What Is Sufism? by Martin Lings

I started reading the Indonesian translation of this book, Apa Itu Tasawuf?, expecting it to be fairly approachable. The title made me think I was getting an introduction, something that would lay out the basic ideas and give me a clearer picture of what Sufism is. I thought I'd get an easy overview I could read with my afternoon tea.

Boy, was I wrong.

From the first chapter, I realized this wasn't going to be that kind of book. One reviewer said it wasn't exactly light reading for a coffee shop, and honestly, I can't disagree. You have to pay attention. There were times I read a paragraph and then went back to the beginning because somehow I'd understood every sentence without quite getting the whole thing. It made me feel dumb sometimes, which I suppose is not the worst thing a book can do to you.

I love that Lings doesn't write about tasawwuf like someone standing outside of it. He was a scholar, but also a practicing Sufi and a student of Frithjof Schuon. You can feel that background in the way he writes. When he describes Sufism as the inward dimension of Islam, rooted in the Qur'an and Sunnah and concerned with the purification of the soul, he's not just giving you a definition. He's talking about something he considers a living tradition.

He starts with this striking image of a tidal wave coming from the Ocean of Infinitude. The wave reaches the shores of our finite world, leaving water in what Lings calls the “consecrated hollows.” Lings uses that water to represent the formal aspect of religion, while the ebbing wave represents the movement of the mystic back towards the Source. I like that the water left behind still has a place in the image. The outward forms of religion still matter. The interesting question is what happens inside the person who practices them, and whether there is an inward movement towards the Source as well.

A lot of what he discusses wasn't new to me. I'd come across many of these ideas before, especially the relationship between outward practice and inward reality. But Lings puts them together in his own way, moving between doctrine, symbolism, spiritual practice, and metaphysics. He doesn't always stop to explain every connection. You have to keep up with him.

That was probably the part I found most interesting. Lings talks about the inward dimension of religion, but I don't think "inward" should mean separate from the outward. Prayer is outward, but it is also supposed to change something in you. Fasting is outward. Dhikr can be something you do with the tongue, but that's not where it ends. You can know the rules, do the practices, and still have a heart that hasn't caught up with any of it. It's not a new idea, but it's an uncomfortable one, and Lings takes it seriously.

Later in the book, Lings takes this further with 'Abd al-Karim al-Jili's image of ice and water. The "eye of ice" sees only ice, while the "Eye of Water" sees water. But the image isn't just about looking beyond appearances. Lings connects the melting of the ice with letting go of our claim to an existence separate from God. I had to read that part slowly.

This is where “heart-wakefulness” comes in. Lings uses it to describe Sufism from the point of view of the person practicing it. The outward practices aren't being thrown away. You can pray, study, make dhikr, work on your character, and do everything you're supposed to do, but are you actually awake to what you're doing? Or have the practices become things you're good at performing? That's a much less comfortable question.

There were also moments when his metaphysical framework was hard to miss, and I wasn't always sure how far I was willing to follow it. I wasn't sure I agreed with everything that followed from it. I wanted to think about some of those ideas a little longer before deciding what I made of them.

I can understand why some readers find his writing too flowery or philosophical. He expects a lot from the reader, and there are passages where his language gets dense enough that I had to reread a sentence just to make sure I'd understood it. I wouldn't recommend this as someone's first introduction to Islam or tasawwuf. It helps to have some familiarity with the ideas he's talking about.

As for the Indonesian translation, I found it clear enough overall, but some of the wording felt a little too literal. There were times when I wasn't sure whether I was struggling with Lings's writing or with the translation. Maybe that's part of why I kept wishing I could check the original English. If I read the book again, I'd probably go with the English version.

But I also wouldn't want him to simplify it too much. I appreciate that Lings takes tasawwuf seriously. He doesn't turn it into a collection of inspirational quotes or a kind of Islamic self-help. He expects you to think, and sometimes to struggle a little. I certainly did.

For all that, I enjoyed the book. Not because it was easy or particularly comforting. There were parts I had to work through, and there were probably things I understood only halfway. But I was glad I read it.

If you're looking for a quick introduction to Sufism, there are probably easier places to start. But if you already have some familiarity with Islam and want to read Lings's take on its spiritual dimension, What Is Sufism? is worth the effort.

4.5/5. Just don't bring it to your coffee break expecting an easy read. I tried that already.

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Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell

​Everyone was talking about Eleanor & Park back in 2013. In bookstores or online, it was one of those books you just couldn’t ignore. It was my first Rainbow Rowell read, and I was trying to find what the hype was about, only to find nothing. I remember picking it up and putting it down again and again, forcing myself to keep going. It took me almost two months to finish. The spark never came. I was more bored than moved.

