Reviewed by Erin Miller, a writer and a member of Peacework's Program Committee.
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Bel Canto explores the intricate relationships that develop between a group of "terrorists" and "hostages." In the process, we're given the opportunity to contemplate the complexities and pitfalls of demonizing the "other."
The novel begins at a birthday party for Katsumi Hosokawa, the president of Japan's largest electronics company. The government of an unnamed Central American country, courting Hosokawa in the hopes that he'll open a plant there, hires a world-famous opera soprano, Roxanne Coss, to sing at the Vice-President's house. We learn in the first few pages that Mr. Hosokawa has no intention of building a plant — he's simply a devoted fan of Roxanne Coss.
However, the president of the country is unable to attend — a fact not known to the group of guerrilla soldiers hiding in the air conditioner vents.
When the guerrilla leader demands that the president come forward: "There was an uneasy shifting among the well-dressed guests, no one wanting to be the one to break the news…. People kept their eyes blank, waiting, until the man with the gun brought the gun down so that now it faced the crowd, though in particular it appeared to be pointed at a blonde woman in her fifties named Elise, who was a Swiss banker. She blinked a few times and then crossed her wide-open hands one on top of the other to cover her heart, as if this was the place she was most likely to be shot."
A Red Cross negotiator arrives and the guerrillas agree to release almost all of the women, leaving behind only Roxanne Coss and the male hostages. Gen, a young Japanese man fluent in all of the languages spoken in the house — Spanish, Italian, Russian, English, and French — becomes an integral figure, transcending the boundaries of language and country. The first few chapters of the novel take place in the early days, but the standoff lasts for months, and the demarcations between hostages and terrorists slowly blur into something entirely different.
Ishmael, a young guerrilla, observes General Benjamin (the guerilla commander) and Mr. Hosokawa playing chess; Ishmael wants to play the winner, but he's not sure if he can ask: "Some things were against the rules, rules that were memorized and repeated in drills. Some rules (speaking respectfully to a superior officer) stood firm. Other rules (never speaking to a hostage unless it was to correct him) weakened and fell away." Week by week, the rules disintegrate. Hostage and terrorist fall in love, create friendships, become teacher and student.
This is the crux of Patchett's magical novel: very subtly, relationships built on hostility and fear evolve into love. In the process, we learn more about the "terrorists" and what brought them to their action; and more about the capitalists and the corrupt political leaders as well. The characters in the novel leave the realm of demonized other and become, simply, human. As I neared the end of the novel, I found myself wishing, hoping, for the impossible "happy ending."
The characters, too, look ahead and wonder how this story will turn out. One of the most poignant passages comes near the end of the novel, as Carmen, a guerrilla, approaches General Benjamin with a question, and the General smells the scent of lemons in her hair: "The smell of lemons. He is a boy in the city, a quarter lemon clenched between his teeth as he runs to school, the bright lemon yellow of the peel showing between his open lips, the impossible tartness, the utter clarity of taste that he was addicted to. His brother, Luis, is with him, running along beside him, a little boy. He is younger than Benjamin and so he is Benjamin's responsibility. He, too, has a lemon in his mouth and they look at one another and begin to laugh so hard they have to raise their hands to their mouths to catch the now empty rinds…. Why was it only now that he understood that things would end badly? It didn't seem strange that he knew it, but that he hadn't known it from the very start, that he hadn't turned his troops around and run them straight back into the air vents the second it was established that President Masuda was not at the party. That mistake was almost impossible to comprehend now. It was all the fault of hope. Hope was a murderer."
The General is no longer a general — he is a boy, running through the streets with his brother, contemplating the end of his life, and the responsibility he holds for the lives of the others with him. The novel forces us to contemplate the humanity of each of its characters, disregarding the labels of "terrorist" and "hostage." In these times, I can't imagine a more important undertaking.