Contemporary Arab Fiction

Innovation from Rama to Yalu

Fabio Caiani

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2007
• ISBN:
  9781134121694
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Literarische Sammlungen

This book introduces Western readers to some of the most significant novels written in Arabic since 1979. Despite their contribution to the development of contemporary Arabic fiction, these authors remain largely unknown to non-Arab readers.

Fabio Caiani examines the work of the Moroccan Muhammad Barrada; the Egyptian Idwar al-Kharrat; the Lebanese Ilyas Khuri and the Iraqi Fu'ad al-Takarli. Their most significant novels were published between 1979 and 2002, a period during which their work reached literary maturity. They all represent pioneering literary trends compared to the novelistic form canonized in the influential early works of Naguib Mahfouz. Until now, some of their most innovative works have not been analyzed in detail – this book fills that gap.

Relying on literary theory and referring to comparative examples from other literatures, this study places its findings within a wider framework, defining what is meant by innovation in the Arabic novel, and the particular socio-political context in which it appears. This book will significantly enrich the existing critical literature in English on the contemporary Arabic novel.

1
INTRODUCTION

On literary innovation (part 1)

In 1997, the May/June issue of the prestigious Lebanese literary magazine al-Ādāb was dedicated to the topic of experimentation and innovation in the Arabīc novel.¹ In his brief introduction, editor-in-chief Samāh Idrīs first explains that he wants this special issue to deal with the ‘new’ and the ‘lively’ in the Arabīc novel through an analysis of specific examples, instead of relying on Western literary theories. He then adds that the impressive response of readers, writers and critics to such topics² shows a growing interest in new novelistic styles which, unlike old techniques, keeps abreast with a life which has become unpredictable, quickly changing (Idrīs 1997: 19).

Our approach to the same topic (innovation within the realm of contemporary Arabīc fiction) has some features in common with Idrīs’s: in particular, we will rely on a close textual analysis of certain novels which present significant innovative features. However, we will also refer to literary theories and draw parallels between the Arabīc novels studied and non-Arabīc fictional texts.

The focus of this study is a number of novels published in recent decades (the first in 1979, the last in 2002)³ which were written by Arab authors of different nationalities who, according to most critics (Arab and Western scholars of modern Arabīc fiction), have significantly contributed to innovation in the Arabīc novel in the period under consideration. The Iraqi novelist Fu^ɔād al-Takarlī (b. 1927, Baghdad) has received less critical attention than others and the innovative elements in his work (wrongly but maybe inevitably, as will be shown in the following section) have often been overlooked. The other main writers whose work is analysed here are Idwār al-Kharrāṭ (b. 1926, Alexandria), Ilyās Khūrī (b. 1948, Beirut) and Muhammad Barrāda (b. 1938, Rabat).⁴

This study aims at filling a gap in the field of criticism (in English) of the contemporary Arabīc novel. The gap is both quantitative and qualitative. First of all, studies in English focusing on writers of the preceding generations, dominated by Naguib Mahfouz (1911–2006), outnumber those on the generation of writers under consideration here. More importantly, it is evident that Arabīc fiction is today often read by Western academic and non-academic readers alike for extra-literary reasons. In other words, Arabīc novels are usually read (often in translation) and analysed not as works of art in their own right but because they are seen as interesting documents from diverse points of view: anthropological, socio-political, feminist,⁵ historical and so on. Of course, all of these approaches are legitimate and all can add something substantial to our understanding of Arab societies, as well as enriching their parent disciplines. Nonetheless, if the literary, artistic and technical elements in these novels are overlooked, then their most crucial aspect is not taken into account. These works all deal with social, political and historical phenomena but they do so quite differently to, say, history books, journalistic articles or academic essays.⁶ The difference is the form the author has decided to give them and this form is that of a novel, a work of fiction which we should evaluate by considering how a specific form gives life to a specific content. In other words, we will consider the aesthetics of these works, relying on a close textual analysis of technical aspects such as narrative voice, structure, style, and mood. The present study is therefore divided into chapters dedicated explicitly to formal aspects of the novels read. According to our reading, the most significantly innovative aspects of these texts are

1. narrative fragmentation;
2. polyphony;
3. intertextuality and
4. metafiction.

To each of these literary aspects corresponds a more or less well formulated corpus of critical material (developed mainly in the West) – in some cases a theory of literature, in others only a critical method. We will refer to this material throughout this work. For example, once we acknowledge that a common feature of many texts analysed is the presence of more than one narrative voice, it is impossible for us to ignore what M. M. Bakhtin and other Western critics have written about this literary phenomenon. Nevertheless, our dependence on these works (and the general critical concepts they generate) means neither that we will rigidly apply the critical methods employed by Western scholars engaging with similar formal aspects, nor that we will necessarily reach the same conclusions.⁷ We simply found these general and much debated concepts useful as starting points from which to carry out a rigorous formal analysis of the novels and a discussion of their contents. This analysis is obviously our main goal, but we also aim to define as clearly as possible what we mean by these critical concepts, which are often referred to in discussions of Arabīc fiction without being properly defined.

