#elliot ackerman

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

Have you read Green on Blue by Elliot Ackerman (2015)?

yes

no

I didn't finish it

I've never heard of it

Voting ended onJun 22

[mejakeme]

[commonplacelit]

She walked to the window and opened the blinds. A swell of light broke over Eden's bed. With the light came color, and she could see him now in a way she couldn't before. The white of his linens, the little pink stains where pieces of him had stuck against them, the great hollows of his wounds, dark and asking to be stared into. She found colors there she'd never known in a person before, but they were inside him and, by that measure, inside her. The browns, the greens, and the subcutaneous yellows of deep scars coiled like knotted yarn against his skin and deeper, and she saw his eyes and they blinked at her, unprotected by lashes, and she could see where they were rheumy without rest and soapy with pain, and how they teared against his pillow, always.

She shut the blinds.

Elliot Ackerman, Waiting for Eden.

[universitybookstore]

New from Knopf and novelist Elliot Ackerman, Waiting for Eden. Rachel Martin at NPR calls it, “heart-wrenching stuff.” (Listen to the full interview with the author here.)

[messybookreviews]

3.5 for me.

Not saying it's bad. But I want more. The story revolves around our three main mc: Mary and Eden, husband and wife; and the narrator.

The premise is good, excellent even. War and its effects on the soldiers, the family, people and their choices of life and of death. It was portrayed emotionally. But I think the writer could get in deeper with the characters. I wanna know more bout their marriage. What's changed? What's happened?

Mary is an interesting character. Ambitious and set on what she wants. Pressured and loyal and the decision she makes at the end?? That's something I didn't expect!!

BEEP BOOP BEEP BOOP SPOILER AHEAD!!!

This is a depressing read, in a way? For some? And confusing? I guess? And honestly, a bit heart breaking for me. How Eden doesn't even have the power to choose. Ignored and now has to live on someone's decision. And that just, what if it was me? What if I don't get that one last power to choose? To decide for myself? What if my last wish was well received yet they betrayed me by choosing the opposite? By saying: NO. What if???

That fucking ending got my heart beating like mad, man. i swear. And reading two men, best friends, talking bout not their good ol times nor his wife, but they talk bout their daughter got me all: awwwwww guys *cries in warmness*!!

And then the realisation came that this was his life forever got me all: oh nono no no omg guys!!! *cries in sadness*

You know what? Fuck it! I'm gonna put 4/5!!

—A

[nationalbook]

[universitybookstore]

“It occurred to Haris that martyrdom was an American conception. When taken in the pure Arabic, shaheed meant something different. The translation wasn’t ‘he who sacrifices himself,’ although that was often part of it. The literal meaning was ‘he who bears witness.’ Standing at the desk, waiting to check into their rooms, Haris considered Amir, Daphne and even Jamil. Watching them, he no longer felt like a voyeur in their war — he was their witness.” -- from Dark at the Crossing, by Elliot Ackerman.  Intimate and immediate, this is one of the first and most important novels to explore the Syrian frontier and civil war.  From the author of the acclaimed Green on Blue.  

[chenqing9]

Felt the absolute need to share this story that jerked me out of a very dark downward spiral. I hope it does the same for someone else. Actually this whole book pulled me out of it. “Dark at the Crossing” by Elliot Ackerman. Yes, I like Ackermans.

—

"Do you know the story of Cause the donkey?" asked Amir, lighting a cigarette.

"A donkey named Cause?" said Haris. "No, never heard that one."

"I used to tell it to Daphne. The donkey, you see, belonged to an old political activist--hence its name- an elderly farmer with a pistachio crop outside Shamer, near my grandfather's farm.

“The man's grandson lived with him, his parents having been killed during the French Mandate. One summer, the marketplace in Shamer began selling a new type of tractor that was far cheaper to maintain than a donkey, so the farmer and the boy journeyed there to sell Cause. With the boy mounted on Cause's back, the three had traveled about a mile down a dirt road- their total journey to the marketplace being about four miles--when one of the wealthy landowners pulled alongside them in an elegant black Mercedes. He stopped next to Cause and cracked his window, shouting at the boy: 'For shame! Get off that donkey! Let the man who's given you all he has ride for a change.' Then, before the boy could answer, the landowner rolled up his window and sped off. The three stood in the road, choking on dust from the Mercedes.

