Caravans: A Novel of Afghanistan Paperback – September 9, 2003

A friend of mine, whose husband was head of UNESCO's Book Development Agency in Kabul, gave me Caravans a long time ago. They had thrown up their hands in frustration at the utter futility of bringing humanist values to the Afghan culture, such as it is. Indeed, the idea of an Afghan nation, much less a discrete Afghan culture, is, as they found out, ridiculous. Of course, not ridiculous to our too-clever-by-half policymakers who, from the Soviet invasion to arming the Mujahideen, to "nation building," got it woefully wrong.I must confess, Caravans hasn't been good for my equanimity. For years I've found myself shouting at the TV or newspaper, "No, no, you bloody idiots -- read the book!"It's an easy read (and perhaps that's why the policymakers didn't read it -- pop fiction is beneath them). It's the familiar Michener formula of exhaustively researched history as the setting for conventional plots, like family chronicle or romance or, in this case, thriller. Good historical fiction uses the fictional shell to engage the reader, and it's Michener's fictional shells that make his histories so enjoyable. Michener is the summer read that you come away from having learned something, and Caravans is no exception.Afghanistan is not a failed state. It's never been a state the way we think of it. It's an inchoate conglomeration of tribes, clans and ad hoc alliances, usually in service to vendetta, smuggling and banditry, and surrounded by a meaningless border, which is why foreign intervention has always been a fool's errand. No, it's not a state -- beyond the fancy of Western map-makers and players of The Great Game -- but neither is it a vacuum, as the British, the Russians and the Americans have learned to their chagrin.Go in there, get bin Laden and his henchmen, kill as many Taliban as possible, and to hell with borders (that's what you get when you let lawyers run a war), then get out and let them resume murdering and pillaging each other as they have for millennia. If we had read Caravans, we would have known, after 9/11 (if there had been a 9/11), that this was our only recourse.

Michener creates a compelling story of a search across Afganistan, of a desert journey by jeep and then journey by foot/horse/camel that allows him to portray some of the grandeur and history of Afganistan and its people post World War II. The relevance of this country has only increased in current times, which contributed to my fascination with his portrayal of life in the late 1940s. Michener's story addresses universal questions about the nature of evil and forgiveness through invoking the particulars of a German doctor/war criminal who has taken refuge in Afganistan who unknowingly tells his story to a Jew, Mark MIller, the protagonist. Mark's desire to take vengeance but his ultimate ability to have compassion give rise to questions about the meaning of forgiveness. This theme gets repeated in interactions between the 'missing' American' young woman, whose rejection of gender and societal expectations in post-War America lead her to a series of unconventional choices and relationships, and her husband, and the other men who love/desire her. Ultimately, her utter self absorption mars the reader's ability to empathize with her, but we are reassured that she will embrace whatever adventures come her way and land on her feet. Michener weaves a compelling tale and his fascination and love for the land come through vividly. A worthwhile read that is still relevant and carries universal themes-- a 'coming of age' novel set in a country with a dramatic history and people.

I'm a big fan of James A. Michener but this book rates up there as one of my favorites. I found the characters very interesting and, at times, amusing. The novel richly depicts the lives and travels of the nomadic Kochis. I devoured the story and was left with a vivid flavor of Afghanistan and its people. An important part of the story revolves around Ellen Jaspar, a young American who married an Afghani and disappeared in Afghanistan. I don't know what her special allure is, but it seems as if every man she meets falls in love/lust with her. Mark Miller, a 24-year-old Yale graduate employed by the State Department, is charged with finding her and we follow his adventures across the country as he seeks her.

I appreciated it much more (I think) than the other time I read it, 50 years ago before going to Afghanistan. They don’t write this kind of novel anymore – do they? – with characters interacting in a pattern that leaves room for landscape, history, and culture: Afghanistan, 1946. The two executions are so gruesomely described as to be prurient, but they also serve as a novelistic document. Descriptions and ambition carry the day. He engages vigorously, even emotionally, with the land and its inhabitants. An end note explains he didn’t achieve this through reading or researchers. He traveled multiple times through Afghanistan. Published in 1963, the novel is prescient in expressing Afghan concerns about a Russian invasion. And the American chargé tells the narrator “one of these days we could be driven into war across this terrain, and you’d be the only American who’d ever seen parts of it. Keep your eyes open.” The Embassy team members are so wonderfully stereotypical as to amuse us and leave clear distinctions in our mind. The more fully-drawn-out main characters can’t rise to the author’s ambitions, however, and behaviors in the second half of the book meet narrative needs better than they do the tests of plausibility. But he tries so hard, writes so well.