Turbulence by David Szalay
English | 2019 | Sci-Fi | ePUB |239 Kb
Turbulence : The brilliant new short story sequence from the Man Booker-shortlisted author of All That Man Is
Twelve people on the move around planet Earth, twelve individual lives, each in turmoil, and each in some way touching the next.
In this nuanced and deeply moving sequence, David Szalay’s diverse protagonists circumnavigate the world in twelve plane journeys, from London to Madrid, from Dakar to Sao Paulo, to Toronto, to Delhi, to Doha, en route to see lovers and parents, children and siblings, or nobody at all.
Along the way, Szalay deftly depicts the ripple effect that, knowingly or otherwise, a person’s actions have on those around them, and invites us to consider our own place in the vast and delicately balanced network of human relationships that is the world we live in today.
“Cheikh found, from nowhere, that he had a quiet hankering for a cigarette. It had been over a decade since he had quit – Amadou, at five years old, having been told that smoking killed people, had one day asked his father to stop, and Cheikh, after thinking about it for a moment, had stubbed out the cigarette he was in the middle of smoking and promised his son that he would never smoke another. What had touched him was the simple fact that his son actually cared about him, that he actually cared whether he lived or died – there were not that many people in the world who actually cared about you all that much, and if you were lucky enough to have a few who did, he thought, then surely you owed it to them not to destroy yourself avoidably, surely you owed them some sort of effort. Since that day he had not smoked a single cigarette. He was proud of his will power. Occasionally, though, at moments of stress, the hankering still came.
‘What is it, Mohammed?’ he asked, in a quieter voice.
They were nearing the house. They were in smaller streets – streets on the hill next to the sea where the smog was thinner and there were larger trees, their stiff dropped leaves littering the asphalt under the street lights. Outside many of the properties were sentry posts.
They were nearing the house.
There it was, its high metal gates. ‘Stop,’ Cheikh said.”