Moreover, we have deliberately chosen the general term content as opposed to more specific words such as message or meaning because we believe that the obsessive search for a message in a novel (and more generally in a work of art) can be dangerously misleading: if in a novel the message is not clearly spelled out (and it rarely is), readers can easily find what they wish to find; once this message is found (or once the more sophisticated reader’s theory or ideology is confirmed), it is easy to dismiss the other features of the work as insubstantial ornaments – mere embellishments. We believe that a literary approach, more than any other perhaps, helps the reader of fiction to avoid such mistakes and simplifications. To resist the tyranny of the message does not mean to disregard the content of a novel: none of the novels here considered is an exercise in pure form, devoid of any connection with its non-fictional context. This content, or more accurately the raison d’être of a novel, could well be something very different from a straightforward message (and in the best fiction it usually is). We are thinking here of those authors who deform their fictional texts in order to make political statements. This is not to say that all authors who deal with political issues in their fiction or even explicitly articulate political discourses are doomed to failure. The problem arises when the political element emerges as an alien feature which has been artificially introduced and does not have much to do with the surrounding fictional text.⁸ We will discuss this later, giving examples of successful and unsuccessful political arguments made through fictional texts and, in the final chapter of this study, we will draw our conclusions on the argument. Here it will suffice to refer to the ideas of two novelists about literature and art in general. Al-Kharrāṭ writes in an article about commitment in art (referring to his own experience as an Arab writer of fiction) that a truly artistic experience is ‘a striving towards knowledge’. According to him, literature should be there to ask questions (as we strive towards knowledge), rather than to provide answers. He then says that literary works should fulfil this questioning task in an artistic fashion: they should not conform to a political cause (Kharrāṭ 2001). The Czech novelist Milan Kundera writes: ‘I have always, deeply, violently, detested those who look for a position (political, philosophical, religious, whatever) in a work of art rather than searching it for an effort to know, to understand, to grasp this or that aspect of reality’ (Kundera 1993: 91).

‘Aspect of reality’ is a crucial phrase for our study. As seen earlier, S. Idrīs too refers to novels which strive to deal with real life: for all their innovative and, at times, radical features, these novels primarily engage with their wider socio-political context (the notable exception is, as we will see, a novel which promotes an inward, self-referential discourse). Again, we read in Kundera that ‘apprehending the real world is part of the definition of the novel’ (Kundera 1993: 53), but we could have cited many other critics and writers to confirm that the novel, despite its self-referential elements, is mainly concerned with the world in which we live (according to Bakhtin the concern with the present is one of the features which separates the novel from the epic: cf. the essay ‘Epic and Novel’ in Bakhtin 1975: 3–40). This is certainly the case with the novels we have studied: the metaphor of art as a mirror held up to the world is generally still valid (although it is often questioned), even if at times the mirror which the innovative Arabīc novel holds up has two glasses – one reflecting the world and the other itself and its own history, with references to the non-Arabīc novel and the Arab literary heritage. The nature of such texts seems to be further enriched (and complicated) by a necessity born out of certain socio-political circumstances typical of the Arab world.

We will see how literary innovations and representations of reality are at times paired with a preoccupation with historiography. In her book on the connection between history and fiction in the works of the Egyptian novelists Mahfouz, Jamāl al-Ghītānī and Sun^callāh Ibrāhīm, the Egyptian scholar Samia Mehrez writes about the power the state in developing countries exercises over the narratives (both historiographical and literary) of society and reality, and she reflects on the role of the writer of fiction as follows:

the Arab contemporary writer comes to occupy a larger and more crucial space, despite (or perhaps because of) all the restrictions, limitations, and censorship he or she may encounter. [ . . . ] The position of the writer as ‘underground historian’ is indeed what characterizes much of the literary output in the contemporary Arab world.

(Mehrez 1994: 7–8)

This tendency towards some sort of alternative historiography is evident in some of the novels we analyse here (especially the works by Khūrī and Barrāda). Even when in other texts (by al-Takarlī and al-Kharrāṭ for example) this urge to repair the omissions of the official historiography is generally resisted by the author, it is necessary for us to keep it in mind as it is a feature clearly much more relevant in the Arab world than in the West.⁹

The particular socio-political situation of the Arab world has another effect on the writing of fiction, pushing certain authors towards politically aware, if not directly militant, positions. As early as 1975, the Syrian sociologist and novelist Halim Barakāt articulates this militant attitude clearly when he addresses ‘the gap between [ . . . ] Arab society as it exists in reality, and as it ought to be in order to confront trying challenges’:

A writer could not be part of Arab society and yet not concern himself with change. [ . . . ] the theory of influence which sees writers as agents of social change, applies more accurately to contemporary Arab novelists than the theory of reflection, which sees writers as objective and detached observers holding a mirror to reality.

(Barakāt 1975: 126–7)

He then concludes his argument, foreseeing the birth of what he defines the Arabīc ‘novel of revolutionary change’, as follows:

Novels of revolutionary change invalidate the hypothesis that literature reflects reality [ . . . ] Such novels invalidate also the hypothesis that there is a conflict between art and political commitment. Literature can subordinate politics to creative and reflective thinking, and undertake the task of promoting a new consciousness.

