There are some books I would never have come across if it hadn’t been for the reading/discussion group I joined earlier in the year. Christy Lefteri is the daughter of Cypriot refugees, but I had never heard of her until her novel ‘The Beekeeper of Aleppo’ was allocated for the November group meeting. I ordered it in plenty of time, but didn’t start reading it until a few days ago, and finished it earlier today.
It’s the story of a married couple from Aleppo in Syria, Nuri and Afra. We meet them initially at a centre for asylum seekers in London. Afra is blind and in pain; it’s evident from the start that this was caused by some terrible trauma. Nuri wants to take her to the doctor, but cannot do so until they have some approved papers.
The book is told from Nuri’s perspective. He has to dress Afra each morning; it’s clear that he finds this tedious, that there’s something about her that is pushing him away. He’s having bad dreams, too, images that are not explained until much later in the book. It’s a confusing opening, yet it reflects the mindset of this young couple who have experienced horrendous hardship - and worse - in their escape from the terrible troubles of their homeland.
There are two time-lines of this book, told in alternating chapters. There’s the ‘current’ situation, waiting for an interview, getting to know other residents in the boarding house where they’re staying, learning a bit about their location. And there’s the story of their journey, beginning with a bit of background into their lives in Syria.
Nuri was a beekeeper who worked with his cousin Mustafa. There’s quite a bit of description about bees and their habitat and life-cycle in the book, but it doesn’t come across as educational or unnecessary. It’s an important facet of Nuri’s past, and also a kind of symbol of their life - the bees working in a system, then disaster strikes and nothing is ever the same.
Some of the descriptions of what happens are stark: people die. Bombs are dropped, Lives are destroyed, and people do whatever they have to do to get out. Nuri and Afra are more fortunate than many in that he has quite a bit of money saved, enabling them to bypass some of the red tape and pay smugglers to get them more quickly to their destination. Yet even with money it’s not easy, or quick. Some of the places they stay in are decidedly unpleasant; some of the people they meet are even worse.
It is a powerful, thought-provoking and - in places - harrowing read. Yet there’s nothing gratuitous. There’s very little bad language, and the worst unpleasantness is hinted at, touched upon briefly, rather than described. I’m thankful for that, as I would have skimmed or skipped any kind of detailed violence or assault, anything more than brief hints about how children ‘disappeared’ or were killed.
But it was sufficient to shock me, to help me see a little of the reality of the journeys taken by asylum seekers. These folk aren’t trying to scrounge, or to ease their way into better lives - they are, in most cases, fleeing from their lives, hoping to find a place that will enable them to live in safety, to work and contribute to society.
Although the book is fictional, the author worked in refugee centres in Athens, and heard many stories of horrors suffered by folk seeking asylum. She felt that the story should be told, and a novel is an excellent way of communicating something of the terrible struggle for survival. There’s much more than that - as the story progresses we realise that some of Nuri’s narration is confused, stress-related, perhaps in denial about some of the terrible things he has experienced.
All in all, it’s very well written. I didn’t particularly empathise with Nuri, but it didn’t matter. I knew that he and Afra were going to survive their journey, since we meet them already in London. But that didn’t matter either - indeed, it made it all the more intriguing, wondering how they were going to embark on each step.
'The Beekeeper of Aleppo' is quite a long book; it’s not difficult to read, but it’s not relaxing, nor something to read in one sitting. I think it would make an excellent film - I don’t often say that about a book, but there are so many visual images, so much going on in Nuri’s mind, that it would communicate extremely well in movie form to people who don’t read much.
I would recommend this highly to anyone, adult or teenager, wanting to know more about what it’s like to be an asylum seeker. I am looking forward to discussing it with others who have read it.
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