THE FIG TREE

An omniscient narrator describes the tree “remembering” the residents, varied in skin tone, who played and picnicked nearby, enjoying the abundant fruit. The tree notes that language connected the Greek and Turkish residents; all understood the words “majilla” (large fig) and “mashallah” (an Arabic expression of appreciation). Without explanation, the narrator reports that negative words sprang up: “enemy,” “traitor.” Curious children may wonder why. The vibrant colors, stylized shapes, and swirling textures of Giles’ handmade and digital collages, which initially depicted verdant scenes dotted with cheerful pink elements, now portray war. Alliteration and metaphor heighten the drama: “Stomping boots, shuddering tanks, and stuttering gunfire shook the tree—and the island—down to the roots.” Ultimately, a north-south boundary divides the land in two; barbed wire fences prevent people from crossing. As years pass, the centrally situated tree waits, hoping that a child from each side will be drawn to again share its succulent gifts, an act that could remind residents of their commonalities. Manoli lives in Cyprus; her author’s note details the “centuries-old” fighting that led to this now-50-year division.

Jun 17, 2025 - 05:52

An omniscient narrator describes the tree “remembering” the residents, varied in skin tone, who played and picnicked nearby, enjoying the abundant fruit. The tree notes that language connected the Greek and Turkish residents; all understood the words “majilla” (large fig) and “mashallah” (an Arabic expression of appreciation). Without explanation, the narrator reports that negative words sprang up: “enemy,” “traitor.” Curious children may wonder why. The vibrant colors, stylized shapes, and swirling textures of Giles’ handmade and digital collages, which initially depicted verdant scenes dotted with cheerful pink elements, now portray war. Alliteration and metaphor heighten the drama: “Stomping boots, shuddering tanks, and stuttering gunfire shook the tree—and the island—down to the roots.” Ultimately, a north-south boundary divides the land in two; barbed wire fences prevent people from crossing. As years pass, the centrally situated tree waits, hoping that a child from each side will be drawn to again share its succulent gifts, an act that could remind residents of their commonalities. Manoli lives in Cyprus; her author’s note details the “centuries-old” fighting that led to this now-50-year division.