An Evil Cradling

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Says that there is justice in people taking up arms in response to a loss of power (talking about Israeli invasion) but says they had no understanding of power or it’s uses. Gives sad story of Maronite girl who became pregnannt from Muslim man. Killed by brother who, based on the family and community beliefs convinced himself that itnwas Muslims that committed the fringe. ‘This kink of mind that confuses love with powers and equates power with aggression remains a painful sore under the skin of Lebanese society’ Wait!” Maedhros croaked; the words sounded pathetic even in his own ears but still he spoke them to keep that awful gag from his lips. “Wait… you… You’re taking me to him, aren’t you? To… to the Moringotto, to Angband…” We march east,” a deep voice bellowed, and Maedhros flinched in horror as he felt himself passed between the company of uruks, they pushed him about as if he was nothing more than a rag doll until a fresh set of hands grasped him firmly, and miserably he stilled within them. “Collect what treasures you may from the field, but the elf’s sword and banner I claim in tribute to our lord. Make haste, we march with the shadows!” In Atwood's 'A Handmaid's Tale' Offred conveys a large amount of nostalgia towards her past. In the opening chapter Atwood contrasts the senses of the past. The lights are vividly described as "a revolving ball of mirrors, powdering the dancers with a snow of light. " Atwood chooses this poetic metaphor to show her fondness towards previous times. Atwood describes the simplicity of the lights under the regime "The lights were turned down but not out. " Offred's feelings of extreme claustrophobia are exacerbated through the juxtaposition of the former senses. In Offred's case she is more sensitive towards these feelings of freedom. But inevitably there are reminders, some of them funny. "We were in a taxi together in London, and the driver kept looking at us in his mirror," says Keenan. "And then he came through on his intercom and he said: 'Sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but I couldn't help asking … wouldn't you be more comfortable travelling in the boot?'"

It’s definitely a strange and unsettling read, and about half way through I found I had to look Brian Keenan up on YouTube- to hear his voice saying some of these things, to know that he survived, to feel his reflective tone- I couldn’t carry on on reading with my own voice. I'll start by saying that I started reading this book after I saw a Facebook comment claiming this is good literature. I was intrigued as Middle East history and people overcoming struggles are things I enjoy reading about. This is the book Keenan has written. An imaginative exploration of the man. Another kind of cradling, you could say, though this time benevolent. Keenan visits Turlough on his deathbed, comes into the room where he is dying, much as Turlough came to him in his room when he was in despair. And through Keenan's book Turlough is reborn not as a musician, not as a historical character, but as a man. "Fleshy, honest, frail, complex." And if this sounds like a self-portrait, it may be that, too. There are echoes here, too, of Eliot's lines in his great poem Journey Of The Magi: "I had seen birth and death/ But had thought they were different; this birth was/ Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death." And ... "I should be glad of another death."From the beginning, Keenan states that he is writing this book as part of his healing, and is presenting the facts not as a chronological record but as an attempt to capture the subjective experience of what it was like to go through his ordeal. He doesn't spare any words to the wider political context, instead conveying only the facts that were aware to him at the time. Amazing preface. Speaks on paradox that make up book: how in the most inhuman circumstances men grow deeper in humanity Brian Keenan publishes An Evil Cradling, an autobiographical account of more than four years as a hostage in Beirut. Y’hear that, snaga,” a deep voice growled, and an iron-shod boot clipped into the side of Maedhros’ thigh an instant later. “My boys should ‘ave their fun with you. Such troubles we took with you, you might give us a little pleasure in return…” Maedhros’ head lolled down onto his chest as exhaustion stole through him, the tightness of the gag tore at his lips and sent waves of such horrible pressure throbbing through his head. Despair clawed at his heart as for what felt like the thousandth time he squirmed within his bonds, he near ripped his wrists bloody in his attempts to free them, but such efforts were made in vain.

That survival is mutual. Everyone there had to put a part of themselves on the table for everyone else to take what they needed." So, until the debt was clear, he would not be free to act. He is a very unusual man, in many ways no doubt. But in one way in particular. He is not prepared to be cynical. Unmodern, you could say, in that way. One by one they were slain; the Noldor’s tight defensive knot frayed as the orcs gnawed at it, as the Valaraukar unravelled it; and Maedhros screamed out his hatred as he felt the rush of sundered fëar envelop him, and loathing bubbled in him that his friends might have been defiled so cruelly. For how dare the Moringotto think to cross him; viciously he decapitated the squat orc who leapt at him and sent its grotesque skull tumbling; how dare Morgoth renege upon his vows, how dare he lull the Noldor to their slaughter like some craven, honourless dog; and as the warm splatter of orcish ichor drenched him, a feral snarl ripped across Maedhros’ face. When I first started reading I was partially anticipating a harrowing tale of survival but this was not the case; instead this book details a tale of endurance overcoming mind-numbing monotony and tedium. Although he specifies physical abuse and brutality specifically, such is the method that he approachces everything, including the other people with him. Keenan provides his own processed self-examination and reflection, keeping blunt details wrapped in an "extreme care and sensitivy," which ultimately keeps everything described at a remove. Even the observations that he makes about his own survival and mental state at the time feel distant, something that he's already thought through and is offering up to the reader pre-digested.In his book he writes. "It is memory that ages us not time." The mind forgets nothing, he says. "I may forget things, but the mind doesn't." In captivity he found himself remembering details from his childhood, things that he didn't even know he knew. "I could smell the linoleum in the house I grew up in. I could feel, twirl in my hand, the earrings that my mother wore when I was a child and she'd carry me in her arms." So he knows, however much he says, what happened in Beirut is the past. "It's like a book I can take down from a shelf and read it and replace."

Correspondingly, Offred is able to escape into her private world of memory and desire. Offred uses storytelling as a means of personal survival her narrative is the only way of bridging the gap between an isolated self and the world outside. "It is also a story I am telling, in my head, as I go along. " Offred is able to escape the intense feelings of claustrophobia through expressing her feelings. Atwood chooses short sentences to emulate the natural nature of speech resulting in a flowing structure. Both Offred and Keenan's sense of claustrophobia is intensified by the way that their human rights are no longer recognised and they have no freedom of choice. Keenan's beard is used in 'The Devil's Barbershop' to symbolise his dignity and freedom of choice. Keenan is very reluctant to have his beard shaved off; his behaviour becomes the manifestation of claustrophobia. He becomes attached to his beard and it symbolises his freedom of expression, "I've had this beard for too long for some halfwit who thinks he owns me to make me what he wants me to be. Throughout this passage Keenan uses long sentences that highlight his heightened emotions, Keenan's aggressive tone towards his captors also shows his reluctance to change, Keenan's identity is displayed through his beard and similarly to Offred he is being made to conform and accept his claustrophobic surroundings. In "The Handmaid's Tale" Offred is defined by her uniform, and looses her previous identity. This expresses that in Gilead their lives have become so claustrophobic that even their ability to express themselves has been repressed.Keenan uses various techniques to convey the feeling of human degradation that he went through during the first period of his captivity. Both Offred and Keenan's lifestyles appear even more claustrophobic in contrast to their previous lives. There is an asymmetry in the presentation of a sense of claustrophobia within and between the two novels. Whilst on the one hand, both writers deal with the notion of claustrophobia as having a negative consequence on their lives. On the other hand the life of the main protagonists before their captive state is presented with considerable differences. These differences are exemplified in the opening chapters of both texts. The poet is everywhere present in "An Evil Cradling," a beautifully and movingly written account of his four and half years as a hostage, which, perhaps more than any of the others, conveys the iron-hard reality of isolation. He hates it, and he hasn't got used to it. "It embarrasses me." A shy, modest man, he accepts it when people come up to him in the pub, offering him drinks, asking to shake his hand. He is polite and politely unimpressed. He doesn't want this fame. "I don't really understand it. What have I done? I didn't ask to be kidnapped." The blunt tone of knowing in Gothmog’s voice sent spears of foreboding lancing through Maedhros’ heart. For a moment then he wavered: the rich scent of the stew sent hunger cramping through his innards, and though it felt like a betrayal, it felt like a surrender, at last he nodded. He suffered the Balrog to press the spoon to his lips, though his fingers twitched feebly within his bonds as he longed to be freed. As if he were no more than an animal made lame and helpless the Valarauka fed him, but though that degradation stormed through him, still he accepted each spoonful of warm stew past his trembling jaw.

I feel mean giving this book only three stars. I can only justify this by saying it didn't really grab me but then one could argue that there is nothing much in a true account of a horrendous hostage incident lasting over four and a half years to be grabbed by. The writing itself was overall fine. There were certain areas where I do think that he wrote in excess, and could have benefited from being more direct. I have an inherent respect for anyone who could survive for so long in such brutal conditions, but while the experience itself is interesting, that doesn't necessarily make for an enjoyable read.Stojąc przy kołysce kultury samochodowej, powiedział, że to jest czas znaleźć inne sposoby by przenieść ludzi. My favourite ever book. Two key takeaways: the importance Keenan places on humour as a humanising quality, and the prison in which both the prisoners and guards were kept (physical versus religious). This book is priceless to understanding the mentality of terrorists. Keenan describes their behavior and beliefs, their points of view. This is not just a book about being captive: this is a psychological study into understanding your captors. Absolutely, hauntingly beautiful, filled with lessons in moral strength and integrity that all of us should learn, but few of us ever get the chance to discover about themselves. Atwood constantly uses similes throughout that are reminiscent of the past. These similes present an escape from the routine regime; they often involve the senses which allow Offred to escape the regime by remembering and juxtaposing elements and senses of the past. " It's almost like June," Offred shifts in mental perspective via association of seasons, Offred's memories of the seasons are superimposed over Gilead's charade of normality, it is as though Offred escapes into her own private narrative underneath her imprisonment as a handmaid her recollections act as freedom from the past.