My acquaintance with Paul Bowles didn't start with his most famous "The Sheltering Sky", which has been waiting for me for two years already, but unexpectedly with "The Spider's House", which was recommended very recently. However, it was recommended by a person who herself lived in Tangier for several years, reads a lot (including about Moroccan history and culture), and named this text as the most accurate and interesting one that can be found in the fictional literature about this country.

To not spoil too much, I'll only say that it's about the 1950s - namely, the period before and at the beginning of the anti-French uprising, which eventually led to Morocco's independence. In other words, about something that I knew almost nothing about before, except for the fact itself. And Bowles does something else, too, so that I see everything from several perspectives - I don't know if they are the most reliable ones, but at least they are literarily convincing.

The action takes place in the city of Fez, and everything is seen through the eyes of three narrators. The local teenage boy Amara - a walking oxymoron, in whom intelligence, childish curiosity, and openness to everything new (from French shoes to the political changes that are happening in his hometown) are combined with the "congealed" from earliest childhood concrete thinking patterns (for example, it's instructive to see how this boy, brought up in a traditional Muslim family, evaluates the behavior of an emancipated Western woman, how he relates to his faith or what he thinks about the new American "friend" - the writer). The second narrator is that American writer Stenham, a former leftist, long disappointed in his former beliefs, who has been sitting in a comfortable Fez hotel for more than a year, enjoying the traditionality of Moroccan society, which is charming for him precisely because of its ("society's") "underdevelopment", lazily writing his next novel and very nervous because all these events have disrupted his established lifestyle. One can suspect that there is also some ironic allusion to Bowles himself in Stenham, who lived in Tangier for a bunch of years. But I'm not sure if this is an autobiographical character (I've read too little about the author to claim this). And finally, Lee - a rich woman on "vacation", who is fascinated by the masculinity of the "Moroccan people", ready to die for their independence, sentimentally saves a little "aborigine" (of course, that same Amara), only to later slip him money for a pistol (!) in his pocket, and then simply leave him in the middle of the road when the situation gets out of control and she has to save her... head.

Well, and besides that, in the first part of the novel there is indeed a lot of Morocco, and not so much descriptively (although there are descriptions here too), but rather atmospherically. This is above all the old Fez (in particular, the Muslim medina, which has remained almost unchanged since medieval times), but also the "French village" that has grown up right before the eyes of the local population. And in addition, Bowles very subtly conveys the atmosphere of the growth of changes that start from small things and gradually, almost imperceptibly, reach that critical point at which mutual hostility turns into enmity and finally the readiness for mutual destruction. Needless to say, Bowles is far from declaring truths or seeking recipes for happiness. Everything ends most logically - with an open ending, although with a bittersweet aftertaste in the mouth.

In one word, I'll read Bowles further.

After a trip to Morocco, my daughters gave me this book, which prolonged the sensations I had experienced.

The author masterfully recreates the unique atmosphere of the wonderful Fez.

Moreover, the characters are well-defined: Amar is the one I have become most affectionate towards, due to his moral integrity, spontaneity, trust in others, and sincerity.

This book allows me to relive the charm and beauty of Morocco, even when I am far away. It takes me back to the narrow streets, the colorful markets, and the friendly people.

The descriptions are so vivid that I can almost smell the spices and hear the calls of the vendors.

It is a truly captivating read that I would highly recommend to anyone who has a love for travel and a curiosity about different cultures.

Sure, Bowles may sometimes take the easy way out by using convenient plot devices to rescue late narratives from what seems like insolubility. But I don't really mind.

Other than a sudden outburst of physical passions that seems a bit unearned (but not in the sense of being "Hemingway unearned"), it's a rather flawless intersection of the actors, both disparate and otherwise. These actors combine to form the many tableaux that are often grouped together under the rather amorphous banner of "Islamic fundamentalism."

For anyone following along at home, it's important to note that this differs radically from Christian evangelical fundamentalism, and I don't just mean in terms of religious tenets. It's an entirely different chimera.

Fundamentalism, in general, can largely go to hell. But Bowles makes a contribution here, some 70-odd years ago, by presenting the multivalent force actors and their malignancies that would one day materialize in Islam's global bid for a showdown.

