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Spoonful Chronicles Paperback – January 23, 2017
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About the Author
Elen Ghulam is an Iraqi-Canadian living in Vancouver B.C. She worked as a computer programmer for 18 years before turning to writing fiction. Telling stories to silicon chips proved to be easy, and so she graduated to amusing humans. She is a passionate blogger at www.ihath.com. And yes! There is a hummus video.
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Top customer reviews
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I give this novel my highest recommendation. I would be surprised to discover that any of my friends dislike it because I can’t imagine that being the case. I feel like my words cannot do justice to the work of Elen Ghulam, so I’ll let her words persuade you. I’ll end this with some of my favorite quotes:
My life had been a page filled with poetic words dancing in anticipation. A prose so beautiful as to make your heart shudder. But when I emigrated, all the letters scurried away. The meaning dissolved the way scratches in the sand are washed away by the waves of the sea. It became a whole notebook filled with ink-resistant white sheets of paper. I saw nothing.
His vowels glide melodically; the ends of his words stay open as if unfinished. His sentences float in the air like helium balloons, bumping against each other in a subtle teasing aggression.
When he woke up the words to the song dropped into his head the way bird poop drops from the sky.
I peeled myself out of bed like a spoon out of molasses.
Today I feel like a tomato sauce that has been spiked with cinnamon. Something you can force yourself to tolerate, yet clash with every step of the way. Every bite and lick screams of the wrongness of this mixture.
The silence stretched between us like an overbaked cheese strand refusing to let a slice leave the mother ship pizza.
Destiny is dancing in our wounds wearing slippers lined with salt.
They say the shortest path to a man’s heart is his stomach. But what is the shortest path to a woman’s heart? I suspect the answer is: “Nobody cares.”
My mother had purchased clear broth with boiled vegetables swimming in it. Little bits of carrot and peas looked like they were stranded in a hot tub waiting to be rescued from a torture session after they had ratted on all their collaborators.
I wonder if injuries travel down generations. What part of my grandmother continues to live through me? I don’t want to think about this. It is too disturbing. I put the thoughts away, bury them under a thick sludge of mud. Little bubbles pop up to let me know that what got stuck in the giant mud bath of my unconfirmed truths is fermenting away. One day a giant kimchi tree will sprout and shower me with pickled cabbage and shrimp juice. That day isn’t here yet. No need for panic.
She goes on a trip down memory lane, revisiting past memories with connections to food, searching for clues to how food has helped shape her life. The book isn’t just about food, though, it’s about much more – about the different cultures Thaniya has been exposed to in her life, about life itself and all its up and downs, about childhood dreams and how far away from them we often end up, about happiness and how it can be found in the simplest things.
This is a book that will keep readers on the edge of their seat. Fans of women’s fiction will devour this one. I received a free copy in exchange for an honest review
No idea what this story was actually about; read it twice, still no idea.