Invariably a novel that aims at the dual objectives of 1) the investigation of the human heart and 2) political commentary will conclude that matters of the first are more metaphysically worthy, more valuable, than matters of the second. Hamilton selects an epigraph from Francois Bizot (once a prisoner of the Khmer Rogue) in order to perhaps illustrate this point:

"I think we should maybe have the courage to identify ourselves with and humanize the torturer. Maybe we should look at ourselves, instead of saying "Never again," which does not work. We could try to ask a new question, as well as a very old one:
"How is it possible?" We may find the answers in ourselves."

This is noteworthy for two reasons - firstly, the fact that an author quoted in an epigraph has to be given credibility by the inclusion of biographical facts about his life is a huge red flag and, secondly, the implementation of this very sentiment is being carried out today, in real life, as a matter of national policy, before our very eyes, with nearly disastrous results.

The novel has, as its main plot, the following story line: an American kid is recruited by radical Islamists to blow up the New York subway. But it is about many other things as well, and has many other engrossing characteristics which I'm going to concentrate on here. In POLITICS AND THE NOVEL Irving Howe wrote "The great test for the writer is: how much truth can he force through the sieve of his opinions?" If we take it as a given that all political commentary and analysis is fundamentally opinion, then the truth that shines through will be what the great aesthetician Arnold Isenberg, in his essay "The Problem of Belief", called 'fancy truths'. I think Hamilton's strength amd skill lie more in this arena than in the political, and so that is what we'll take up as our main concern in the four or five blogs to follow.