The Submission by Amy Waldman

I wrote a review of this book for newbooksmag which you can read here.

I was limited to 150-200 words which I found quite difficult.  My first draft of the review was over 900 words so I set to editing, which is not something I tend to be very good at. 

After re-reading what I have written there, I feel that my recommendation of this book doesn't come across strongly enough.  So I've decided to urge you, my blog audience, to go have a read of this book. 

Even now, weeks after I have finished it, I find myself haunted by the theme and the, in particular, the ending.  What does it mean?  I don't want to spoil it and give it away so I will wait patiently for at least one of you to get the book, devour it, and then let me know what they think the ending means.

You will be moved.  I promise.

PS  If you are a member of a book group, this would make a fabulous choice.  There is so much to discuss!

9/11 Memorial

During my planning of our summer holiday to New York City I had decided to include a visit to the 9/11 Memorial.  Initially I hesitated.  Who wants to spend a happy, carefree summer day in a place that is shrouded in so much agony, pain, grief and suffering?

When we drove into the city from JFK airport it became clear to me that we would.

The skyline of Manhattan is one of the most AWESOME sites in the world.  No matter how many times I see it, I am inspired and mesmerised.  It doesn’t matter if it is day or night, cloudy or crystal clear blue.  The sheer enormity of it quite simply takes my breath away.

Before this summer, my last visit to NYC was a business trip in September 2000.  My husband was in Princeton, New Jersey for a business trip as well so we overlapped the weekend and a couple days either side and partied like we partied in 1999.  Both on expenses accounts, we ate at the best restaurants, drank cocktails and champagne, and saw a few tourist trail highlights.  Mostly, we shopped til we dropped, literally.  We could do that back then:  loads of disposable income for a figure not yet ravaged by the demands of pregnancy and the lethargy of age.

After suitably exhausting our credit cards in the shops on the ground floor of the World Trade Centre, my husband suggested we go to the top floor and enjoy the view.  Being the expert of all things New York, I informed him that a better view was to be from the top of the Empire State Building.  I’d been to the top of the World Trade Centre before during my 35^th birthday celebrations and preferred the less crowded view from midtown.  He reluctantly took my expert opinion and we left.  I promised we would come back some other time.  We never made it back and my promise was broken.

I remember standing outside and looking back up at the buildings and being amazed by their sheer size.  They weren’t beautiful buildings but, holy moly, they were big.   They had a buzz about them.  they looked like they would last forever.

Life took over.  We discovered I was pregnant in October 2000 which put an end to my gallivanting about the globe.  Our next trip was to introduce our newborn son to my family in Texas, Colorado and Missouri in late August/early September 2001.  We were exhausted by the end of the trip and eager to get home.  But fate had other ideas.

Flying out of Kansas City on 9 September, we were delayed due to bad weather in Chicago.  There’s always something going wrong in Chicago.  Don’t fly through there if you can avoid it.  Don’t get me wrong:  I love the city of Chicago but as a hub for flights, it sucks.  Big time.

We eventually arrived in Chicago and raced through the airport just in time to see the door to our boarding gate being closed.  I begged.  I pleaded. I cried.  I made Sebastian cry.  Marc yelled.  But United Airlines would not allow us to board that plane  I whipped out my platinum frequent flyer card (this was back when it meant something) and gave them one of my evil eye looks.  It worked.  Sort of.

The airline staff were very apologetic but they kept going on and on about security requirements and our baggage and blah blah blah.  At one point, they had to pull the airplane back into the gate and remove one piece of luggage because the passenger associated with it had never boarded the plane.  But would they let us on the plane?  Nooooooooo!

We were given vouchers for a hotel at the airport and dinner.  We were even given some nappies for Sebastian.  We made the best of a bad situation and went to the hotel and enjoyed a romantic dinner for 2 (pretending that Sebastian wasn’t sound asleep in his car seat hidden under the table).

On September 10 we boarded the plane with the airlines every assurance that our baggage was on the same flight that we were and would arrive at Heathrow at the same time that we did.  This was a very important point as Marc was scheduled to fly back to Princeton, New Jersey in just a couple days.  His days of gallivanting around the globe hadn’t ended.  We needed his suitcase and most of the contents in them to make the return journey with him.