Meanwhile, fundamental Christians just seem to get court appointments and shop at J Crew.

Slayer.

The trick with historical novels is to strike a balance between specificity and generality. When reading them long after the events they depict have passed, one should ideally experience the same sense of urgency as if history were being lived and written, while also understanding the socio-political context of their creation. This is no easy task.

Some historical novels even go beyond this. They become cultural and historical touchstones that seem to presciently predict or comment on events beyond their pages, events that were waiting in the wings of history when the words were written. This gives them a power and universality that makes them seem to transcend history and speak across the ages.

Is this too grandiose? Reading "A Spider's House," I don't think so. This novel is a succinct, startling, and visceral summation of all the tensions in the Middle East that erupted in the Arab Spring. It's astonishing to think it was written in 1955, when Morocco was struggling for independence from French rule.

In our era of hyper political correctness, there's a lot of hesitation and hand-wringing around Islamic culture and religion in general, and a lot of talk about how the West misunderstands Islam and how tolerant it really is.

However, all this does is appropriate Islam for consumer culture and validate it in the context of Western values and mores. It's as far from "understanding" as possible.

Bowles does something extraordinarily brave in this novel. His main viewpoint character is an illiterate Muslim boy, framed by a pair of dissolute and thoroughly unlikeable Western expats. (There's also an evil Frenchman; Bowles spares no one.)

Interestingly, the male expat is an American writer bemoaning the fact that his romantic view of Fez is disintegrating before his eyes. This is contrasted with the female expat, a "professional" tourist who uses her sojourns like her Moroccan trip mainly for letter writing and dinner-party anecdotes.

She's also a "fan" of the writer but finds it difficult to reconcile the real-life person with the empathic author figure in his fiction. This creates a lot of rather black humor in the novel and a perceptive discourse on the role of art and truth in fiction.

Amar's daily struggle for survival on the hard streets of Fez means he has no overarching sense of historical significance. He lives moment to moment, guided by his moral convictions, which are shaped by the immutable tenets of Islam.

His world is thrown into turmoil when nationalistic violence erupts in Fez, leading to a chance encounter with the pair of expats and a steep learning curve for all about the mysteries and tragedies of the world.

Bowles writes in his introduction that "Fiction should always stay clear of political considerations" - which is a peculiar statement considering that "A Spider's House" is acutely political.

Or is it? Maybe the concept of politics is as misunderstood and misrepresented as religion is these days. Certainly, the interface between the two is very muddled, particularly in the Middle East.

Bowles has an incredible sense of place, evoking Morocco and Africa with his magnificent descriptive powers. Fez comes alive under his pen, in all its sun-baked, smelly, and dusty glory.

The sense of history is also vivid and immediate, amid the gunfire, chaos, and brutality. There's a lot of anger here: against the colonial powers, against cowardly liberals, religious bigots, traitors, and diehard fanatics for despoiling the humanist tendencies of Islam.

It's a superbly sensory novel (inevitably, this means it will be a disaster as a movie, especially if Hollywood gets its hands on it. One can only shudder at the thought of Amar being interpreted as a Spielbergian waif. The Bearded One would never have the courage to convey the utterly devastating ending of this novel. Or, even worse, he would turn him into a suicide bomber.)

I would recommend this novel to anyone trying to make sense of the ongoing implosion in the Middle East. You'll get a far better understanding of the real issues facing the citizens on the ground and the impact on their daily lives than any number of bite-sized television segments or newspaper reports.

As much as I hate to admit it,

many of the observations made about culture and the perception of foreigners truly opened my eyes.

My favorite anecdote is when one of the Moroccan characters catches sight of a woman.

The way he takes her in is quite interesting.

He notices that her hair is uncovered, the jewelry she wears, but mainly how brazen she is, how flamboyant her gestures are, and how loud her speech is.

Initially, he remarks, “She must be a prostitute of the lowest sort, because even decent prostitutes display some sense of modesty.”

And then he realizes she is a foreigner, and an American.

This just makes me think about the way people view me in public, especially since I look Moroccan.

It’s quite amusing!

The book is written from a few perspectives and has a mystical “everything happens by the will of Allah” quality at times.

It is well put together, but the ending leaves something to be desired.

Perhaps a more conclusive or satisfying ending would have made the book even better.

