The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak

Book Summary

Elif Shafak, who has become very famous in Iran with her book "The Forty Rules of Love," has written a work titled "The Island of Missing Trees," which many fans consider to be her best writing. In August 2021, readers first encountered this book, and it quickly became a bestseller. The story revolves around the love between a teenage Christian boy from Greece and a Muslim Turkish girl, beginning with their meeting in a tavern.

The author describes their love story in such an engaging manner that readers feel compelled to follow the narrative closely, ensuring they don't miss even the smallest detail. Kostas and Defne conduct their meetings in secret, with a fig tree serving as a constant witness to their romantic encounters, observing them through a gap in the ceiling of their meeting place. As war begins and the capital turns into a heap of rubble and ashes, the two lovers become separated and disappear until events unfold in an intriguing and captivating manner.

Another interesting aspect of "The Missing Trees" is the presence of three narrators at different time periods, each recounting events from their own perspective. The first narrator is the fig tree itself, which attempts to share everything it has witnessed with the reader. The second narrator is an omniscient narrator who explains the events that occurred at the end of 2010, while the third narrator recounts the events of Cyprus in 1974.

Shafak cleverly intertwines a romantic narrative with political issues surrounding Cyprus and the tumultuous conditions of that era, while also exploring the past of her characters so that readers can better understand them and the environment in which they grew up. Ultimately, despite having multiple narrators, the main theme remains cohesive rather than fragmented, skillfully maintaining its unity and guiding the reader seamlessly to the end.

About the Author

Elif Shafak is a Turkish-British author born in Strasbourg, France, on October 25, 1971. After her parents' separation, she returned to Turkey and obtained her bachelor's, master's, and doctoral degrees from Ankara University in international relations, women's studies, and political science. Shafak's professional career as a writer began in 1994, and since then she has written numerous works such as "The Bastard of Istanbul," "Honour," "The Gaze," and other well-known books, earning awards like the Rumi Prize and the Best Story Award from the Turkish Writers' Union and the Turkish Writers and Journalists Foundation.

Who Should Read the Book?

This book is recommended for lovers of romantic and mysterious themes, as well as readers who enjoy Elif Shafak's works.

Book Quotes

She recalled a sermon she might have heard in church, or perhaps in a mosque, since at various stages of her life, she had briefly attended both. When the soul leaves the body, it ascends to the sky and pauses along the way, observing everything beneath it, motionless, numb, and pain-free.

Did Bishop Vasilios say this, or Sheikh Mahmoud? The silver icon, the beeswax candles, paintings of saints and apostles, Gabriel with one wing spread and one wing folded, an old copy of the Orthodox Bible with dog-eared pages and a crooked spine... a silk prayer rug, amber prayer beads, a book of hadiths, an old volume on dream interpretation from an Islamic perspective that was consulted after every dream or nightmare... Both clergymen had tried to convince Ada to choose their faith and draw her toward themselves. Ada seemed to have chosen emptiness instead. Nothingness. A weightless shell that still trapped her and set her apart from others. Yet, as she screamed in the final hour of the last day of school, she felt something transcendent, as if she did not exist, as if she had never existed and was trapped in the shackles of the body.

As the butterfly followed a winding path, it landed on the teacher's shoulder and then jumped onto one of her silver earrings that resembled a chandelier. Then, just as quickly, it took off and flew toward Jason, landing on his slender shoulders and wriggling beneath his shirt. Now, in her mind's eye, Ada could see the scars hidden beneath Jason's vest, most of which were old and faded, with only one relatively large and fresh. An unhealed deep purple color. This boy, who always showed off and had great confidence at school, was beaten at home by his father. Ada gasped for breath. There was a deep pain everywhere and in everyone. The only difference was between those who could hide their pain and those who could no longer do so.

I remember that island like this: golden beaches, turquoise waters, and a brilliant sky. Every year, sea turtles would come ashore to lay their eggs in the powdery sand. The late afternoon breeze carried the scent of gardenias, jasmine, lavender, and creeping fig. Branches of purple acacia had climbed up the whitewashed walls, yearning to reach the clouds; just like hopeful daydreamers.

The capital was divided by a wall; just like a heart with a wound in its midst. Along the border line in the border area were ruined houses riddled with bullet holes, yards pockmarked by grenade explosions, boarded-up shops in ruins, decorated doors of courtyards hanging at various angles from their broken hinges, luxury cars of yesteryear rusting beneath layers of dust... The roads were blocked by coils of barbed wire, heaps of sandbags, barrels filled with concrete, anti-tank ditches, and watchtowers. The streets ended abruptly like unfinished thoughts and unresolved feelings.

Her voice broke but continued. When you hear your own scream, there is something deeply humiliating yet equally mesmerizing about breaking down, crumbling uncontrollably and unrestrainedly without knowing how far it can take you; this is a wild power that has risen from within you. It is an animalistic trait. A savage trait. In that moment, none of her demeanor belonged to her former self. Everything was beyond that sound. It could have been the loud scream of a hawk, the horrifying howl of a wolf, or the ear-piercing cry of a red fox at midnight. Any one of them could be it, but it could not be the scream of a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl.