Mahfouz and the Arabic Novel

Staring at one's background from an American perspective, even an Arab-American perspective, it's hard to piece together a true picture of the life one's parents and grandparents really lived. There are barriers, not the least of which is the fact that in the first and second waves of Arab immigration to America (the 1920s, and then in the mid- to late- 40s) the focus was on assimilation, not the retention of cultural identity. As a result, many first-generation immigrants, like my husband, never learned Arabic and have had to dig hard to get their parents to divulge stories of the past. We were astonished to find out from my father-in-law, for example, that J.'s grandmother - a Christian woman in Damascus, Syria, and a leader in the early women's rights movement - "covered": i.e. she never left her house without a scarf or veil over her hair, and her body well covered in a long robe or dress. As we've learned more, we've been able to ask better questions, and my father-in-law's long, healthy life has afforded us the good fortune to be able to do that. But many questions remain unanswered, and so I have been grateful for that fairly recent institution: the Arabic novel, and the novels of Naguib Mahfouz in particular.

There have been many tributes to Mahfouz on the web since his recent death: one with excellent links is at verbal privilege; I also liked the comments and discussion at Teju Cole's modal minority, where one of the main points made was the "old fashioned" quality of Mahfouz's prose.

That quality was what made the Cairo Trilogy so important a bridge for me in understanding the world my father-in-law came from. His life, which began in the early 1900s under - incredibly - the Ottoman Empire, emerged from a literary tradition where oral storytelling and recitation from memory were prized. The ideal of the revered philosopher-poet reciting and expounding, with adoring and attentive students at his feet, was what formed his aspirations and his own literary and teaching style. When I first read my father-in-law's writing, it seemed flowery, stilted, formal, and old-fashioned. Something, as they say, had been lost in translation - and that something was a cultural context.

Mahfouz, who was three years younger than my father-in-law (and Egyptian, not Syrian) is credited as the father of the modern Arabic novel. Richard Allen, a scholar and expert on Arab literature, writes of Mahfouz's work:

These novels have long since come to be regarded as a kind of capstone to a particular phase in the Arabic novel's development, and indeed as the most visible sign of a rigorous and carefully planned process whereby Mahfuz brought the development of the Arabic novel to a stage of complete maturity. In the words of more than one critic, the European novel had thereby become a fully domesticated literary genre within the Arab world.

I doubt that Mahfouz would have won a Nobel if his novels were only that, however. While some of his works really do suffer from a moralizing and old-fashioned tone, the Cairo Trilogy (a multi-volume family saga) gave us fully-drawn, memorable characters through whom the author shed light on one of my major questions: how people in such societies balance (or don't) the needs and desires of their personal lives with the rules and expectations of highly-structured communities, families, religious institutions and political constraints. In these three books Mahfouz dealt with the love lives of young and old alike; homosexuality; the desire for artistic expression; political fervor; and family dynamics and private lives, all set against the backdrop of a society wracked with change.

I've read quite a bit of Arabic literature but still feel very much like a beginner, always aware of the barriers created by language, distance, time, and lack of first-hand experience. One thing my reading has shown me is how important it is to read widely within a particular context, keeping an open mind and an awareness of how much one doesn't know. (Could an accurate picture of America be formed by reading three novels, even great ones? Ten? Which ones would we recommend?) My current reading of Orhan Pamuk's Snow, set in contemporary Turkey, has certainly been informed by some of what I learned about Ottoman and post-Ottoman culture from Mahfouz. And with their help, I'm well past the point of seeing that part of the world in black-and-white.

World Literature Today devoted an issue to Arab literature today back in 2001; I was fortunate to buy a back issue but I think they are gone now. Mahfouz was on the cover, and his essay on the state of the Arabic novel shared part of the interior with Allen's article, quoted above. Today in Al-Ahram Weekly, I noticed the publication of a new book, Le Roman Arabe, 1834-2004, by Kadhim Jihad Hassan. Let's hope for an English translation.

Comments

[Jean]

Hassan's book sounds like just the thing to stretch the edges of your French, Beth - a hefty, serious work on a subject of which you already have considerable knowledge.

You make me want to re-reread the Cairo Trilogy, and also make good on my long-standing intention to explore some of the Arab literature available in French translation.

[language hat]

Thanks for the link to the Hassan review -- lots of intriguing stuff there, notably "Gha'ib Tu'mah Farman (1927-1990), 'the Iraqi Mahfouz', whose writings explore Iraqi historical experience." I guess he hasn't been translated; in fact, I can hardly find any mention of him on the internet (of course, the transliteration problem doesn't help: Tumah, Taama, Taâma...). He's apparently translated Russian literature (Ifan Turghinif, Liyun Tulstuy). Damn, there's so much good stuff out there I'll never be able to get at! (Hmm, I wonder if Ard al-Sawad has been translated into French?)

On preview: Argh, I keep forgetting there's no HTML in your comments. I wanted to link Ard al-Sawad to:
http://www.languagehat.com/archives/001301.php

[Beth]

Thanks for these comments, Jean and LH. There really is so much more Arab literature available in French than in English, as I see whenever I walk into a serious bookstore here - it's another reason for working on my French!

LH - I've changed the configuration to allow limited HTML. Hope that's less frustrating for you and other commenters!