We landed at London’s Heathrow airport on September 11, 2001 at 6:30 in the morning Greenwich Mean Time (GMT).  At 9:30 am we finally gave up arguing with the airlines about our lost baggage.  United Airlines had absolutely no idea where our luggage was.  We had been assured that they were on the same airplane as we were.  Then we were told they were still on the ground in Chicago.  As the last flights had left Chicago for the day we were promised that our bags would be delivered to our home the next day from the first flight out of Chicago

Defeated we headed home.  We had a doctor’s appointment to get Sebastian his second set of immunizations.  As we parked the car outside the doctor’s surgery, we fleetingly heard on the car radio that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Centre buildings.  As we waited in the queue, I joked with Marc that some flight controller was going to lose his job and we discussed how those buildings had been designed to withstand an airplane collision.  The immediate anxiety associated with my child being jabbed by a large needle took over and we forgot about it.

Upon leaving the doctor’s surgery we heard that another plane had crashed into the other World Trade Centre building.  And this wasn’t some light aircraft.  These were passenger jets.

When we arrived home, I ran inside and left Marc to get Sebastian out of the car.  I turned on CNN and could see both towers before me with smoke coming out of them.  I turned to Marc and said “We’ll never get our luggage back. And you certainly won’t be going to the US tomorrow.

Over the next few hours we watched horrified as people jumped from the burning buildings.  We watched the firefighters rush to and enter the towers.  It was difficult to believe that we weren’t watching a film.  I kept hoping that Bruce Willis would appear or that the broadcast would be interrupted with someone telling us this had all been a mistake and Hollywood’s next blockbuster had accidentally been premiered simultaneously, on every news channel in the world

I kept trying to ring my family.  All the circuits were busy.  No one from the UK could ring the USA.

And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, the South Tower collapsed in on itself.  I fell to the floor of our living room.  It seemed to happen in slow motion.  There was a knock at our front door.  Our neighbor, Karen, had arrived to just say how sorry she was.  Marc let her in and she wept with me on the floor.

Then the North Tower collapsed. And then the smoke and the debris filled all the cameras and we could see no more.  There was no more to see.  It was all gone.  All of it.  All of them.

Another plane was reported to have flown into the Pentagon and mysteriously another plane had crashed into a field in Pennsylvania.  No one knew how many planes had been hijacked and it took a long time to discover the heroic actions of the passengers on that flight that crashed in Pennsylvania. 

At 5 pm (GMT) there was another knock on our door.  A man in a taxi was delivering out luggage.  No one knows where our luggage had been.  And at that moment, I really didn't care.

The airspace over the USA was closed.  Planes all over the world were grounded.  The world to stopped.  The world cried.

Hospitals in New York prepared to treat thousands of injured people but they found so few that the hospital emergency staff was stood down.  Donors of blood were sent home.  The dead do not need blood.

Thousands were reported missing.  Thousands were never found.  In all nearly 3,000 people died in the towers.

I felt helpless.  I felt hopeless.  I wanted to come home.  and I wanted to run away.

I still can’t watch footage of the planes flying into the buildings, or the people jumping out of the wreckage, or the buildings collapsing to the ground without crying.  I can feel my heart race as I recall the terror of those moments and the disbelief of what I was seeing.

There was a part of me that needed to see it to believe it.  As I approached the area where those giants of buildings used to stand I could not only see their absence.  I could feel it.  I could feel the sadness.  I could feel the pain.  It still feels and looks like a bomb site.  I suppose it always will.  I suppose it always should.

As I stood at the fountains and read the names, my tears started to flow.

When I tried to explain to my children what had happened here, my daughter looked up at me and with disbelief she asked, “But, mummy, why would anyone fly airplanes into buildings on purpose?”

Why, indeed?  How do you ever explain that level of hatred to a child?  I still struggle to understand the hatred of a terrorist. 

When we read the names, I tried to explain, that many of them were firefighters who had selflessly entered these burning buildings to save other people.  “Why would anyone go into a burning building to save other people when they might get hurt themselves?” 