(Barakāt 1975: 137)

Similarly today, a writer like Khūrī, for instance, does not content himself with creating a narrative which reflects on its own nature and at the same time engages with politics and history. He, like others, harbours the ambition that such a narrative will have an impact on the use of language and will contribute to promoting cultural changes:

Writing in times of transition takes the form of a journey towards what we do not know and towards the shock of writing what we know, which will lead us to discover how writing changes things and does not only reflect them.

(Khūrī 1990: 8)

While this attitude of full commitment might be understood, if not appreciated (considering the situation of general crisis in which the Arab world finds itself today), it is also true that some critics have stigmatized it as paternalistic. For instance, according to Stefan Meyer, Pierre Cachia states that ‘most Arab writers look upon themselves as nothing less than cultural and social guides for their contemporaries’ (Meyer 2001: 5).¹⁰ Meyer suggests that what Cachia allegedly says about the Arab modernists of the beginning of the last century is relevant today too. This is questionable, despite the fact that the passages quoted from Barakāt may seem to confirm it.¹¹ An increasing number of Arab writers today (including the novelists discussed in this study) are alienated not only from the centres of political power, but also from their societies (as Meyer rightly points out – Meyer 2001: 6). For this reason and given a series of obvious practical problems (e.g. illiteracy) which contribute to limiting the readership of fiction, these writers are well aware that the impact of their fiction on the general public, to which it is primarily addressed, is not as strong as they might wish.¹² In fact, a cynical commentator could speculate that Arabīc novels have a wider readership in the West than in the Arab world. While it is impossible today to establish precise statistics for the readership of contemporary Arabīc fiction,¹³ there are indications that this fiction has a considerable impact beyond the bounds of its readership: novels are adapted for television, cinema and theatre;¹⁴ writers enjoy a relatively high public profile in the press, media, literary cafes, and so on; both official censors and Islamist protestors have shown great enthusiasm in banning and burning novels, as well as attacking novelists (consider for example, the 1994 stabbing of Mahfouz, the cultural ‘war’ surrounding the 2000 Egyptian reprint of Ḥaydar Ḥaydar’s novel Walima li-a^ɔshāb al-bahr ‘Banquet for Seaweed’ (1983) and the 2001 action by the Egyptian Ministry of Culture in taking off the market three novels considered obscene).¹⁵

As far as the connection between political power and writers is concerned, however, the case of Egypt will help us to illustrate our point further. Under Nasser, the political elite controlled and at times cracked down on writers and intellectuals but also gave them a certain autonomy and power (basically, employing them) in exchange for their support in articulating the regime’s policies (Jacquemond 2003: 31–7). During the later years of Nasser’s rule, writers became increasingly disillusioned with the leadership’s strategies. Under Sadat, they were progressively excluded from the centres of power (Jacquemond 2003: 39–42). If we now consider the situation under Mubarak, we can see that (after a first decade which roughly reproduced the conditions existing under Sadat) his leadership has recently shifted to a more inclusive approach but this does not resolve the two major problems (which were already prominent under Nasser): if the patronage offered by those in power defends intellectuals from the attacks of the radical Islamic movement on the ascendancy, it obviously limits their independence and freedom to criticize the government;¹⁶ more importantly perhaps, as Richard Jacquemond points out, the promoters of this policy (promotion of the values of the nahḍa – such as patriotism, tolerance, rationalism, freedom, political reform – from above, as it were) do not seem to realize how ineffective it is in reaching its targets (Jacquemond 2003: 45). As a result of this situation, writers like the novelists studied here, who promote secular ideas, social equality, democracy, political and religious tolerance, now find themselves in the middle of a double process of alienation: on the one hand, they have been ostracized by the political authorities, which still exert pressure on them in various ways;¹⁷ on the other hand, they are increasingly alienated from some sections of the general public who, having become disillusioned with secular ideas, seem to embrace a more radical religious discourse. As a result of all these changes, the attitude of the novelists, who are fully aware of their position in society, is much less paternalistic than Meyer seems to imply. The general attitude of Arab writers has changed: rather than envisaging guiding their fellow citizens from above, they are more receptive towards their concerns, while still producing discourses critical of what they feel are dangerous trends (like radical Islamic thought). A writer like Khūrī would embrace as his own what the late Italian novelist Italo Calvino says about politics and literature:

Literature is necessary to politics above all when it gives a voice to whatever is without a voice, when it gives a name to what as yet has no name, especially to what the language of politics excludes or attempts to exclude.

(Calvino quoted in Mehrez 1994: 80)

Such writers are part of that ‘small group of Arab secular intellectuals who’, along with some religious reformers, according to Waïl Hassan, ‘challenge canonical interpretations [of religious texts] embraced unquestioningly by traditional clerics and by fundamentalists [and] advocate reforms in the areas of women’s rights, social organization and political institutions. And those progressive intellectuals’, Hassan adds, ‘also see themselves as actively committed to resisting neo- colonialism as well as political despotism at home’ (Hassan 2002: 56). By acting in this way, let us note very clearly (albeit in passing), these authors not o...