The Island of Missing Trees

Elif Shafak’s "The Island of Missing Trees" isn’t your typical historical romance or political novel. It’s a story told through tangled roots—both literal and metaphorical—of love, loss, and identity set against the bloody backdrop of Cyprus’s division in the 1970s. At its core, it’s about Kostas, a Greek Cypriot botanist, and Defne, a Turkish Cypriot archaeologist, whose forbidden love blossoms in a time and place where such things were more than just frowned upon; they were dangerous. But here’s the twist: much of their story is witnessed and narrated by a fig tree planted in a local taverna, a silent observer rooted in the island’s soil, carrying centuries of history and secrets.

Decades after Kostas and Defne’s affair, their daughter Ada lives in London, wrestling with a fractured sense of self. She’s caught between cultures, histories, and the weight of a family past she barely understands. Ada’s journey is as much about discovering who she is as it is about uncovering the stories her parents left behind—stories of love, betrayal, and survival.

Shafak uses the fig tree narration not just as a quirky gimmick but as a profound symbol of resilience and continuity. The tree’s perspective reminds us that history isn’t just about dates and battles; it’s about the lives shaped by those events, the scars left behind, and the hope that still clings stubbornly to life. The fig tree doesn’t just witness Kostas and Defne’s love but also the island’s political turmoil, the violence that splits communities, and the long shadow those events cast over generations.

The novel digs into themes of identity with a scalpel rather than a sledgehammer. It doesn’t offer neat answers about belonging or cultural loyalty. Instead, it presents the messy, painful realities of a divided island and the diaspora it created. Ada’s struggle to reconcile her Greek and Turkish Cypriot heritage speaks to anyone who’s ever felt caught between worlds, whether by history, politics, or family secrets.

Shafak’s storytelling shines brightest in how she blends the personal with the political. The Cyprus conflict isn’t just a backdrop; it’s an active force shaping every character’s destiny. And yet, the novel refuses to simplify the conflict into good guys versus bad guys. Instead, it shows how ordinary people get caught in the crossfire, how love and hate can be two sides of the same coin, and how the past refuses to stay buried.

That said, the fig tree’s voice, while poetic and original, sometimes toes the line of anthropomorphism in a way that might pull readers out of the story. It’s a bold narrative choice that works for some but feels a bit too whimsical for others, especially when the novel’s historical weight demands a firmer grip on reality. Also, if you don’t know much about Cyprus’s history, you might find the political context dense or confusing at times, though Shafak does her best to weave it naturally into the narrative.

In the end, "The Island of Missing Trees" is a bittersweet meditation on what it means to belong—to a place, to a family, to a history that’s not always proud or pretty. It’s about the roots we inherit and the ones we choose to grow. For readers willing to wade into a story where love is both a refuge and a battleground, Shafak offers a richly textured, emotionally resonant novel that stays with you long after the last page.