"Worried they might see this great landowner again, the boy dismounted and the old man rode. They continued the next mile down the road until they came upon another farmer, a bitter man whose crops had failed the last three seasons. He snatched Cause's reins by the halter. 'Despicable old man,’ he snapped. ‘The boy's parents died fighting injustice and you force him to walk as if you were al-Assad, the president himself?’ Not wanting any trouble, the old man dismounted. He and his grandson stood with their donkey, perplexed, unsure how they should proceed. Suddenly, the boy became inspired: ‘Grandfather, Grandfather, he said, 'we can both ride Cause?’ The boy's grandfather appreciated the quickness of his grandson's mind. It reminded him of the boy's parents, who had been killed by the French. The grandfather's chest swelled with pride as he placed the boy on Cause's back, mounting behind him.

“Less than a mile from the market, they passed an old woman, and the grandfather called out: ‘Good morning!’ The old woman turned, leaning heavily on the cane she needed to walk. At first she smiled widely, like a sweet grandmother, but before she could offer a greeting, her feeble eyes brought Cause and the two riders into focus. 'Cruel, heartless men!' she cried. 'Both of you riding a weak, aged donkey. Dismount before you kill him or I'lI report you to the authorities once I arrive in Shamer!' Both grandfather and grandson clumsily dismounted, nearly falling over themselves, their disgrace was so great. 'Always there is something wrong,’ grumbled the old man as they continued, overtaking the woman.

"Grandfather,' said the boy, 'no reason to be upset. We've found the way now. We'll walk beside Cause and everyone will be content.' No sooner had he said this than a policeman galloped past on a black, thick-chested mare. 'What's wrong with you fools?' said the policeman. 'What is a donkey for except for riding? Have you walked this whole time?' Before they could tell him of the difficulties they'd had riding Cause, the policeman galloped off. Heartbroken that no one could understand his simple desire to do right, the grandfather turned to the boy and said:

‘Only one choice is left. We alone must carry Cause, then no one can speak ill of us.' The boy told his grandfather: 'Cause may not accept being carried by us.' The old man disregarded the boy's warning. 'He is only a donkey. I can be cruel, too. If he objects, we'll whip him to silence.’ And they lifted Cause on their backs, although it was a difficult and clumsy way to go."

Haris had listened to Amir's version of the story quietly, thinking it a bit ridiculous. But unable to contain himself any longer, he now laughed openly. "How can two people carry a donkey?"

"It's really not that difficult," explained Amir. "His hindquarters would rest here." He placed his hands on Haris's shoulders.

"Then I would drape his front over my shoulders, grasping his forehoofs. Quite simple." He lit another cigarette and offered one to Haris, who waved it away as they proceeded toward Yusuf Bulvari. "Now let me finish."

"Please."

"After trudging along in this way, they managed to reach Shamer. Admittedly, when they arrived, carrying Cause on their backs, they looked very strange. When the villagers who relaxed in the many cafés around the market saw the donkey riding two people, they began to laugh, and their laughter increased until it was louder than this storm. The kindhearted old man became unhinged. 'What do you shirkers find so amusing!' he screamed. With raised fists, he kicked over a few café tables. All the while, the boy hid behind Cause, for shame. Then a fat man with the loudest laugh of all stepped forward. 'Why, you old fool! Whoever heard of something as absurd as carrying a donkey? A donkey is supposed to carry you!' At this, everyone's laughter rose even higher. They pointed and jeered at the old man, the boy, and even Cause.

"Now, the old man, if you hadn't realized it already, had a great deal of pride. Such ridicule was an unbearable disgrace. At this moment, he reached into his waistband. Ever since the boy's parents had been killed resisting the French years before, the old man had carried a revolver. He pulled it like a rabbit from a hat and waved it exultantly at the crowd, which immediately fell silent, and_-bang! bang! bang!-the old man shot Cause, shot the boy and, wiping the sweat from his face and straightening his disheveled shirt, shot himself."