Elif Shafak’s novel The Island of Missing Trees, published in 2021, is a story that weaves together personal histories, political conflict, and the quiet wisdom of nature. At its heart lies the divided island of Cyprus, scarred by decades of violence and cultural estrangement. Yet while the novel addresses the weight of history and the trauma of war, it simultaneously focuses on the delicate, intimate threads of human relationships, love, and memory.
This duality—political and intimate, collective and personal—gives the book its resonance and makes it one of Shafak’s most striking works. Through innovative narrative techniques, the novel demonstrates how large-scale political conflict becomes deeply entangled with the private experiences of individuals and families.
The backdrop of Cyprus and historical trauma
The political dimension of the novel cannot be separated from its setting. Cyprus, divided between Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots since the 1970s, represents the physical manifestation of political rupture. Shafak does not shy away from depicting the brutal violence, massacres, and displacements that fractured communities. The novel reminds readers that political conflicts are not abstract—they leave behind graves, broken families, and silenced histories. By foregrounding this backdrop, Shafak situates the story in a context where political decisions and ethnic divisions shape the destinies of ordinary people, emphasizing the interconnection between national history and private lives.
The love story as a defiance of politics
At the center of the narrative is the forbidden love between Kostas, a Greek Cypriot, and Defne, a Turkish Cypriot. Their relationship is not merely romantic but inherently political, since it defies the communal divisions imposed by war and prejudice. The lovers risk ostracism and violence simply by being together, making their intimacy an act of resistance. In this way, Shafak highlights how political borders infiltrate even the most private aspects of life, dictating whom one can love and how one can live. The relationship embodies the tension between personal desire and political restriction, underscoring the cost of both love and division.
The fig tree as a narrator and symbol
One of the novel’s most original features is the use of a fig tree as a narrator. Growing in a tavern where Kostas and Defne once met, and later transplanted to London, the tree offers a perspective that transcends human conflict. Trees, as silent witnesses to history, embody continuity and resilience, reminding readers that nature often endures where human societies fracture. The fig tree’s narration bridges the political and the intimate: it recalls massacres and ecological destruction while also reflecting on the quiet details of human love, grief, and belonging. This narrative device allows Shafak to link the personal and the political through a voice that is both otherworldly and deeply rooted in the earth.
Intergenerational memory and the politics of silence
Another way the novel balances politics and intimacy is through its exploration of intergenerational trauma. The story follows not only Kostas and Defne but also their daughter, Ada, who grows up in London largely unaware of her family’s history. Her parents’ silence, born out of trauma and a desire to protect her, leaves Ada struggling with feelings of displacement and loss. This dynamic illustrates how political violence reverberates within the most intimate family relationships, shaping communication, identity, and belonging. Shafak highlights the tension between silence as survival and silence as erasure, showing how unspoken histories can fracture families as profoundly as war divides nations.
Exile, diaspora, and the personal cost of displacement
Much of the novel unfolds in London, where Kostas and Defne seek refuge from the turmoil of Cyprus. Here, Shafak captures the intimate struggles of exile: the longing for home, the challenges of assimilation, and the quiet grief of cultural loss. These personal experiences are inseparable from the political realities that force people to leave their homelands. By focusing on how displacement shapes daily life—what language is spoken at home, what food is eaten, how memories are shared—Shafak ties the geopolitical directly to the personal. Exile becomes not just a political outcome but an emotional landscape where intimacy is reshaped by absence and nostalgia.
Ecology and the politics of survival
The novel’s ecological dimension adds yet another layer to its duality. The destruction of the island’s environment—uprooted trees, ruined orchards, and poisoned soil—mirrors the violence inflicted on its people. By giving the fig tree a voice, Shafak suggests that political conflicts are never confined to humans alone; they ripple through ecosystems. Yet the tree also symbolizes resilience, offering a form of continuity that transcends human strife. On an intimate level, Kostas’s care for the fig tree in London becomes an act of love and memory, a way to keep both his homeland and his relationship with Defne alive. Ecology here becomes both political and personal, bridging global concerns with private acts of care.
The role of storytelling in healing
Shafak places great emphasis on storytelling as a means of survival and healing. Ada’s discovery of her family’s past, mediated by the stories of relatives and the fig tree itself, illustrates how narrative fills the gaps left by silence. On a political level, storytelling preserves the memories of those silenced by history, ensuring that atrocities and injustices are not forgotten. On an intimate level, it helps Ada come to terms with her identity, reconnecting her with her parents and her cultural roots. Through storytelling, Shafak shows how the personal and the political intertwine, making memory an act of both resistance and reconciliation.
Balancing tenderness with brutality
One of the reasons The Island of Missing Trees feels both political and intimate is Shafak’s ability to balance tenderness with brutality. Graphic descriptions of violence are juxtaposed with quiet scenes of love and family life. The political horrors of division are set against the small joys of food, friendship, and nature. This interplay emphasizes that even in the harshest contexts, intimate moments persist and carry meaning. Shafak suggests that personal tenderness is not separate from political conflict but exists within it, offering a counterpoint to violence and despair.
A novel that lives in dualities
Ultimately, The Island of Missing Trees is a novel defined by dualities: Greek and Turkish, past and present, love and loss, politics and intimacy. Shafak refuses to reduce her story to one dimension, instead weaving together the public and the private, the historical and the emotional. The novel demonstrates that political divisions leave deep marks on personal lives, while personal relationships can defy and even transcend political boundaries. Its power lies in showing that the intimate is always political, and the political is always intimate, each shaping and reshaping the other in the fragile lives of those who endure conflict and displacement.
Where politics meets the heart
What makes Shafak’s novel so resonant is its ability to hold together the vastness of history and the smallness of everyday life. By narrating both the brutality of Cyprus’s division and the tenderness of a forbidden love, by voicing both the trauma of exile and the quiet resilience of a fig tree, Shafak creates a story that is simultaneously political and intimate. In doing so, she reminds readers that behind every border and every conflict lie human beings whose private joys and sorrows carry as much weight as the historical forces shaping their world.
