Ali Smith's latest novel, Glyph, is a searing indictment of the Israeli government's apartheid regime in Palestine, one that demands to be read and reckoned with on its own terms. Smith's commitment to excavating the sediments of language is as potent as ever, but here she tackles a subject that makes her previous work look almost gentle by comparison.
The novel follows sisters Petra and Patch, whose names – Petra, meaning stone, and Patch, meaning to repair – are etched into our minds long after we finish reading. These twin anchors of the narrative serve as a constant reminder of the brutal scale of the conflict in Palestine, which has claimed thousands of lives while the world looks on. Smith's refusal to shy away from these atrocities is both striking and necessary.
Through her use of language, Smith raises profound questions about representation and silence. The character of Patch's teenage daughter, who watches a distressing video of a horse trapped under rubble, is a particularly effective example of this. Her wry observation that "it was probably Gaza" – the context that makes all too clear the true horror of what she's seeing – leaves us in no doubt about the gravity of Smith's subject.
One of the most striking aspects of Glyph is its unflinching portrayal of bureaucratic absurdity, where the line between outrage and oppression becomes blurred. When Patch's daughter is arrested for waving a scarf "aggressively", we're confronted with the Orwellian nightmare that underpins Israel's response to criticism: language that manipulates and distorts truth.
In this, Smith is unafraid to challenge the aesthetic orthodoxy that often privileges distance and irony when it comes to addressing such serious issues. Instead, she takes a deeply personal and emotional approach, one that prioritizes witness over detachment. As we follow Petra and Patch's journey, we're forced to confront our own complicity in the erasure of Palestinian lives.
Throughout Glyph, Smith's skill as a writer is on full display, as she masterfully excavates the depths of language to uncover the complexities of this human crisis. It's a bold move, indeed, but one that's all too necessary given the current state of our world. As we're reminded by Orwell, "political language ... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable", and it's Smith's fierce resistance to this kind of linguistic chicanery that makes Glyph such a vital and urgent work.
The novel follows sisters Petra and Patch, whose names – Petra, meaning stone, and Patch, meaning to repair – are etched into our minds long after we finish reading. These twin anchors of the narrative serve as a constant reminder of the brutal scale of the conflict in Palestine, which has claimed thousands of lives while the world looks on. Smith's refusal to shy away from these atrocities is both striking and necessary.
Through her use of language, Smith raises profound questions about representation and silence. The character of Patch's teenage daughter, who watches a distressing video of a horse trapped under rubble, is a particularly effective example of this. Her wry observation that "it was probably Gaza" – the context that makes all too clear the true horror of what she's seeing – leaves us in no doubt about the gravity of Smith's subject.
One of the most striking aspects of Glyph is its unflinching portrayal of bureaucratic absurdity, where the line between outrage and oppression becomes blurred. When Patch's daughter is arrested for waving a scarf "aggressively", we're confronted with the Orwellian nightmare that underpins Israel's response to criticism: language that manipulates and distorts truth.
In this, Smith is unafraid to challenge the aesthetic orthodoxy that often privileges distance and irony when it comes to addressing such serious issues. Instead, she takes a deeply personal and emotional approach, one that prioritizes witness over detachment. As we follow Petra and Patch's journey, we're forced to confront our own complicity in the erasure of Palestinian lives.
Throughout Glyph, Smith's skill as a writer is on full display, as she masterfully excavates the depths of language to uncover the complexities of this human crisis. It's a bold move, indeed, but one that's all too necessary given the current state of our world. As we're reminded by Orwell, "political language ... is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable", and it's Smith's fierce resistance to this kind of linguistic chicanery that makes Glyph such a vital and urgent work.