The questions you should ask yourself before reading I REMEMBER BEIRUT by Zeina Abirached are simple. Question One:  What do I know about the Lebanese Civil War. Question Two:  Am I a high school student? If the answers are “a lot” --- or “nothing but I want to learn”--- and “yes,” then this is not a book you should miss. However, if your answer is anything else, I would suggest you rent and don’t buy.

I want to go on record saying I didn’t dislike the book. I just wasn’t overly engrossed. The story is told from the perspective of the author, a girl born in Beirut during the climax of the Lebanese civil war. The naiveté that comes from this framing device is alternately haunting and charming, as the young girl has no idea what to make of the horror surrounding her and in fact often is completely oblivious to the real horrors of the war. However, this acts as a double-edged sword, as if you know nothing about the Lebanese Civil War, and don’t have the energy to look it up on Wikipedia, it leaves you oblivious as well.

"The most powerful element of the novel is the rhythmic dichotomy of childlike wonder and innocence Abirached sets up, and then immediately undercuts with a reminder that death are danger are never far away in her world."

Admittedly, there is something to be said for the challenge Abirached poses her readers: “Learn Something!” The lack of background and hard facts may seem to some as a drawback, but I think it is that selfsame vagueness that is the core theme of the book. Abirached is writing as a child, who very well could remember the bullet holes on her mother’s car as the little “white dots.” Yet the simplicity of the language and storytelling makes for a somewhat unengaging narrative.

The most powerful element of the novel is the rhythmic dichotomy of childlike wonder and innocence Abirached sets up, and then immediately undercuts with a reminder that death are danger are never far away in her world. The reason I use the word rhythmic? These incidents of joy and terror aren’t randomly peppered throughout I REMEMBER BEIRUT, but are set up in an almost tit-for-tat pattern. For example, after recalling a robot cartoon, Abirached remembers the fear she felt during blackouts. Though it isn’t explicit, the unstated fact is that these chronic occurrences were a symptom of the war.  When juxtaposed with a childhood ubiquity like robot cartoons, you can’t help but put yourself in Abirached’s shoes. I think, however, my favorite moments the novel has to offer occur when this dichotomy exists within a single memory, as it does in the case of her brother’s genuine, and completely detached, love of collecting shrapnel.

So what do I think about I REMEMBER BEIRUT? I think in modern America, with our desire for instant gratification and attention spans that just eek out over that of a gnats, that this isn’t a novel that can be widely embraced by John Q. Public, especially one with no interest in the outside world. There’s no real story arc, and there are few, if any, memorable characters. Fortunately, it’s a quick read, with simple words and pictures straight out of a child’s imagination, so it’s not a huge time investment. If you’re a history buff or a student looking to get a glimpse into the psyche of a child living in a war torn landscape, or you just have an hour to kill and are interested in reading something interesting, it is definitely worth reading.