Laila Lalami

My review of Marjane Satrapi’s graphic novel Chicken with Plums appears in today’s Boston Globe. Here’s an excerpt:

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to Satrapi’s many dedicated fans that she has mined her family’s rich history again. In “Persepolis,” she told of her coming of age in Iran, during the Islamic Revolution and the long, bloody war with Iraq. In “Persepolis 2,” she wrote of her teenage life in Austria, where her parents sent her so she could finish high school away from the constant harassments of the mullahs. In “Embroideries,” she recounted an afternoon tea party at her grandmother’s house, and used it to create an eye-opening portrait of sexual relations in modern-day Iran. Now she gives us the story of her great-uncle, turning it into a meditation on art and love, and the necessity of both to any life worth living.

You can read it all here.

One of the pleasures of living in Casablanca is having easy access to books by Moroccan writers (or indeed by anyone who writes in Arabic or French or anyone translated in these languages.) So when I heard that Fouad Laroui had a new book out, an essay collection titled De L’islamisme, I popped into the Carrefour des Livres to pick up a copy. They were sold out. No problem, I thought, and I went over to Livre Service. They were sold out, too. I had to call two or three other bookstores before I could locate one copy (one!) at Gauthier Livres. (Coincidentally, the last remaining copy was set up next to a stack of The Caged Virgin by Ayaan Hirsi Ali.)

I stayed up until midnight last night to finish De L’islamisme. It’s enormously readable, it has lots of humor (just like Laroui’s novels), and it manages to bring a few fresh perspectives on a topic that has been beaten half to death. Laroui’s background in science also comes in handy as he deconstructs some of the ridiculous claims made by religious extremists, crackpot scientists, and other assorted imbeciles. My one complaint about the book is that it does not have source notes or a bibliography. For instance, Laroui writes things like “Voici ce que nous dit un commentateur,” but doesn’t always say who he has in mind, and I am not so well-read as to figure it out each time. I need names, dates, publications! It’s otherwise a very enjoyable book, a well-crafted mix of memoir and objective analysis that never gets precious or heavy.

Ahdaf Soueif’s new book, a collection of short stories titled I Think Of You, comes out in March in the United States. I was slightly disappointed when I found out that the pieces in this book have all been previously published, either in Soueif’s first collection Aicha (1983), or in her second, Sandpiper (1996). Those books were not published in the United States, though, and in any case they are somewhat hard to find through online booksellers, so this new collection, which culls the best stories from both, makes perfect sense. I recommend, in particular, the stories “1964,” “I Think Of You,” and “Sandpiper.”

This week I am reading C. R. Pennell’s Morocco Since 1830. The text could have used a more thorough editing (pronoun references are a bit sloppy, for instance) but I am finding the book very instructive. It’s also depressing, quite frankly, to read about the period during which the country fell slowly and surely under foreign control. I hope to finish it this week, and move on to something a bit more literary.

The latest issue of the Boston Review includes my essay about writing in a non-native language, looking specifically at Sayed Kashua’s novels Let It Be Morning and Dancing Arabs. Here’s an excerpt:

Those who write fiction in a language other than their own are often asked what motivates their decision, even though this literary choice has a long and rich history. Joseph Conrad, for instance, did not write in Polish, his mother tongue; instead, and after 20 years of world travel, he settled in England and embraced its language in his work. Milan Kundera chose French rather than Czech for his later books because he wanted to free himself of expectations and censorship. Elias Canetti, whose native language is Ladino, opted for German, though he lived most of his life in England and Switzerland. But for others, the decision to give up their mother tongue was not a choice at all. It was the inescapable result of colonial education—witness, for example, the vast literature in French that came out of Africa in the wake of France’s century of hegemony: Assia Djebbar, Tahar Ben Jelloun, Camara Laye, and Léopold Sedar Senghor, to name just a handful.

What is striking about these shifting linguistic allegiances is that they tend to favor the language that is culturally dominant on the international scene. Thus, despite the great diversity of reasons for writing in a foreign language, the writer’s choice is often interpreted as a political statement, and in particular as a form of capitulation. This was precisely what prompted the Kenyan novelist Ngugi wa Thiong’o to abandon English and return to Gikuyu, his native tongue, and what led him to argue, in Decolonizing the Mind, that other African writers should do the same.

