There are two conflicting images of America. One is embodied in the Declaration of Independence. That's the America that holds certain rights to be self-evident. Another is embodied in the "Don't Tread on Me" flag from the American Revolution -- the America that is arbitrarily reactive and dangerous whenever it's attacked. Amy Waldman's book "The Submission" puts these two images of America into conflict and shows how they play out in people's lives.
In the opening chapter, a jury chooses a design for a 9/11 memorial at Ground Zero from a blind competition. It opts for a garden rather than a design aptly named "The Void." The winner, however, turns out to be a Muslim named Mohammed "Mo" Khan. In the ensuing public uproar, it doesn't matter that this Mohammed is a native-born American and his parents are from India; it doesn't matter that he is not particularly religious. How can "one of them" make a memorial for the destruction "they" caused?
A sober New York Times article finds that the design "paralleled gardens that had been built across the Islamic world ... earthly representations of the paradise of the Quran" Fox News picks up the idea: "The memorial design may actually be a martyrs' paradise." The Wall Street Journal opines, "We've invited the enemy into our home to decorate."
We've all watched this kind of nonsense play out in the media and the political arena. Waldman places us in the middle of one of these controversies and compassionately portrays the characters on each side. She has a keen sense of the predictable results as politicians watch poll numbers, Muslim organizations weigh how the controversy affects sentiment about Muslims, anti-Muslim organizations pretend to care about the rights of women under Sharia law and the media fan the flames. The characters are caught in a classic tragedy; the course of events is determined by the inability of most of the characters to change.
Mo Kahn, as the rising and somewhat arrogant architect, seems sympathetic in his insistence that his religion shouldn't matter; he becomes less so as he doggedly refuses to answer questions about his inspiration. "?Why should I be responsible for assuaging fears I didn't create??" He correctly points out that most of the questions would never have been asked if he hadn't been a Muslim, but he doesn't understand that they still need to be answered.
Mo's strongest supporter on the jury, Claire Burwell, is a survivor of a 9/11 victim -- she pushed for the jury's choice, not knowing the architect, because the garden represented healing. But she has to answer to the organized families of the victims, particularly its principal spokesperson, Sean Gallagher. Claire and Sean play out a stereotypical polarization -- the liberal, upper-class advocate of tolerance versus the vengeful, working-class conservative. Claire's need to see both sides, including Sean's, makes it harder and harder for her to support Mo.
There's a third kind of survivor of the tragedy, Asma Anwar, an undocumented Bangladeshi, whose husband died in the attacks. Coming out of the shadows, she speaks at a hearing on the design; her words come close to turning the controversy around by addressing the issue that Mo avoided: "My husband was a man of peace because he was a Muslim. ... The gardens of paradise are for men like my husband, who never hurt anyone. ... How can you pretend we and our traditions are not part of this place?" In speaking, she also sets events in motion that bring the novel to its climax.
"The Submission" is intensely, carefully written and plays well as a tragedy for our time. Still, I don't think it will be remembered once a generation or two passes and the memory of 9/11 fades. It's a good novel, but it is not destined to be a classic.
In an epilogue, an indie filmmaker produces a documentary about Mo and his design 20 years later. He's still bitter about how he was treated. Claire is still angry that he wouldn't answer her questions. The country has moved on, but the main characters haven't really learned anything. Maybe that's realistic.
Or maybe it's just cynical. I can see seeds of an alternate ending, taking off from Asma's testimony, in which Mo is forced to own his spiritual heritage and defend the values that might have inspired him, as an American, to create a design to heal the wounds of 9/11. If Waldman had written a book that showed this -- that gave Islam its proper place within the traditions that have found a home in this country -- it would be a great novel.