Terrorist – John Updike

John Updike’s latest novel, Terrorist, offers a fascinating glimpse into the world of Islamic fundamentalism, but it is a story not without flaws. The novel’s protagonist, eighteen- year- old Ahmad Ashmawy Mulloy, is the son of an Irish-American mother and an Egyptian father who deserted the family many years before. A young man of high intelligence, he eschews further education after high school, despite the belated exhortations of Jack Levy, a Jewish high school guidance counselor who goes on to conduct a surreptitious relationship with Ahmad’s mother, Terry. At the urging of his imam, Ahmad takes a job delivering furniture for a Lebanese family. This marks the beginning of his being drawn into an explosive terrorist plot, the outcome of which may or may not be credible to the reader.

There is much to commend in this novel, particularly Updikes’s ability to portray a fundamentalist Muslim perspective on the world. In that portrayal whereby, for example, Ahmad expresses his disdain for the glue of the Western world, rampant consumerism, Updike is able to offer some trenchant truths to the reader about the kinds of lives we lead. Consider this masterful section of the book, when Ahmad remembers childhood shopping trips with his mother:

“He would go with his mother … into the vast spaces of hastily slapped up hangers in the ‘big box’ style, where packaged goods were stacked up to the exposed girders. On those trips, narrowly aimed at replacing a certain irreparable home appliance or some boys’ clothing his relentless growing demanded or, before Islam rendered him immune, a long-coveted electronic game obsolete within a season, the mother and son were besieged on all sides by attractive, ingenious things and could not afford… Devils, these many gaudy packages seemed to be, these towering racks of today’s flimsy fashion, these shelves of chip-power expressed in murderous cartoons prodding the masses to buy, to consume while the world still had resources to consume, to gorge at the trough before death closed greedy mouths forever. In all of this wooing of the needy into debt, death was the bottom line, the counter where the diminishing dollars clattered. Hurry, buy now, since the afterlife’s pure and plain joys are an empty fable.”

What a remarkable passage. In just a few words, Updike is able to offer a penetrating analysis and commentary on our consumer-obsessed mentality and the spiritual emptiness underlying it. At the same time, he allows us some understanding of Ahmad’s view of the society he has grown up in, providing some foundation for the choices he subsequently makes.

But it is the latter that also presents some problems. Ahmad’s perspective and choices are, for me, the source of the book’s flaws. Quite frankly, I found it very difficult to accept the credibility of his character. The portrayal of someone raised in American society, embracing Islam at the age of eleven, and consequently being the almost perfect ascetic did not ring true. Granted, Ahmad is a young man reared without a father by an ill-disciplined mother and is undoubtedly seeking both discipline and a father figure in Allah and the Yemeni imam, Shaikh Rashid, who represents him; yet that is not sufficient in my mind to warrant the depiction of a young man so disengaged from the world around him that he will so willingly dispense with it when presented with an opportunity for jihad. It is one thing to try to understand the mind of fundamentalists from a war-torn part of the world, raised in bitterness and penury and hatred of the West’s involvement in their affairs, willing to surrender their lives for what they believe to be a holy cause. It is quite another to imagine this same willingness in Updike’s Ahmad. As well, the plot’s resolution, for me, was also unconvincing for reasons I won’t articulate, so as not to reveal too much.

These caveats aside, I do recommend this book. The prose is elegant yet restrained, and Updike certainly intends the novel, not as a screed against the Muslim world, but rather as a window to our own.