Bringing 'Civilization' to the Kingdom of Wasabia: A New Satire Takes On the World's 'No-Fun Zone'

Florence of Arabia by Christopher Buckley. Random House (2004).

By Jim Cullen

Whatever your politics, you have to be hopeful about any new book by a man whose best novel, Thank You for Smoking, features a tobacco-lobbyist protagonist who defies logic and manages to be both hilarious and sympathetic at the same time. Long since emerged from the shadow of his National Review founding father, Christopher Buckley has established himself as a gadfly in his own right – and, more satisfyingly, as the nation’s pre-eminent satirist – in his pieces for the New Yorker and his subsequent Little Green Men, which skewers the conservative talk show and alien abduction industries, and No Way to Treat a First Lady, about a thinly disguised playboy president. Now, in Florence of Arabia, he takes on the Arab Middle East.

Our heroine this time is American State Dept. flack Florence Farfaletti, who in a previous life made the mistake of marrying a charming Muslim desert prince who decided he’d rather have a harem than be a monogamous husband. When one of the desperate wives of Prince Bawad of Wasabia (not hard to decode that one) flees her gilded cage in Washington, she calls Florence for help. Alas, Florence is unable to save her from her fate, and in the tragic aftermath of the incident draws up an audacious plan: to launch a television network for women in the tiny emirate of Matar (pronounced “mutter”), whose broadcasts will reach fundamentalist Wasabia.

Florence’s boss considers the plan insane, but when a mysterious government benefactor named “Uncle Sam” comes forward with cash and logistics, she’s able to proceed with her plan with the help of her gay State Dept. sidekick, a CIA swashbuckler, and PR man Rick Reynard (who figures in other Buckley fiction).

Needless to say, Florence’s network, and shows like A Thousand and One Mornings, in which women get self-defense tips for parrying corporal punishment-minded husbands are an instant hit – and an instant source of outrage. The merry band of misfits are plunged into the fratricidal politics of Matar, which wobbles between Western intriguers and imams who plot a coup against the government in the hope of making it a Wasabi satellite. Along the way, we witness the intrigues of a vizier named Fetish, read a faux history of the Middle East in the twenties entitled Let's Put Iraq Here, and Lebanon Over There, and follow international news coverage of stonings from smuggled tapes. Yet the most lively part of the novel may well be the witty repartee between the characters. Typical is this exchange between Florence and her gay friend George, in dialogue that's like a cross between Woody Allen and Noel Coward:

"A lot of these women are perfectly content, you know [George tells Florence]. I'll bet half of them like wearing the veil and being put on a pedestal."

"Some pedestal. How would you like it?"

"Living in a society that considered me a second-class citizen and restricted my rights? Let me get back to you on that."

"'All that is required for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing.' Edmund Burke."

"'If you run away, you live to run away another day.' Mel Brooks."

"I can't do this without you, George. It's going to be fun."

"No it's going to be a nightmare. And I'm going to be in it."

Naturally, they don't call the whole thing off.

Florence of Arabia is not a great novel. It's not even a great Christopher Buckley novel. For one thing, the characters are relatively flat, lacking the nuances that are difficult, yet possible, in satire. Then there is the not-small matter of a distinct lack of positive male Arab characters, the best of whom are cheerfully amoral. The Muslim women, notably Florence's partner in crime, Princess Laila, married to the feckless emir Gazzir, get gentle treatment; by Wahhabi standards, Buckley comes off as a passionate feminist. There are whole categories of characters, like the derisively named "moolahs" and "mukfellas" who are ridiculed for their cynicism (when they're not mindless). The Americans, by contrast, are portrayed as well intentioned hegemons who are often maladroit; the too-clever-by-half French, by contrast, are hoist by their own petard.

Of course, none of this is coincidental: humor notwithstanding, Buckley is a moralist, and would no doubt openly avow the indictment he makes of fundamentalist Islam as well as the decadence of archaic Arab monarchies. Moreover, he's a moralist of a particular kind. Since religion figures largely in the plot as well as themes of the novel, it may be worth specifying Buckley has a decisively Catholic moral vision, identifying man-made evils without ever quite demanding or expecting reform, as a Protestant or secular writer (the two have a way of converging) might. As one character remarks late in the story, "one way or another, Florence, we all work for investment bankers." This takes some of the edge off his polemic: the question is not who is the sinner, but how much. Random House may be indulging in fuzzy math when it claims in the jacket copy that the novel is "sure to offend the few it doesn't delight." More than a few readers of this publication in particular may find themselves less than wholly delighted. But it would be hard to read Florence of Arabia and not be usefully provoked.

Jim Cullen teaches at the Ethical Culture Fieldston School in New York City. His most recent book is The American Dream (Oxford). He is also the creator of the website American History for Cynical Beginners.