The Island of Missing Trees was an eye-opening book for me. Before I read it, I had no idea there was a brutal conflict between Greek and Turkish Cypriots in the 1970s. I always knew there was some bad blood between Turks and Greeks, but I always associated it vaguely with their conflicts throughout medieval history. I never knew that it was pretty recent.
Book Synopsis
Two teenagers, a Greek Cypriot, and a Turkish Cypriot, meet at a taverna on the island they call home. In the taverna, hidden beneath garlands of garlic, chili peppers, and creeping honeysuckle, Kostas and Defne grow in their forbidden love for each other. A fig tree stretches through a cavity in the roof, and this tree bears witness to their hushed, happy meetings and, eventually, to their silent, surreptitious departures. The tree is there when war breaks out, the capital is reduced to ashes and rubble, and the teenagers vanish. Decades later, Kostas returns. He is a botanist looking for native species but searching for lost love.
Years later, a Ficus carica grows in the back garden of a house in London where Ada Kazantzakis lives. This tree is her only connection to an island she has never visited – her only link to her family’s troubled history and her complex identity as she seeks to untangle years of secrets to find her place in the world.
~ Synopsis from GoodReads
My Review
This was a beautifully relatable book for me. Cyprus used to be a British colony, but when the British left, they left chaos behind with conflicts between the local Greeks and Turks – similar to what happened in India and Pakistan in 1947.
This history (which I was completely unaware of) forms the background to a forbidden love story about a Greek boy, Kostas, and a Turkish girl, Defne, and the long-term consequences of that love.
This book is different from most such love stories because of the way it’s narrated. There are two narrators—one is the daughter of that couple, and another is a fig tree. Yes, this is probably the only book I have read from the POV of a tree.
It was an odd reading experience at first, and it took me a little time to get used to it – especially since the fig tree also appears to be in love with Kostas. I wasn’t quite sure about the tree’s narration at first, but I realized later that it was a way to give us a larger perspective on history than individual characters can. Because of its long life span, the tree can narrate parts of the story that the individuals cannot. Eventually, the tree’s narration became my favorite part of the book.
This book takes a little concentration and patience. While I quickly love magical realism in stories, I think the approach here was a little ham-handed. The love story was also clichéd Romeo and Juliet style, which didn’t blossom into a mature love.
What I liked the best was the haunting background to their love – the excellent nature writing, the concept of generational trauma, and the country’s tragic history.
