The second book I read for this was Ali and Nino, by Kurban Said. This was set in Azerbaijan (Azerbeidshan, as it is written in the text) around the time of the Russian Revolution, on the brink of World War I. The setting did shift a lot, from Baku to Persia to Daghestan to Georgia. It is, quite simply, a love story. Ali has been raised by his father to love Asia, to love the desert. He is solidly Muslim, but he falls in love with the Christian girl Nino from Georgia (the country, not the state). As they go from place to place, Kurban Said paints a stunningly beautiful picture of the countryside and the land, the traditions and the long-held feelings of hatred and love between the various people groups. One thing that struck me particularly was a scene in which Ali takes part in a mad sort of Islamic parade down the streets, the only time in the book where he seemed to have entirely lost a sort of consciousness of what he was doing. Like yesterday, that was random, but for whatever reason the scene ground itself into my memory. I did not expect the ending at all, and after I had read it, it took me a minute to process what had actually happened- the finish was done beautifully and with a swift certainty that seemed the only proper way for it to have ended.
I had never heard of this book before I read it, and I knew very little about the place where it was set or the traditions of that area. Ali and Nino can be read as a tale of love or a tale of war, a tale of lands or a tale of religions, but it was intricately woven across years and miles through every page.
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