Subscribe | UPI Odd Newsletter Subscribe A thrilling achievement occurs in literary fiction when a writer manages to create a character so fascinating and memorable he "walks off the page" into reality. We all know such people: Scarlett O'Hara, Mr. Darcy, Heathcliff. The hero of Diana Abu-Jaber's new novel, "Crescent," could be one who steps into the consciousness of countless readers. He is Hanif Al Eyad, an intellectual, exotic linguist and translator of Poe, Whitman and even Hemingway into Arabic. His students at UCLA -- both male and female --- sit bedazzled through his lectures and line up at his office for further instruction and conversation. As one of the besotted undergraduates explains: "Han teaches Islamic history and Arabic literature, but he also teaches about life and art and faith and love -- I mean if you know how to listen for it." Advertisement Listening happens to be a specialty of the beautiful Sirine, respected chef of surely the most appealing café in the "Irangeles" area near campus, part of the Westwood community populated with a mixture of Middle Eastern cultures. Having lost both parents at age 9, Sirine has been raised by her devoted uncle, another academic, living in a house filled with books and their "odor of forgotten memories." He tells Sirine a long involved story of a boy taken into slavery but escaping into many adventures and winding up with a true Hollywood ending. Advertisement This story spins on and on, snippets of which begin each chapter, full of fantasy and tragedy, humor and incredulous, constant events. It seems never to end. This tale provides a contrast to the greater narrative -- the love story of Han and Sirine. Uncle tells Sirine: "Stories are crescent moons; they glimmer in the night sky, but they are most exquisite in their incomplete state." Incomplete would describe the community-seeking immigrant individuals Abu-Jaber gathers together in Nadia's café. Um-Nadia, the flamboyant Lebanese owner, presides over her customers as a mother hen, nudging the attraction between Sirine and Han into a romance. How to explain the complexity of these people's lives? Han grew up in Iraq, a sleepier time, pre-Saddam. "In the Iraq of his childhood, everything went slowly. It took a lizard the entire course of the sun to walk from one side of his bedroom ceiling to the other." But events speeded up and Han left his native country for school in England and the opportunity to train his fine mind. He has not resolved the loneliness of his exile and remains haunted by what he left behind -- his younger brother and sister in perilous situations. Although half Iraqi herself, Sirine knows nothing of what Han suffers. Born in Los Angeles of an American mother, she only knows the Arab world through the filter of her uncle's stories. Yet embodied within her nature are both the Arab larger-than-life sense of "feelings walking in the sky" and a quieter patience, an ability to simply chop onions or stir a pot. Sirine believes "as long as she could cook, she would be loved." Advertisement Ah, but you must understand these two are gorgeous! Sirine's pale white blondeness, her hair so unruly it defies taming, attracts so many men she loses count. At 39, she remains unmarried and, even with her abundant lovers, sleeps in a chaste bed in her uncle's house. Han is beautiful also, his voice "dark as chocolate with nuances of England and Eastern Europe, like a complicated sauce." When he and Sirine get together, images of food, music and fragrant breezes entangle in love scenes both timeless and of the moment. An interesting aspect of this story is the mature age of the principal characters, suggesting lives unfolding and taking shape before our eyes, a sort of ripening. Neither Han nor Sirine, although heavy with life experience, seems to have fully blossomed. As they wait and reveal the mysteries of themselves to each other, their futures hold many appetizing possibilities. Abu-Jaber claims she began writing this novel years ago before Iraq drew the intense eyes of the world. Considering current events, her insights into Arab-American relations and various historical reflections naturally capture a reader's attention and, truthfully, I did soak up the passages pertaining especially to Iraq as a way to understand more about our charged international debate over a post-Saddam Middle East. Advertisement Yet putting that aside, "Crescent" does not need a context to qualify as an engaging read. If anything, it needs recipes of the fabulous dishes Sirine prepares! The author serves up her story as a fine meal of many courses to be enjoyed in leisurely fashion. The events presented here are not monumental -- a poetry reading, a Thanksgiving dinner, a pool party or lunch at the café. But the backdrop is huge -- families separated, individuals wrenched from their homelands, searching for connections and escaping cruel traditions. Although Abu-Jaber has put a lot on her plate, she blends the flavors and textures of her story with artistic integrity. One of uncle's rules of storytelling is "You must never tell everything." I would say Abu-Jaber breaks that command. After stuffing the reader almost to the point of indigestion, of begging, please, no more, she offers a sweet dessert of an ending to complete her story. I recommend this novel as I would a new restaurant. Go there, take your time and enjoy. ("Crescent" by Diana Abu-Jaber, W.W. Norton & Company, 349 pages, $24.95)
