Like in books. The only way their story can be told is the way they want to tell it. Like a fairy tale. The Fig Tree is an ambitious undertaking. It is multigenerational in the sense that we all exist within the framework of those who came before us and those who will follow.
Here the central concern is that of the narrator, Jadran Dizdar, a man in his 30s who is, it seems, adrift within his own life. His grandfather has just died, perhaps under curious circumstances, his father has been gone for many years, his mother is bitter and resentful, and his wife has just walked out on him and their young son.
He is trying to make sense of himself by coming to understand the decisions and actions of those around him. But is he avoiding asking the questions only he can answer? Arriving from Ljubljana in Slovenia, the newcomer bears a Serbian name and birthplace, but his heritage is complicated and uncertain.
He soon takes a fancy to the nearby village of Momjan where, against the concerns of his pregnant wife, Jana, he decides to build a homeβthe house where they will raise their two daughters, and where one day the garden will be graced by a huge fig tree. It is also where the very next chapter opens.
As a novel focused on family dynamics, it is natural that relationshipsβespecially those between husbands and wives, parents and childrenβshould be the primary focus of The Fig Tree.
