REVIEW 'Arafat's Elephant' offers some unforgettable pieces

The most effective stories in the collection are the ones that capitalize on their brevity.
By ROB STOUT
SPECIAL TO THE VINDICATOR
& quot;Arafat's Elephant, & quot; by Jonathan Tel (Counterpoint Press, $14).
Jonathan Tel's debut collection resists any easy labeling. Each of the 17 stories are independent pieces with the only noticeable thread connecting them being their Jerusalem setting.
Even more confusing, in a region where people have come to define themselves through rivalry, be it religious, territorial or political, Tel's characters seem to be free from many of these traditional burdens.
Instead, their ordeals lie in the everyday, a scenario that invites the author to freely interject his own brand of the unexpected and absurd.
Happiness never really flourishes here: a prospective bride shamed by a random sexual encounter in & quot;Beautiful, Strong, and Modest & quot; while in & quot;Alte Zakhen & quot; a U.N. representative is kidnapped from a bathroom, & quot;Spleen; or, The Goy's Tale & quot; follows an orthodox rabbi who discovers he has Gentile blood, and there is no room at the inn for the founder of modern Zionism in & quot;Shaking Hands With Theodor Herzl. & quot;
Strongest piece
By far, the volume's strongest entry, & quot;A Story About a Bomb, & quot; is one in which the intefadah is brought to a momentary halt by busy traffic. To tell the tale, an unidentified narrator recounts an almost playful story he read about a hapless suicide bomber who can't seem to cross the road to reach his intended target, a crowded bus stop.
& quot;He stepped out one centimeter into the road -- and a great Coca-Cola truck went roaring past. He retreated. He strode forth. A Subaru blurted its horn at him. & quot;
After making it to the other side, the bomber is again stopped short of martyrdom by two tourists who ask to have their picture taken. Although we are told that the story is over when his finger presses down on the button, readers are left to wonder for several more pages before the author reveals whether that button was wired to a camera or an explosive.
& quot;Bomb & quot; is a perfect example of Tel's technique, which is carefully restrained, sometimes inconclusive, but with a prose style that always lends to the story an element of distorted reality.
Another, & quot;I May Be a Ghost but I'm Not a Slut, & quot; is a barroom conversation between an ambulance driver and a young girl who he does not realize is dead. The daily proximity to death has left the driver immune to the girl's ghastly features and incessant talk of suicide. Painfully conspicuous dialogue, however, derails the story before the reader can first appreciate its conceit.
Most, least effective
Tel's most effective stories capitalize on their brevity. The role reversal & quot;Ibrahim Kuttab is Innocent, & quot; another nesting of a story within a story, follows the actions of a young Hebrew-speaking Israeli whose obvious masquerade as an Arab is transparent to everyone but the authorities who beat him to get at the truth.
Less effective are his moments of whimsy. & quot;Did Moshe Dayan Have a Glass Eye? & quot; five pages of arch, disposable fragments, offers nothing beyond its memorable title. Likewise the title piece, a parable about a cumbersome gift that has present-day implications, ends the collection on a less than striking note.
Taken together, Tel's stories provide a view of Jerusalem as a city of individuals who, in addition to enduring the daily routine of horrors that is the Middle East, verge on surrendering to the disorder of their personal lives as well.
And although he may sometimes appear obsessed with this trauma, it is an obsession that reminds us that suffering in all its forms is easily found in such a tumultuous part of the world.