Epigraphs are a somewhat less superficial way to judge a book than by its cover. The inscription usually hints at the essence of what is to follow or is the work of a favorite author.
I was sold on Alan Drew's "Gardens of Water" at the sight of the page after the epigraph. There I found a key to the Turkish pronunciation of certain letters. I was about to read a story and learn a new language?it was a done deal.
The reader is brought into the life of Sinan on the eve of his son Ismail's ceremonial entry into adulthood. Sinan is Kurdish and a devout Muslim. He and his family live just outside the bounds of Istanbul because the political and religious turmoil pushed him from his home.
Sinan is one of many people in Turkey struggling to make ends meet. He tends a corner store, dotes on his son, and makes every effort to build a proper life for his family.
But the presence of an American family living in the same building as Sinan and his family unsettles him. He is wary and suspicious of Americans; they meddle in other people's affairs and supply weapons and aid to serve their own ends.
Unbeknownst to Sinan, his daughter Irem and the American boy Dylan have been speaking to each other from the respective windows of their rooms. The flirtation is tame by Western standards, but charged with all the emotion of any teenage relationship plus a hefty dollop of the forbidden. Irem is attuned to, and hurt by, her father's adoration of her brother. Dylan is a link to the outside world and a salve for the wounds inflicted by her father's distance, a breach that occurs as she develops into a young woman.
Once all of this sets the stage, every dynamic is disrupted or intensified by an earthquake that destroys the village. Ismail is buried beneath the rubble of the buildings and only survives because Dylan's mother keeps him alive with drips of water; she sacrifices her life for his.
To Sinan's great dismay, he finds himself increasingly indebted to his American neighbor, Marcus. Not only did his wife die for Sinan's son, but Marcus works with a relief force that is caring for those displaced and injured by the quake; meanwhile the Turkish government is too tied up in bureaucracy to be of any use.
Sinan is forced to depend on the connections and provisions of Marcus. An uneasy friendship forms between them that is always on the brink of being torn apart.
Sinan begins to lose control of his family quickly under the new living conditions. Ismail continues to relive the days he spent beneath the rubble and spends days crouched over a notebook, sketching furiously.
Irem's flirtation with Dylan develops into kisses?kisses which confound and elate her and serve to fill part of the void in Dylan left by his mother's death.
There are aspects of the relationship between Irem and Dylan that echo the plights of Romeo and Juliet. Irem is attempting to loosen the restraints placed on her by religion, custom, and her family, but her struggles lead her so far out of her depth that the imminent possibility of tragedy is a constant shadow. As with Romeo and Juliet, Dylan and Irem are hardly more than children. The sorrows of their lives have not yet prepared them for any reality beyond their own.
Drew lived in Turkey and arrived there only days before the earthquake that throws the lives of his characters into turmoil. His descriptions of the country are fully realized and beautiful. My curiosity about the country and the culture was largely affected by his prose. It is evident in Drew's sensitive and evocative depictions of the people in his novel that he is entranced by his subject.
The novel looks closely at the conflicts between east and west, tradition in the midst of modernization, and the cost and benefits of faith. The characters are animate on the page. Their lives are teeming with the hope for happiness, comfort and adventure. The beauty and fantastic realization of Drew's debut novel far exceed the tantalizing promise of his linguistic key.