Before Karim came, a certain balance had been struck in the class. ... And then, overnight, everything was thrown out of whack because a guy who wanted nothing to do with anyone had a knack for stirring up passions.
Early in the novel, the unnamed classmate who narrates some sections speculates on how Karim's introduction to the classroom upset a balance, acting as a catalyst that set off a chain of reactions. In this passage, the narrator acknowledges how Karim seems to stir up passions by his presence alone: even though he mostly ignores the other students, his ethnic difference as a Lebanese boy attracts attention that he doesn't seek. Simultaneously, Karim is exoticized by the girls in the class and hated by the boys.
"Some images are unbearable."
Early in the novel, Karim runs out of the classroom, unable to listen to a song with lyrics that speak of carrying a love inside like a wounded bird. The metaphor and the image it evokes become unbearable, though the reason the song has such a profound effect on Karim is mysterious. It is only once the reader learns that Maha died and Karim carried her light body and felt like he was carrying a wounded bird does the lyric resonate as deeply for the reader as it does for Karim.
"Those big blocks don't exist. What does exist are unique individuals who shouldn't be judged before you get to know them. In my case, I demand the right to be me and not some curiosity or ethnic specimen."
In this passage, Pascale, one of Karim's classmates Montreal, monologues about the racial prejudice she has encountered in Quebec. In this speech, which directly addresses the book's thematic preoccupation with racism, she advocates for seeing people as individuals with unique personalities rather than as members of blocks of people who all think and act in the same way. She also doesn't want to be tokenized or patronized by people who look to her as an expert on Haitian culture.
"It's strange, all the same, to come through fourteen years of war unscathed and then just about buy it in Saint-Donat, Quebec."
In this passage, Karim has woken up in a hospital after nearly losing his life while defending My-Lan from Dave. Karim acknowledges the situational irony of having survived war-torn Lebanon after fourteen years of war only to nearly die at a peaceful ski resort in Canada.
Karim grew up with the war. He suffered its effects without understanding its cause.
In this passage, taken from part two, which is set in Beirut, the narrator comments on how Karim is young enough to have known nothing but war. The Lebanese Civil War has been so drawn-out and complicated that not even the people in charge of the divided sections of the country, let alone Karim, can untangle the mess of it. This passage is significant because it establishes how Karim has become inured to conflict, which stages his eventual embrace of peace.
"In any case, the world’s forgotten about us. Wars that go on forever don’t interest anyone."
In this passage, the journalist Antoine Milad discusses one of the insidious effects of the Lebanese Civil War's protracted timeline: the rest of the world has lost interest in the story, which results in less aid or outcry. Warfare has become so normalized in Lebanon that its misery and horror are shrouded in monotony. In a void of scrutiny, the war's belligerents are able to conduct their warfare with less fear of international retaliation.
"Streets we once thought were safe are now nothing less than shooting ranges. Even the shortest trip is full of danger and suspense."
While driving Karim, Maha, and Jad through East Beirut, Antoine comments on how militia blockades and sites of conflict arise so often that he cannot depend on his usual routes through the city. Even a routine trip could result in death or injury. This passage is significant because it speaks to how war-torn Beirut, by the end of the Civil War, was as perilous for citizens to traverse as a battlefield.
In the afternoon, the bombing starts up again in the distance, but they hardly notice. Over there are bombs; here are trees, rocks, birds and butterflies. The two worlds have nothing in common. Maybe this is how one forgets atrocities. By distancing oneself. By acting as if they don’t exist.
In this passage, Karim and Maha and Jad are deep enough in the mountains that the fighting in the cities is less noticeable. The sounds of nature overtake the sounds of war, and draw a stark contrast between the atrocities of the war and the serenity of nature, which is indifferent to human conflict.
"To tell the truth, Karim is perfect but a bit boring. Too bad, he does have nice eyes."
In this passage, Maha quotes Nada’s diary to Karim after he insulted her by saying she doesn't have any breasts. The passage is significant because, if true, it subverts Karim's understanding of Nada's affection for him. While Maha had led him to believe that Nada loved him and thought he was perfect, she hid the full context of these statements. This new revelation speaks to the extent to which Maha was wounded by Karim's words, as she knows exactly what to say to hurt him in return.
In French, we're putting on a play called 'I ain't racist, but...' It won't change the world. It just might help us understand the world we live in a bit better. The people we live with, too. At least it's a lot better than fighting each other.
In this passage, taken from the last few pages of the book, the classmate who narrates some sections explains how tensions have settled since Dave and Karim's fight. She says that classmates are more likely to talk each other, and that they're putting on an anti-racist play. The play's title refers to a clichèd phrase in which people qualify what will likely be a racist statement by claiming not to be racist. The classmate doesn't think putting on a little play will change the world, but she has faith in the incremental progress of expanding people's awareness of cultural differences, believing small acts such as this will lead to eventual harmony.
