About the Author:
Montrealer Leila Marshy is of Palestinian-Newfoundland heritage—she can tell a good joke, but it bombs. She has been a filmmaker, a baker, an app designer, a marketer, a farmer, and editor of online culture journal Rover Arts. She founded the Friends of Hutchison Street, a groundbreaking community group bringing Hasidic and non-Hasidic neighbours together in dialogue. She has published stories and poetry in Canadian and American journals and anthologies. THE PHILISTINE is her first novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
"Aiwa?" It picked up after one ring. "Aiwa? Hallo. Hallo.""Baba..."The line went quiet. She thought it had cut out or he had hung up. "Nadia?""Baba. I'm in Egypt. Ana fi il qahira," she said, wiggling her head. "I'm in Cairo." It came out like a spilled bucket. "And guess where? The Nile Hilton. I just got here--well, a couple of days ago. I was tired for the first day, a little sick actually. I called you already but you must have been at work. I wasn't even sure if I had the right number! It's hot! We always came in summer so I just assumed that winter would be cool, you know. Like, not so hot. Well, okay, it's cold at night, but still. Can hardly call that cold, can you. So, yeah. I'm here." She took a deep breath, enough for another whole paragraph, but held it, waited."Stana, stana," he said, wait, wait. "Where here? In Cairo?" Cavernous spaces were opening up between his words, like an earthquake in full motion.She hopped around the room on her toes, twisting and untwisting the phone cord behind her. "Yes!""With your mother?""No, just me! Aren't you going to ahlan wa sahlan? I bought a plane ticket and just came. Magique, kidda!"
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.