Between Digs



“…an oblong of many arches, symphony in turquoise, mauve and brown…”

…from that to the “melody lines of a symphony” that a composer may make of 39 year old Anush’s own facial expressiveness. And this wonderful genius loci, spirit of place, call it what you will, this land where Muslim meets Christian, its architectural spirit, its spiritual one, too, as Anush returns to her different form of ‘digs’, staying with a friendly Muslim couple, and we gain the sense of a spirit of interior place, too, the homes inside as well as the outer buildings. And Anush in her bedroom senses both the scent of the Mosque as well as an undercurrent of incense, following such scent’s coterminous connection with the conversation she had with the woman of the house before they retired for the night. And, then, the recurrent, covivid nightmare that Anush endures about her past lover, but now with added elements she had not dreamt before. If you read the matchless prose of these pages you will gain far more meaning as well as trepidation than I can convey to you here, or more than I can ever convey because I am perhaps not able to convey them properly to myself.

“Was it a soul-ache for some sort of dribbled compensation from the Almighty: to seek the cold consolings of a faith seeped to his people by her God…”

AZERBAIJAN TALES by Albert Power (Egaeus Press)

Full context of review…

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