On the suggestion of my brother, I recently took up - and completed - Amos Oz's collection of extended stories, The Hill of Evil Counsel. Set in Jerusalem in the waning days of the British Mandate, Oz's tales weave a complex tapestry, one which has a great deal to say about Israel's transition toward nationhood. As this was my first exposure to Oz's prose, I must say: I was impressed. Oz is a writer's writer, an artist in complete command of language and its nuances, its intricacies. The last word, therefore, is reserved for him:
"Dear Mina, I shall not use the word 'blame.' You are not to blame for what you do to me in my dreams. But perhaps you are responsible, up to a point." (1995 ed., 207)
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