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the sheltering sky

in 1949 paul bowles wrote a novel about morocco that grips you in the beginning, sputters out quickly, and ends tragically. i can't help but think of it as the north african version of d.h. lawrence's the plumed serpent. the plot is remarkably similar. american travelers equally repelled and fascinated by remote, exotic locale. female character gets involved with native men and submits to hypermasculine power. et cetera.

he walked through the streets... why do i feel this way about them? guilt at being well fed and healthy among them? but suffering is equally divided among all men; each has the same amount to undergo... emotionally he felt that this last idea was untrue, but at the moment it was a necessary belief: it is not always easy to support the stares of hungry people. thinking that way he could walk on through the streets. it was as if either he or they did not exist. both suppositions were possible. the spanish maid at the hotel had said to him that noon: "la vida es pena." "of course," he had replied, feeling false even as he spoke, asking himself if any american can truthfully accept a definition of life which makes it synonymous with suffering.