Nonetheless, it is still a thought-provoking read that offers valuable insights into different cultures and the way we perceive others.

I've been grappling with how to review this book. Bowles is truly one of the most demanding novelists I've ever come across. When I read his works, I respond on an emotional and visceral level, with a deep understanding and empathy, rather than just intellectually. The plots, characters, and dialogue often leave me baffled, yet I'm no less entranced.

I now have a great affection for the two novels I've read, namely The Sheltering Sky and this one. However, I'm convinced that I only truly understand about 10 or 15 percent of each.

Both novels are set in North Africa. The setting of The Sheltering Sky is a bit more elusive, in line with its greater philosophical and surreal nature. I think it's Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia, or maybe all three, if I remember correctly. This one is specifically set in Morocco just after the French overthrow of the Sultan and the Moslem (I'll use Bowles' spelling here) response led by the nascent Istaqlal (nationalist party).

Bowles was a U.S. expat writer who spent most of his life in Morocco. Both The Sheltering Sky and this novel (and, from what I can tell, his other writings as well) offer a vivid and tactile sense of the area. As another description of his book puts it, they "bring us closer to a world we frequently hear about, but often find difficult to understand."

That said, they don't actually help us understand - which is a big part of their charm for me, at least. As I mentioned, Bowles is challenging. By that, I mean he forces you to confront your own ignorance and preconceptions about these places and cultures that are, essentially, "foreign," especially to North Americans.

The novels, and this one in particular, shine a sharp light on the "otherness" of the place and people it describes (from the perspective of a Western reader). Not only the physical landscape, which figures prominently, but also, in The Spider's House, the cultural, religious, and political aspects. That sense of disconnection and lack of understanding directly feeds into its themes: this novel is largely about the vast gulf between the Judao-Christian and Moslem worldviews.

Incidentally - and this is crucial - the title refers to a passage from The Koran:

“The likeness of those who choose other patrons than Allah is as the likeness of the spider when she taketh unto herself a house, and lo! The frailest of all houses is the spider’s house, if they but knew.”

The Spider's House was published in 1954, but it reads today with as much contemporary relevance as if it were published this year. In fact, it seems almost prescient. The events, although specific and localized in the novel, seem to represent any of the countless, repeated, and ever-to-be-repeated conflicts that dominate our headlines today. The ancient origins and nature of the forces at play, the tenor and evolution of the escalating conflict, and the context in which these forces took root, grew, and erupted into violence, terror, and war are all laid out here.

The book's point of view, that of the central character Stenham (a U.S. expat writer living and traveling in Morocco, of course), is jaded and unapologetically accusatory of the colonial forces that were, are, and will continue, in his mind, to corrupt - by transforming, modernizing, and Westernizing - the essential beauty and purity of the Moslem faith and culture. He sees this, knows it's inevitable, and rages against it and his own impotence* in the face of it.

* In true Bowles fashion, this kind of cultural/political impotence is presented as a cynical, nihilistic explosion of the soul; very personal and existential.

He also condemns the post-colonial, liberal-democratic response through the character of Mme Veyron, also known as Polly or Lee Burroughs (she has a lot of names; is that intentional?). She's a Paris-based American-born divorcée (with all the stereotypical connotations of that word; after all, this is 1954) who seeks to engage with the culture through adventurous travel but embodies all the worst aspects of Western naivete, ignorance, and cultural insensitivity.

At the same time - and this is a neat trick - Stenham both idealizes and disparages the Moslem culture and its response to the events. His idealization becomes increasingly shaky and eventually disappears as a result of his encounter with Amar, an illiterate and impoverished Moslem teenager who is a devout adherent to Islam.

The closer Stenham gets to direct contact with Morocco and the factions as they descend into all-out war with each other, the less clear his own ideological position becomes.

And isn't that always the way it goes?

Although it probably (?) wasn't his intention, Bowles has created in Amar the most compelling and, dare I say, understandable, portrayal of how colonial oppression, poverty, and religious fundamentalism collide to create the perfect breeding ground for jihadist extremism.

Understandable and believable, although I really don't know how accurate or true it is. It leaves me mystified, muddled, and confused - basically, the same way I feel when reading about these same political-religious conflicts today.

