Partway through “One Hundred and One Nights,” an American-educated Iraqi doctor reduced to selling mobile phone cards finds himself dreaming about the meaning of war. Although he’s asleep, he has the sense that his insights may be close to genius: “Nothing is rhinoceros big and quicksandy and compelling, as the newspapers will have you believe,” he thinks. “War is not big speeches and credos. It is man and man and woman and woman and child, oblivious to everything except the basics of joy and hunger and thirst and inquiry.”
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