Why, indeed?  I struggled then to explain the heroism and the sacrifice of the people who tried to help the helpless. 

When I explained that there were new buildings being built here, she asked me, “Won’t someone just fly more airplanes into them?” 

And then I struggled to explain hope.  For without hope, there can be nothing else.

How the World has Changed

A year or so after I moved to the UK, the Home Office lost my passport. I had sent it to them so that they could insert an extension of my work visa. 3 months later I was still waiting and I needed the passport for a trip to the USA. I had to make an appearance at the US Embassy swearing I was who I said I was and begging for a temporary passport.

This was my first trip to the embassy. It is located just around the corner from where I used to work in a green leafy part of London called Mayfair. The Embassy is considered actual land belonging to the United States of America. So technically, when you are there, you are in America. I thought this was kinda cool. Still do.

I walked in at 9 am and took a number and sat and waited. The waiting room was crowded with all nationalities waiting for numerous services, eg visas to enter the USA, passports for American babies born abroad, lost passport applications. The entire process took just about the entire day. There were no vending machines and I was sooooo thirsty when I left.

The next time I went was after the Home Office returned my original passport and I needed to have it invalidated and my temporary passport made my permanent passport. This visit went much like the previous visit. Although now they had vending machines.

The next visit was with my newborn son, Sebastian. This was a major undertaking for 2 new first time parents, packing up for a whole day. There were no nappy changing facilities and I breast fed off in a corner where I turned the chair against the wall and hung a blanket over my shoulder. One change I noticed that day was that there was a metal detector like they have at airports and we had to carry the pushchair up the stairs. Boy, was I annoyed? It was another all day wait but we managed.

And then 9/11 happened. And the world changed. And the American Embassy changed.

Our next visit was when Abigail was born. We had to make an appointment and queue up for 2 hours outside in January with a new born baby and a 2 1/2 year old. The Embassy was surrounded with 5 feet wide concrete barriers and 12 feet high metal fences topped with barbed wire. More than 25 machine gun armed guards patrolled the perimeter of the building. We had to go through a outside security facility and we had to walk all the way around the building from the security facility to the entrance. Regardless of our appointment we had to take a number and wait with everyone else. This appointment seemed to take longer than any previous visit. Maybe I was just in a bad mood. I had wanted to visit the memorial to the 9/11 victims in the green leafy park next to the Embassy but was so exhausted from the days activities I just wanted to get me and my family home. The good news is they had nappy changing facilities and a private breast feeding area available. Still this was the worst visit EVER!

Today we had to return to the Embassy for the renewal of Sebastian's passport. The outside of the building is still scary and nothing is cool about it. There were more police than I had every seen. I tried to explain to Sebastian that these big scary men carrying guns were there to protect us not shot us. Not sure how convincing I was since I wasn't all that convinced. The Embassy is longer a beautiful building because you can't actually see it anymore. It is surrounded by high metal fences. You cannot bring any electronic devices so no phones. Even Marc electronic key fob for unlocking the car door was confiscated. He had to remove his belt and keep it in a plastic bag until we left. Just like in airports that had to check the bottom of my shoes.

Some improvements have been made. But these also reflect our changing world. There was a separate line for Americans. We went straight through. Americans enter through a different door now. One just opposite the security facility. Our appointment was for 9:30 am and by 11:20 am we were done. They had a little play area for children. The area was clean. But notably, the Americans were kept separate from the other people of the world seeking to enter our country. Not a foreigner to be seen (unless of course, like my husband, they were accompanied by an American).

I feel threatened and saddened by these changes to the Embassy (although I am happy about the reduction in processing time) and to the world. When I was trying to explain to Sebastian the role of the guns, I felt myself choke up at the thought that we live in such a scary world. That I have brought children into this world. That I subject my children to the fears associated with living as a foreigner in a foreign land, although with his posh English accent no one would ever mistake him for an American. No, no, that's his mother's fault. I don't want him to be afraid of the world but at the same time I want him to be vigilant about those around him that want to cause him harm. I want him to learn about the entire world and not just one nation's version of the world. I want him to love the USA and all its promise and potential. I want him to understand the USA is one nation in a world of many, each offering differing perspectives and dangers. This is a tough line to walk. Not sure I did it very well.