I deduct a star because the plot is nonsensical in places (and I think not just because I was so confused about the events/history being depicted); Polly as a character is appallingly flat and clichéd (sort of forgivable, as mentioned, because it's 1954), and the dialogue and relationship between Stenham and Polly seem unmotivated and unrealistic.

BUT - the last scene between Polly, Stenham, and Amar is breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking. I can't say any more.

SO: I always recommend Bowles, but when my friends read him, they almost always dislike him. But I love love love him. Proceed at your own risk.

For a much better sense of what this is about (but be warned, there are some spoilers if you're sensitive to that): see this NYT review from 1955; and this more contemporary review.

This was the third novel penned by the American author Paul Bowles. It was originally published in 1955 and was set in the context of the 1954 Moroccan uprising against the occupying French in the city of Fez.

The story revolves around Amar, a poor and illiterate Muslim boy. He is at the center of the turmoil, experiencing the hardships and changes brought about by the uprising.

On the other hand, there is John Stenham. He has lived in Fez for several years and has a good command of Arabic. He admires Islam from a distance but is ignorant of the true reason behind the nationalist rebellion. He fails to understand that the Muslim hatred towards all non-Muslims is a significant factor driving the uprising.

As the story unfolds, the lives of Amar and John Stenham become intertwined, and they both have to face the consequences of the political and social upheaval in Fez. The novel explores themes of identity, cultural differences, and the impact of colonialism on the lives of the people.

I've been residing in Fez for four days in the company of Amar, Polly (Lee), and John Stenham. Oh, what an adventure it has been both inside and outside the medina!

Paul Bowles masterfully weaves Arabic and French words into the story. At first, it truly bothered me, much like those initial few days of traveling in Asia or the Middle East. However, I eventually gave in and caught on.

The war between the French and Moroccans wasn't the sole battle taking place. There was also a battle of the sexes when Lee and Stenman got together. Additionally, it was a battle between pure Islam and Arabs who didn't follow the Koran, along with the age-old differences between those struggling for money and the opulent rich.

Bowles' descriptions led me through the narrow passageways and zigzagging streets of Fez. He sat me down in the tea houses and on a crowded seat, riding out on a rickety bus to a religious gathering in the countryside.

No one was truly in a comfort zone with all the changes occurring in French-occupied Morocco. That was the core of the creative tension in the story.

Bowles lived in Morocco and had a writer's perspective on the changes happening there, which he captured exquisitely. He delved into the hearts and minds of the characters while also capturing the setting. His writing is often poetic, with images so powerful that I would stop and reread sentences, allowing them to seep into my imagination as I relished them.

In the end (and the story did have to conclude), I was left with the not-so-profound thought that no one in the story truly understood anyone who wasn't just like themselves, even when belonging to the same family or faith didn't assist. The two Americans left Amar in the dust as they drove off. He was alone, but I'm certain he was clever enough to find his way.

We ARE all alone, fundamentally, and live by our innate beliefs, probably never truly understanding others. Does confronting another culture help us know ourselves, or do we leave it behind like John and Polly?

I渴望重新阅读《遮蔽的天空》，然后开始阅读鲍尔斯的其他书籍。阅读《蜘蛛之屋》是一次感官体验。

3.5/5 stars.

Before embarking on my journey to Morocco, I had heard that Paul Bowles was the ultimate author when it came to all things related to Morocco. With this in mind, I eagerly set out to read "The Sheltering Sky," his most renowned work. However, after what I found to be a somewhat underwhelming read based on my high expectations, it wasn't until now that I decided to give Bowles another chance with "The Spider's House."

"The Spider's House" employs two narrators: an American author who resides and writes in Fez, and an illiterate teenage boy attempting to find his place in the world. The stark contrast in their worldviews, presented against the backdrop of 1950s Fez, is a brilliant device used by Bowles to convey his ideas about Moroccans, expatriates, colonizers, and the way people perceive one another. At times, I found myself reflecting on my own relationship with Moroccans, while also wholeheartedly agreeing when Bowles seemed to hit the mark precisely.

I was particularly captivated by the way Bowles vividly描绘了1950年代的非斯. The way of life and the belief systems that were prevalent during that time seemed to leap off the page, transporting me to an era of Morocco that is vastly different from the one I am familiar with. Overall, it was a solid read that will likely inspire me to either explore another novel by Bowles or perhaps delve into a collection of his essays or short stories.

