My Sunday Surprise is a new Crooked Cat author friend - Miriam Drori.
Miriam's romantic novel 'Neither Here Nor There' was published a few weeks ago - a novel of overcoming adversity and of doing something to alter a future that was pre-planned.
Today Miriam's come with an interesting topic to share with us- one which I know very little about. So let's find out about...
Life in a Closed Community
People used to say, about the
Israeli kibbutz, that it’s the only establishment where communism has worked.
In its time, from the outside and sometimes from the inside, it did work well.
Nowadays, we hardly hear of kibbutzim. Some still exist, although many have
relaxed their stringent rules. But Israeli society has changed so much that the
kibbutz doesn’t fit in it so well.
For some members, it never worked.
Those who wanted to do their own thing – to study, to be creative or whatever –
always found it oppressive. Those who didn’t fit into the society experienced
loneliness even though, or perhaps because, they were never alone. The author
Amos Oz has written many stories highlighting these problems.
The kibbutz is one type of closed
community. There are many others around the world. The Amish and other sects,
for instance. Even small villages could qualify. The Archers’ Ambridge always
sounds to me like a closed community, although I’ve never listened to a whole
episode. If you fit in, the constant company could be just what you want. If
you don’t, it could be stifling.
The haredi community from which
Esty, heroine of Neither Here Nor There has recently escaped, is
probably more like a village. People are free to come and go. There’s no
committee to decide whether a newcomer should be allowed in. But in general,
people know each other, which is fine if they’re friendly and you don’t have
any secrets.
 |
| Jaffa Road- Jerusalem |
Busybodies tend to lurk in closed
communities. They delight in discovering juicy bites of gossip. In Neither
Here Nor There the hawk-eyed Mrs Greenspan also has a financial interest in
collecting information that could cause embarrassment if it became general
knowledge. Esty is right to be wary of her.
(In Neither Here Nor There Esty runs from the market to Jaffa Road in the hope of catching the train to escape from Mrs. Greenspan)
Bio
Miriam Drori was born and brought up
in London, and now lives in Jerusalem where her daughter has left her to
hold the female fort against three males.
Following careers as a computer
programmer and a technical writer, Miriam has been writing creatively for the
past ten years and has had short stories published online and in anthologies. Neither
Here Nor There, published on 17 June 2014, is her first published novel.
Miriam began writing in order to
raise awareness of social anxiety. Since then
the scope of her writing has widened, but she hasn’t lost sight of her original
goal.
Neither Here Nor There is available from:
And elsewhere.
Here's a little teaser for you to enjoy from 'Neither Here Nor There':
The scene begins in the Mahane Yehuda Market...
Esty
walked along the alleyways, noting the quality and prices of the items
she wanted. Potatoes, courgettes, carrots, onions. She revelled in the
familiar sights, sounds and smells. With so much that was new and
different for her, it felt good to return to this whiff of home.
“Sweet mangos. Only six shekels.”
The loud voice just next to her startled Esty. How did these people keep shouting all day without getting sore throats?
Retracing
her steps, Esty stopped at a stall selling carrots. “Could I have a
bag, please?” she said to the vendor, a youngish man with black curly
hair and a swarthy skin.
“For
you, I’ll give anything.” The vendor’s accent showed his Eastern
heritage. Iraq or Syria or somewhere like that. The man himself was
probably born in Israel, but he’d inherited the accent, the guttural As
and Hs in particular. He reached up to a metal hook, tore off a plastic
bag from the many hanging there and handed it to Esty.
Esty smiled, confident that his words weren’t intended to lead anywhere, and picked out her carrots from the huge pile.
When
Esty turned round after putting her last purchase into the shopping bag
she’d taken from the flat, she spotted Mrs Greenspan and the same woman
she’d seen in the shopping centre. At the same moment, the woman
pointed towards Esty and the two began to stride purposefully towards
her.
Esty panicked.
She had to get away from these women, but how? She couldn’t reach the
bus stop, because the women were blocking that route. She could slip
through the alley opposite her and double back along the parallel road,
but that was wide and they’d spot her easily because it would be less
crowded. So Esty stayed in the alleyway and started running away from
the women, towards Jaffa Road. It was hard with the heavy bag, squeezing
between the shoppers.
“Sorry,” she called to a startled woman brushed on the leg by Esty’s bag.
Glancing
back, Esty saw the two women looking fierce and coming nearer. She
turned and ran to Jaffa Road as fast as the heavy bag would let her. Now
what? A train had just drawn up into the station. If she ran, she might
just make it. With all her strength, she carried the bag over the
railway lines and then across the little road. A car hooted but she
ignored it. She had to get to that train.
