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A review by urmom46
A Door in the Earth by Amy Waldman
5.0
TLDR: An intellectual and emotional read that questions the integrity and usefulness behind foreign assistance and development projects. Read it for the Afghan Women, the rich landscape, the moral dilemma, which will leave you thinking for days.
This was a book I had picked up at random in the library- and boy am I glad I did. A Door in the Earth is a good example of an engaging fictional story, that has completely usurped the way I think about philanthropy. The story follows our main character Parveen, a budding medical anthropologist from UC Berkeley, who travels to a remote village Afghanistan to see the change in the medical landscape after reading a book about doctor turned criminal turned philanthropist, Gideon Crane, who was hailed as a hero after building a giant clinic. Millions of Americans were swept in Crane's philanthropic frenzy, and along with Parveen, a US military troop also arrive, hoping to change things in Afghanistan for the better. What Parveen learns upon arriving, completely changes her. It changes me too.
Crane's "Mother Afghanistan" reminds me of Greg Mortenson's "Three Cups of Tea". Both end up sharing a similar fate. This book was gorgeous to read. I appreciate how Waldman didn't try to dramatize or distort the landscape. The way she embedded what we would consider abnormal, or even tragic, into everyday life was unsettlingly well done. It made me uncomfortable to read of how the villager's poverty, conflicts, the women's' oppression, was all just routine for them, and I think that was the intent. As for the main character Parveen, I had a love-hate relationship with her. Sometimes she had her own soul, but often times I felt like she was just a mirror, of which the truths revealed throughout the story bounced off of. At times I appreciated her being the gateway to my understanding of the situation as a reader. In a sadistic sense, I appreciated that my shock and horror throughout the story was also projected through her. But at other times, her naivete made me want to smack her head. Rather than Parveen, the best parts of the book came from the other characters. The quiet strength of Bina, whose indifference gave way to a woman trying to make the most out a life which clearly she had no say in. Shokoh and Jamshid, whose hopes that their life would improve through these charity acts painfully fading away throughout the novel. Dr. Yasmeen, torn between desperation for things to change, and the cruel understanding of the harsh realities of her life. Waheed, who was written with subtle compassion, a character I grew to love. And my favorite character, and arguably the most vulnerable, Aziz, a translator forced to be the bridge between the American military troop and the villagers.
Great as this book is, the prose has a lot of tell, and not show. This is mainly because Parveen is written with the intention of just being the reader's door to the story, and it serves as a double-edged sword.
The main question this book brings up is: do foreign projects help or harm more? I am an avid believer in philanthropy, and part of the reason why I felt so unsettled reading this book, was that a part of me shared Parveen's naivete in that foreign assistance was doing nothing but good for other people. I think this is a fantasy that resides in a tiny part in all of us. We like knowing that we are helping people, we like knowing that our efforts, or our philanthropic additions are making a difference, we like having a hero-complex. A Door In the Earth takes off the rosy colored lenses, and opens up the harsh reality, and the nuanced complexity of many foreign philanthropic assistance. These terrible revelations occur in the form of the traces of Crane's legacy in the village, in his clinic, his story, in the ulterior motives of the US troops, the road they want to build, and even in the questionable actions of Parveen's Berkeley Professor. So this brings up an additional question: what can we do about it? How can we ensure foreign assistance, or even our actions, actually help the people it's intended to help. This leads to the final reason of why this book is so startling. It ends abruptly. We don't get a proper conclusion, because a topic as nuanced and complex doesn't have one yet.
The main takeaway from this book? Start questioning the charities and the philanthropies you support. What to they actually do? Do they truly deliver on what they intend to? And as for foreign assistance, it is still very much needed. But I think the main point this book is trying to get across, is that foreign assistance that is blind to the voices, needs, and culture as told, shown, and constantly assessed BY THE ACTUAL LOCALS THEMSELVES, remains just that. Foreign assistance, that's as useless as the shiny clinic Parveen travels across the world to see.
This was a book I had picked up at random in the library- and boy am I glad I did. A Door in the Earth is a good example of an engaging fictional story, that has completely usurped the way I think about philanthropy. The story follows our main character Parveen, a budding medical anthropologist from UC Berkeley, who travels to a remote village Afghanistan to see the change in the medical landscape after reading a book about doctor turned criminal turned philanthropist, Gideon Crane, who was hailed as a hero after building a giant clinic. Millions of Americans were swept in Crane's philanthropic frenzy, and along with Parveen, a US military troop also arrive, hoping to change things in Afghanistan for the better. What Parveen learns upon arriving, completely changes her. It changes me too.
Crane's "Mother Afghanistan" reminds me of Greg Mortenson's "Three Cups of Tea". Both end up sharing a similar fate. This book was gorgeous to read. I appreciate how Waldman didn't try to dramatize or distort the landscape. The way she embedded what we would consider abnormal, or even tragic, into everyday life was unsettlingly well done. It made me uncomfortable to read of how the villager's poverty, conflicts, the women's' oppression, was all just routine for them, and I think that was the intent. As for the main character Parveen, I had a love-hate relationship with her. Sometimes she had her own soul, but often times I felt like she was just a mirror, of which the truths revealed throughout the story bounced off of. At times I appreciated her being the gateway to my understanding of the situation as a reader. In a sadistic sense, I appreciated that my shock and horror throughout the story was also projected through her. But at other times, her naivete made me want to smack her head. Rather than Parveen, the best parts of the book came from the other characters. The quiet strength of Bina, whose indifference gave way to a woman trying to make the most out a life which clearly she had no say in. Shokoh and Jamshid, whose hopes that their life would improve through these charity acts painfully fading away throughout the novel. Dr. Yasmeen, torn between desperation for things to change, and the cruel understanding of the harsh realities of her life. Waheed, who was written with subtle compassion, a character I grew to love. And my favorite character, and arguably the most vulnerable, Aziz, a translator forced to be the bridge between the American military troop and the villagers.
Great as this book is, the prose has a lot of tell, and not show. This is mainly because Parveen is written with the intention of just being the reader's door to the story, and it serves as a double-edged sword.
The main question this book brings up is: do foreign projects help or harm more? I am an avid believer in philanthropy, and part of the reason why I felt so unsettled reading this book, was that a part of me shared Parveen's naivete in that foreign assistance was doing nothing but good for other people. I think this is a fantasy that resides in a tiny part in all of us. We like knowing that we are helping people, we like knowing that our efforts, or our philanthropic additions are making a difference, we like having a hero-complex. A Door In the Earth takes off the rosy colored lenses, and opens up the harsh reality, and the nuanced complexity of many foreign philanthropic assistance. These terrible revelations occur in the form of the traces of Crane's legacy in the village, in his clinic, his story, in the ulterior motives of the US troops, the road they want to build, and even in the questionable actions of Parveen's Berkeley Professor. So this brings up an additional question: what can we do about it? How can we ensure foreign assistance, or even our actions, actually help the people it's intended to help. This leads to the final reason of why this book is so startling. It ends abruptly. We don't get a proper conclusion, because a topic as nuanced and complex doesn't have one yet.
The main takeaway from this book? Start questioning the charities and the philanthropies you support. What to they actually do? Do they truly deliver on what they intend to? And as for foreign assistance, it is still very much needed. But I think the main point this book is trying to get across, is that foreign assistance that is blind to the voices, needs, and culture as told, shown, and constantly assessed BY THE ACTUAL LOCALS THEMSELVES, remains just that. Foreign assistance, that's as useless as the shiny clinic Parveen travels across the world to see.