Here we have Eleanor and Park who are said not like your typical young adult romantic interests. Eleanor is written to be this "different" girl, but the way she’s described feels incredibly lazy. Rowell treats the red hair, the weird clothes, and the poverty like personality traits rather than actual life circumstances. Even the constant threat of violence in her home is used as a narrative shorthand to make her look "edgy" rather than actually exploring how that trauma shapes her. This is pity bait at its finest. This low-effort writing extends to her family, too; her mom is barely there and her siblings only exist as props to make Eleanor’s life look even more miserable. She lacks a soul outside of her own misery because Rowell is so busy making sure she’s a caricature of a victim that she forgets to let her just be human. Eleanor is a walking pile of sad tropes designed to force the reader's sympathy.

Park's storyline quickly fell into uncomfortable stereotypes. He's a half-Korean kid in 80s Midwest, but calling him "Park"—literally a common surname used as a first name—feels like Rowell just picked a random word from a "Korean 101" list and stopped there. She just used it as a marker to say 'look, he's different,' and then did nothing else with it. In a story about heritage, this choice is never explored, much like how Rowell reduces him to clichés like being good at math and doing "taekwando" (which she misspelled taekwondo fourteen times). It makes Eleanor's gaze feel even more like fetishization. She treats his Asian features like some "exotic" ornament rather than a person.

Set in the author's hometown in 1986 Nebraska, this book throws a bunch of 80s references at us. The Walkman, the tapes, the comics, the music. Throwing in all those details feels like a desperate attempt to build an atmosphere, but none of it adds any depth. Rowell was basically name-dropping bands and songs to make it look vintage, but you could take all those references out and the story wouldn't change at all. It’s just an aesthetic choice that never actually becomes part of the story.

What’s even more messed up is how the book shifts between moods. One minute we're in the middle of a nightmare at Eleanor’s house, with the abuse and the constant fear of Richie, and the next we're expected to gush over them holding hands on the bus. Rowell shouldn't be using a girl's trauma just to make us care more about a high school romance. It's cheap. She’s using Richie’s abuse to give the story some 'edge' without actually doing the work.

The dual POV was a mess. The constant POV jumps became more annoying as the plot stalled, and I couldn't buy their voices at all. Eleanor's inner monologue felt like an adult trying way too hard to sound like a quirky troubled teen girl. Even their conversations were painfully awkward. Not in a cute way, but the kind that is hard to get through. At one point, Park asks if it was possible to rape somebody's hand. Then you have Eleanor telling him he makes her feel like a cannibal. 

And the peak of it all:

That’s how good it felt. She was like one of those dogs who’ve tasted human blood and can’t stop biting. A walrus who’s tasted human blood.

Yup. Eating each other's faces.

By the last third, I was completely done. All that back-and-forth and them not being able to communicate was just a flimsy excuse to stretch the story. I stopped caring if they stayed together. Whatever they had, it wasn't love. Just two kids being intense and weird for no reason. Finishing it was a total drag.

I appreciate that Rowell tried to include diversity, but it’s clear she didn’t bother doing any actual research. You can't just throw in a mixed-race character for the sake of "diversity" and then fill their entire existence with vague assumptions. It’s sloppy songwriting in book form. Even Park’s mom is left as a one-dimensional prop. Rowell traps her in a thick accent and broken English, yet never gives her a voice. Despite her history as a woman brought from Korea after the war, she never shares a single story or perspective from her past—as if her identity was completely erased the moment she stepped into Nebraska. She exists as a flat caricature for the white gaze; an accent, not a human being with a memory.

Culture isn’t an accessory. It shouldn’t be some decoration you just throw in to make a romance feel "interesting." I keep thinking about authors like Gene Luen Yang or Jhumpa Lahiri—their characters actually have a life. Identity is the engine there, not just some label for people to stare at. Rowell’s attempt is paper-thin; she’s going through the motions without actually caring. If you’re going to write about a community that isn't yours, at least do the work. Research, respect, or something. Don't just slap on some recycled "exotic" labels and call it a day.

Rowell isn’t the only one doing this. You see the same thing in Twilight or The Mortal Instruments where the love interest is treated as "exotic." But it feels way worse when it’s a real-world POC character. A romance only works if there’s a balanced POV and actual spine, and Eleanor & Park has none of that. It ends up being demeaning and harmful.

I’ll give it one thing, though. The book does catch that shaky feeling of having your first real crush. That part where every little touch feels way too intense. I almost liked it for a second. But a few decent pages can’t save a story filled with shallow characters and cringey dialogue. The ending left me feeling empty. I don't see it as some deep open ending; the author just ran out of things to say. I really don't get the hype. There’s no deeper meaning here, just a lot of cheesy clichés that made me cringe. I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone, not even for curiosity's sake. It’s not worth the energy.

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