’s possible to spend whole days, maybe even a week or two, without thinking about wars or attacks. Unless, of course, you’re in the army, or have a child in the army, or find yourself under attack…

Really, it’s often possible to forget you’re in the Middle East for a while. And so, I suggest the world of my novels is not as fictional as you might think.

Loyalty and the Learner is published through Ocelot Press and can be purchased via Amazon and other online stores.

A Walk in my City

I look down on the conglomeration that is my city. Men in suits and black hats in the burning sun, women in short skirts and sleeveless tops – along with women more suited to the above-mentioned men and men suited to the above-mentioned women. Lorries, buses, cars, taxis, motorbikes. Buildings, old and new:

View from string bridge - buildings old and new — Buildings - old and new

The bridge on which I’m standing has been open for three years and yet this is the first time I’m walking along it. I need to get out more before I stop recognising my city.

My problem is to decide what to call it in English. In Hebrew, it’s called Gesher Hameitarim – The String Bridge. But that’s string as in a violin string. Online, I find two options: The Bridge of Strings or The Chord Bridge. I like the way “chord” combines music and geometry.

As I stand at the top of the bridge watching the changing view, people pass me, alone or in couples, quiet or chatting, on foot or on cycle. They don’t seem to notice the view. They’re probably used to it.

Eventually I leave the bridge and follow the tramlines along Jaffa Road. There are plenty of stops for the tram or light railway, all empty because the opening of the light railway has been postponed yet again. Ghost trams pass by, their seats still covered with plastic, their destinations flashing alternately in Hebrew, English and Arabic.

I sit down at one of the stops, providing it with some company for a few minutes. Buses have been rerouted away from here and it would be quiet if it weren’t for the drilling across the road. An old man approaches. “Is this hat yours?” He fishes a sun hat from under my seat with his walking stick and takes it with him.

The market is crowded, even though it’s only Tuesday. People are busy rushing everywhere. In the middle of it all, an old woman is standing in stained clothes and a straw hat. Next to her is an old shopping trolley filled with plastic bags. A bag lady, I think, until I go round to the other side of her and see what she’s up to.

Yes, I definitely need to get out more.

( * Apologies for the rubbish bin in the photo. There was no other way to take it.)