But does creative expression in a foreign language always equal the rejection of native culture and the embrace of another? Or can it also be a way to challenge readers’ assumptions? The work of the young novelist Sayed Kashua raises just these questions.

Read the rest here.

My review of Alison Bechdel’s graphic memoir Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic, appeared in the Boston Globe this past weekend. Here is an excerpt:

Alison Bechdel’s “Fun Home” is a brilliant and bittersweet graphic memoir that chronicles the author’s relationship with her formidably troubled father, Bruce. The book takes its title from the funeral home that Bruce inherited and ran. In his spare time, he restored the family’s 1867 Gothic Revival house. Giving a semblance of life to dead bodies and returning its lost splendor to an old home — Bruce was obviously obsessed with appearances. “He used his skillful artifice not to make things, but to make things appear to be what they were not,” Bechdel writes. The deceit lasts for many years; only when Bechdel is in college does she find out that her father is gay.

You can read the rest here.

I was only about thirty pages into Hisham Matar’s In The Country of Men, and was looking forward to the rest, when somehow I managed to leave my copy under my seat on the plane from London. So now I am back to my summer reading list. I’m well into Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss, and enjoying it tremendously. At first, I was slightly put off by the jagged narrative, but Desai’s observations are so sharp and her voice so clear that I quickly got past that and I am now having a great time. A marvelous piece of work. More on it soon, I hope.

Thanks to Christopher Hitchens’ column in Slate, we have all heard about Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s “arresting and hypnotizing beauty” and we have been urged “to go out and buy” The Caged Virgin. But if you’d rather read a critical review of the book, perhaps you might be interested in my essay in the June 19th issue of The Nation. The piece is about the ever-popular topic of “Women and Islam”™ and specifically addresses Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s The Caged Virgin and Irshad Manji’s The Trouble With Islam Today. Here’s an excerpt:

These days, being a Muslim woman means being saddled with what can only be referred to as the “burden of pity.” The feelings of compassion that we Muslim women seem to inspire emanate from very distinct and radically opposed currents: religious extremists of our own faith, and evangelical and secular supporters of empire in the West.

Radical Islamist parties claim that the family is the cornerstone of society and that women, by virtue of their reproductive powers, are its builders. An overhaul of society must therefore begin with reforming the status of women, and in particular with distinguishing clearly their roles from those of men. Guided by their “true” interpretations of the faith, these radicals want women to resume their traditional roles of nurturers and men to be empowered to lead the family. If we protect women’s rights in Islam, they assure us, the umma, the community of believers, will be lifted from its general state of poverty and backwardness.

Sayyid Qutb (1906-66), the Egyptian writer and activist who has exerted such a powerful influence over the radical Islamist movement, fervently believed that Muslim women belonged in the home. In his 1964 book Ma’alim fi al-Tariq (Milestones), Qutb wrote that “if woman is freed from her basic responsibility of bringing up children” and, whether on her own or by pressure from society, seeks to work in jobs such as “a hostess or a stewardess in a hotel or ship or air company,” she will be “using her ability for material productivity rather than the training of human beings.” This, he claimed, would make the entire civilization “backward.” The misogynistic philosophy has proved enticing, finding advocates among Muslims throughout the world. Between 1989 and 1991, for instance, Abbassi Madani, the red-bearded founder of the Algerian Islamic Salvation Front Party (FIS), often referred to women who refused to cover themselves with a hijab as “sparrow hawks of neocolonialism.” His co-founder, Ali Belhadj, claimed that there was a simple solution to the country’s high unemployment rate: turn over the jobs of working women to idle men. Madani summarized his program: “The system is sick; the doctor is FIS; and the medicine has existed for fourteen centuries. It is Islam.” Reducing Algerian women to birds of prey, and their faith to a pill: These are good indicators of the depth of intellect within the leadership of the FIS.

Meanwhile, the abundant pity that Muslim women inspire in the West largely takes the form of impassioned declarations about “our plight”–reserved, it would seem, for us, as Christian and Jewish women living in similarly constricting fundamentalist settings never seem to attract the same concern. The veil, illiteracy, domestic violence, gender apartheid and genital mutilation have become so many hot-button issues that symbolize our status as second-class citizens in our societies. These expressions of compassion are often met with cynical responses in the Muslim world, which further enrages the missionaries of women’s liberation. Why, they wonder, do Muslim women not seek out the West’s help in freeing themselves from their societies’ retrograde thinking? The poor things, they are so oppressed they do not even know they are oppressed.

