On a warm April morning in 2004, I travelled out to Whitechapel in the East End of London to meet a young Englishman named Sulayman Keeler (formerly Simon Keeler) who was a recent convert to Islam. He was stocky with sharp eyes and a sparse, sandy beard, and was a leading member of the radical Islam…
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‘He had not eaten today nor had he drunk. He would wait until the craving had passed, then allow himself to do both when it became a choice, not a lost battle in his long war against the base needs of the body.’
‘It was, she thought, like trying on made-to-measure garments that have been tailored for someone bigger, smaller, rounder, thinner than you could ever hope to be.’
‘The church has no thoughts. The church is brick and glass. If they ever slept there, they would see that.’
Americans, speaking of foreign lands, often say, 'It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.'
