I bought this book for two reasons: it won the gold medal for the best regional fiction in the Independent Publisher Book Awards, 2017 (I like to know what other indie authors are doing well); at because its setting in Kurdistan (which is part of Iraq, Iran and Turkey) interested me.
The author is Alesa Lightbourne, who, according to the biography included in her book “has been an English professor and teacher in six countries, lived on a sailboat, dined with Bedouins, and written for Fortune 50 companies. She lives close to Monterey Bay in California where she loves to boogie board and ride a bicycle.”
The Kurdish Bike is the fictional story of Theresa Turner’s experiences as a freelance English teacher working at a remote, but somewhat prestigious school on a hill top in a remote part of Kurdistan. The school has strict regulation of teachers and students, very tight security – wealthy people’s children attend – and some odd characters teaching and working there. Theresa obtains a bicycle, as her only means of exploration of the external world; in a nearby village, she meets Bezma a single woman of about 30 and her mother Ara, who is both wise and sour. Bezma falls in love with Hevar, an egotistical, testosterone-fueled hunk of a man. There is much to-ing and fro’-ing about the marriage, which eventually does take place. Meanwhile, Theresa’s stateside finances fall apart owing to the existence of a spend-thrift ex-husband. The schools manager, Madame, tempts Teresa to stay on for another year, in spite of some emotionally-disturbed management and teaching staff. The students are, by and large, the only truly likable characters. There are issues with FGM, which apparently runs at 95% in Kurdistan. There are two suicides and one murder: plenty of stuff happens.
The Kurdish Bike gives a startlingly real picture of life, culture and the settings of Kurdistan: generally not a place to visit willingly, but the local characters, while extremely drawn in some cases are nonetheless real and captivating. The story is generally well written.
My main concern is the last couple of chapters of the novel: they seem hurriedly written without supporting events. One gets the feeling ‘there! everything’s sorted!’ Whereas, there are several crises building up in parallel, and are only resolved in the author’s afterword. For example, Theresa seems to be thrown a lifeline by the Kurdish government when her contract with the school is cancelled. This seems implausible since there was little groundwork laid for it.
The tone in the novel, written in the first person, shifts considerably from beginning to end. It starts out being tentative and defensively emotional. Toward the end, it becomes cocky, hip and aggressively emotional. This is more an observation than a criticism; one wonders whether it was consciously intentional, because, to some extent, it is a natural transition for the main character.
One final comment about characters: none of them, with the notable exceptions of Pat, a fellow teacher, and Seema, a female student, are without major flaws, such that you wouldn’t want to spend much time with any of them. The male characters are irredeemable idiots, a reflection, perhaps of Theresa’s attitude towards men, given the choice she made in a husband.
I think that The Kurdish Bike is a good read, and it’s hard to put down. It is certainly thought-provoking about a very foreign culture.
Hi William, Thank you for this thoughtful and articulate review of The Kurdish Bike. I really appreciate your input, and agree with most of your comments. Would you be interested in corresponding about literary topics? You can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Cheers, 🔆Alesa