Deep Dive Into Jane Lee

2023.10.04

  I am pleased, yet ashamed to say this is a new book I’ve read.

  Before I start my writing, I am sad to say that I am picky reader. I do, judge a book by it cover- more by its blurb- and I’ve been trying to fix that for years- and it has gotten better, though sometimes I still cannot resist to ignore dull looking books. This book, however, I was slightly more intrigued- we had read a section in my English-Literature class, and the writing was simply gorgeous. So I borrowed the book from our library, giddy with excitement, to open the fragile pages of that library book.

  It took me a while to actually get the nerve to read it- as I sometimes do with nonfiction books-but I eventually read it as I traveled on the airplane, realizing that if I didn’t read it soon, I would never read it (after all, library books do have a deadline).

And when I did read it, I was astonished.

This was a good book. I could feel it. I could feel that feeling, the words, seeping through my arms from the book to my heart. This is a similar book to what I reviewed about ‘Refugee’ a few days ago. It’s not perfect, which I like. It’s not a fantasy of a brilliant, simple life, which I also like.

The book holds so much hurt, and anger from all the people that suffered then. But it holds it, with lighthearted youth, something that I liked. I don’t like easy, happy, endings, but I do like optimistic characters. I don’t tolerate moodiness.

Malala is truthful, and painfully aware of what’s happening. She speaks with simplicity. There needs no extravagant words for writing like this. Actually, the lack of synonyms for ‘said’ makes it more emotive, the words forming not a painting, but a photograph.

So many of the words made my heart squeeze, and especially this paragraph.

…

Later that day, the man who had spoken to be in Urdu, Dr. Javid Kayani, came in with  his cell phone. “We’re going to call your parents.” He said matter-of-factly.

I couldn’t believe it.

“You won’t cry.” He said firmly. “You won’t weep. You will be strong. We don’t want your family to worry.”

I nodded. I hadn’t cried once since I’d arrived. My left eye was constantly weeping, but I had not cried.

After a series of blips and beeps, I heard my father’s dear and familiar voice. “Jani?’ He said. “How are you feeling, my jani?”

I couldn’t reply because of the tube in my throat. And I couldn’t smile because my face was numb. But I was smiling inside, and I knew my father knew that.

“I’ll come soon.” My father said. “Now have a rest, and in two days we will be there.”

His voice was loud and bright. Maybe a little too bright.

Then I realized: He had also been told not to cry.

…

It was like a simple, bittersweet realization. I felt like I was in those shoes, waiting for my family, waiting for my voice to get back- the frustration, the fear, the worry, that I might not survive.

I say simple, a lot. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean its bland. I mean that its clear, bright, not rambling on and on about useless things. Malala does not waste words.

I smiled when she stopped caring about her looks. It was like this revolutionary thing for her, and especially for girls my age. They care so much about their hair, looks, skin, body shape, that they don’t appreciate the other, more important aspects of life. Running, playing, exercise, writing, reading, playing, studying, spending time with beloved ones. And millions more. Malala says after you see death, looks doesn’t matter that much anymore.

So overall, what did this bring me?

It brought me many things. First of all, it brought me joy, to read such a good, book. Second of all, it gave me realization, that not every girl is as lucky as me- to get a proper education in a world that at least, in a way, is equal to all genders. Thirdly, it gave me an everlasting memory- and information that I will need to know.

Be grateful, because you never know when it might disappear. Malala’s book stresses this a lot. That life, or maybe looks, a home, a right to education, that it might disappear. That we have to be the ones that adapt. That wishing, or stying quiet won’t help anyone.

I respect Malala for standing up, even when fear pulsed through her. That she risked her life for other people, that she never got too conscious of her bravery, that she still stands today, helping more, and more students achieve their dreams. That she tried, to change white world for good.

That she remembered that someone needed to do something.

And I think I want to quote her before ending this piece of writing.

When the whole world is silent, even one voice becomes powerful.

Thank you.