The sympathy extended to us by Western supporters of empire is nothing new. In 1908 Lord Cromer, the British consul general in Egypt, declared that “the fatal obstacle” to the country’s “attainment of that elevation of thought and character which should accompany the introduction of Western civilization” was Islam’s degradation of women. The fact that Cromer raised school fees and discouraged the training of women doctors in Egypt, and in England founded an organization that opposed the right of British women to suffrage, should give us a hint of what his views on gender roles were really like. Little seems to have changed in the past century, for now we have George W. Bush, leader of the free world, telling us, before invading Afghanistan in 2001, that he was doing it as much to free the country’s women as to hunt down Osama bin Laden and Mullah Omar. Five years later, the Taliban are making a serious comeback, and the country’s new Constitution prohibits any laws that are contrary to an austere interpretation of Sharia. Furthermore, among the twenty-odd reasons that were foisted on the American public to justify the invasion of Iraq in 2003 was, of course, the subjugation of women; this, despite the fact that the majority of Iraqi women were educated and active in nearly all sectors of a secular public life. Three years into the occupation, the only enlightened aspect of Saddam’s despotic rule has been dismantled: Facing threats from a resurgent fundamentalism, both Sunni and Shiite, many women have been forced to quit their jobs and to cover because not to do so puts them in harm’s way. Why Mr. Bush does not advocate for the women of Thailand, the women of Botswana or the women of Nepal is anyone’s guess.

This context–competing yet hypocritical sympathies for Muslim women–helps to explain the strong popularity, particularly in the post-September 11 era, of Muslim women activists like Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Irshad Manji and the equally strong skepticism with which they are met within the broad Muslim community. These activists are passionate and no doubt sincere in their criticism of Islam. But are their claims unique and innovative, or are they mostly unremarkable? Are their conclusions borne out by empirical evidence, or do they fail to meet basic levels of scholarship? The casual reader would find it hard to answer these questions, because there is very little critical examination of their work. For the most part, the loudest responses have been either hagiographic profiles of these “brave” and “heroic” women, on the one hand, or absurd and completely abhorrent threats to the safety of these “apostates” and “enemies of God,” on the other.

You can read the rest of the review here.

My review of Meg Mullins’ The Rug Merchant appeared in the Washington Post Book World this past weekend. Here’s an excerpt:

The Rug Merchant is based on a short story by the same name that appeared in the Iowa Review and was later anthologized in Best American Short Stories (2002). The delicate, subtle style that highlighted that work can frequently be found in the novel. But the long form also reveals shortcomings in the consistency of the narrator’s voice. In addition, Mullins appears to have trouble creating full lives for her characters. Although we hear that Ushman has a successful business, we never see him interact with any clients except Mrs. Roberts. He never chats with a neighbor, doesn’t meet any friends, doesn’t have any employees. Indeed, the only relationships he appears to have are those that serve the plot.

The Rug Merchant chronicles one man’s relationship with two very different women — one a friend, the other a lover — and the more successful rendering is the least romantic. Ushman’s friendship with Mrs. Roberts reveals a darker and affecting side to both of them, a touch that remains missing from the love affair with Stella. This imbalance makes the world that Mullins has created engaging, but not fully rewarding.

You can read it in full here.

My review of Amitav Ghosh’s Incendiary Circumstances appeared in the Sunday Oregonian. Here’s an excerpt:

Amitav Ghosh’s latest book, Incendiary Circumstances: A Chronicle of the Turmoil of Our Times, is a collection of essays — reportage, political commentary, travel articles and even a few pieces of literary criticism. (Don’t run, this is actually pretty good.) The essays were written over a period of nearly 20 years, and the book opens with the most recent, “The Town by the Sea,” which describes Ghosh’s trip to the Andaman Islands only a few days after the tsunami struck South Asia in December of 2004. It closes with the oldest, “The Imam and the Indian,” in which Ghosh writes of how he engaged in a game of verbal bidding with an imam over which of their countries, Egypt or India, is the rightful heir to the West in terms of “guns and tanks and bombs.”

The unifying theme here is the question that looms over writers in this age, or any other age, for that matter: how to write about the world, about its turmoil and violence, without “allowing your work to become complicit with the subject.” The only answer, Ghosh suggests, is for “those who deal in words [to] pay scrupulous attention to what they say.”

Read the rest of it here.