But the memorial to the 9/11 victims was very touching from afar. Can't quite bring myself to look at it up close. That would be looking the face of change in the face. Just not there yet.

Air Travel and Luggage

You cannot fly anywhere without any luggage. Well, unless you go for just a day but I can't imagine doing that. You would have to start off way too early in the morning and travel home late at night. Or just fly a short distance. Even then you have to carry a book, or iPod, or in my case a Passport. Perhaps a camera, wallet (with cash and credit cards), oh and do not forget the good old mobile phone. Quite frankly, I am still not sure how men are coping without hand bags these days!

Ever since 9/11, the airlines and more specifically, the companies subcontracted to do airport security and who run the shops in the airports are making loads of money. Sorry, I might get blasted for this but I just don't care.

On my trip to Berlin, I turned up at the airport 2 hours before departure time. Good thing. I might have missed the flight otherwise.

I got into the queue of over 25 people. There were four other queues I could have joined. they were all longer than the queue I joined. I suddenly had a moment of panic that I was in the wrong queue and asked a BA employee if I needed to be in this queue. No, he told me. I could self-service check-in at some kiosks. I got out of the queue, relieved although slightly wary of what I was supposed to do with my luggage after I "self-serviced". I stuck my passport in the designated spot. It was rejected and I was instructed to go to a service desk. I had to rejoin the queue I had been in. Now there were 30 people. No one had actually finished at the front of the queue. 5 more people had joined.

After waiting a very long time, I got my bag checked and thought, hurrah, time to shop in duty free. Carrying my hand bag and my briefcase with my laptop in it, I set off to go through security. I was rejected. I was told that I could not carry a hand bag and a briefcase. I can have 1 piece of carry on luggage not much bigger than a postage stamp. (ALERT: That was a slight exaggeration. Actual size restrictions here.)

So what are my options here? I am not going to leave my hand bag or my briefcase here to be left behind and thrown away. Nor am I going to check either one of these items. I tried to combine them into one but that was a losing battle. And I can't put anything in my suitcase because I have just stood in a very long line for a very long time and checked the darn thing!

So off I go. I stop at the first place that looks like it might have some luggage on sale. They wanted £115 (~$230) for a small duffel bag. Somehow I don't think I can expense that. I carry on looking well aware that my time for shopping is quickly dwindling. On the verge of tears, I find a canvas bag for £15 and snap it up. I cram everything into it.

As I start to pass through the same security zone, the man is yelling something about liquids, bottled drinks and lip gloss. I reply that I don't need anything, thanks! Somehow I don't think that is exactly what he meant. But I am running out of time.

Now I am at the x-ray machine. I have to unpack the canvas bag to get the laptop out to put it through the machine. Then repack it. Then unpack to put the laptop back in. Then repack it. Was this one bag thing supposed to be saving time? Or is it just a way to get under my skin? One queue had to remove their shoes but my queue didn't. Some had to remove their coats. Some didn't. Somehow this whole security thing seemed rather random to me. To make matters worse, there were many women carrying 2 bags: 1 handbag, 1 other bag. Annoyed does not even begin to describe my feelings at this point.

By the time I have finished the security workout, I am sweating and thirsty. I race to a shop to grab a diet coke.....no time for shopping! As I go down the concourse, I pause on the moving sidewalk, open the diet coke, and start quenching my thirst. I reach the end of the moving sidewalk. There is a sign. "No unsealed drinks beyond this point." I have drank exactly 1/3 of my bottle of diet coke and I am now being instructed to throw it away. I am not the only one. A man and woman are standing in front of me, chugging their hot coffees. I drink the whole bottle of diet coke, burp really loud and chuck the bottle into the rubbish bin. They aren't even recycling!

My arm and shoulder is aching because what was nicely balance in 2 bags is now killing me in 1 bag. I have to pee because I've just chugged a whole litre of diet coke and they have already boarded most of the plane. And I'm in a middle seat at the back of the plane.

I am not in a good mood.