This is without a doubt the finest among Bowles's initial three novels.

It is an incredibly detailed and meticulously crafted story that delves into the beginnings of the Moroccan struggle for independence from France.

The novel's protagonist is a Fassi boy, and a significant portion of the story is narrated from his perspective.

This creates a very stark and ultimately devastating contrast between his worldview and that of the American characters.

The American protagonists are gradually shown to be completely selfish individuals who lack knowledge about Islam and local customs.

Even though the male character, Stenham, believes himself to be an expert in such matters, Bowles skillfully reveals how arrogant and frankly stupid orientalist attitudes can be.

Bowles also adeptly portrays the divide between Islam and the leninist-voluntarist beliefs and tactics of the Istiqlal as they unfolded in Fez during the first year of the war.

It is a truly enlightening and satisfying read that offers valuable insights into this historical period and the complex interactions between different cultures and ideologies.

In this book, Paul Bowles takes us to Morocco in the early 1950s, a time of conflict between Arabs and French. Life takes on an anarchic tone. Men have abandoned their families, forced by poverty to seek work in neighboring cities or enlisted in the army where there is a guarantee of having something to eat.

Tension, anger, and a good dose of prejudice on both sides lead to the unleashing of violent actions that spread terror... and eventually bring together three individuals whose proximity, in a different scenario, would be quite unlikely - an ingenuous progressive in her convictions, an ex-American communist who simply wants everything to return to what it was before, and an illiterate but quite perceptive adolescent who is fervently guided by religion.

Paul Bowles effectively uses vivid descriptions to awaken our senses and seems to truly transport us to the scenes he describes. We are left with strong images that, accompanied by a competent approach to the local culture, both religious and political, and without spending time grounding mentalities and customs, transform this book into a very interesting read.

The narrative brings us closer to two very different sides and cultures. Many authors show one side and often try, even unsuccessfully, to explain the other, distancing themselves from it and making it obvious that there is a right side and a wrong side for them. Bowles shows us both sides, and even more, in an equivalent way, grounding them. Unfortunately, he also does so through his characters, criticizing them, highlighting their negative traits, and thus cutting any bond of affinity that we might develop with them.

The pace is slightly slower than desirable, and I ended up liking the exoticism of the book and the useful information it contains more than the fictional plot itself. The abrupt change of viewpoints bothered me; we eventually return to the rhythm of the book but not without going through moments of some confusion.

The young Moroccan Amar believes in the constant intervention of Allah; everything that happens is fated to happen, and a man has no right to lament what is inevitable. Similarly, the author crosses the lives of these three characters with some fatalism, as if it were destined to happen.

There were a hundred things to say; there was nothing to say. He felt as if he had turned to stone.

His first reaction, that day, when he had identified his fear, was to sit down on a rock and stare at the ground. You've got to get hold of yourself, he thought. He could usually discover the origin of a state of anxiety; as often as not it was traceable to some precise physical cause, like insufficient sleep or indigestion. But what he had experienced in that flash had been almost like a momentary vision. He had seen consciousness as a circle, its end and beginning joined so that there was no break. Matter was conditioned by time, but not consciousness; it existed outside time.

Was there then any valid basis for assuming that it was possible to know what went on inside the consciousness at the moment of death? It might easily seem forever, that instant when time ceased to function and life closed in upon itself, therefore it could prove to be inextinguishable. The immediacy of the experience had left him with a sensation of nausea. It was impossible to conceive anything more horrible than the idea that one was powerless to stop existing if one wanted, that there was no way to reach oblivion because oblivion was an abstraction, a fallacy.

And so he sat, trying to shake off the nightmare feeling that had settled on him, thinking: What strange things happen in the mind of man. No matter what went on outside, the mind forged ahead, manufacturing its own adventures for itself, and who was to know where reality was, inside or out? He thought with passing envy of the people down the city below. How wonderful life would be if they were only right, and there were a god. And in the final analysis what more comendable and useful thing had mankind accomplished during its whole existence, than inventing of gods in whom its members could wholly believe, and believing, thereby find life more bearable?