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Literature & Literary Criticism |
| Reprinted from the Middle East Studies
Association Bulletin, Winter 2000 (with changes in orthography to HTML standards). Copyright 2000 by the Middle East Studies Association of North America |
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In the Tavern of Life, by Tawfiq al-Hakim, translated by William Maynard Hutchins. 232 pages. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1998. $38.00 (Cloth) ISBN 0-89410-648-1, $18.95 (Paper) ISBN 0-89410-649-X. |
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This collection of short stories comprises twenty-seven tales written by Tawfiq
al-Hakim between the 1930s and the early 1980s. William Maynard Hutchins has carefully selected and translated those tales from some ten collections of short stories by
al-Hakim. His effort in both endeavors is highly commendable as he brings to attention an angle of al-Hakim’s talent that is not often celebrated. As the foremost Arab playwright,
al-Hakim is primarily known for his dramatic writing. This collection exhibits his prolific and multifarious talent as he invokes different worlds and atmospheres, and transfers his readers to distant eras and unfamiliar states of being in a condensed poetic manner. This vicissitude of narrative composition is expressed in the short stories through al-Hakim’s ability to draw from his personal autobiographical experiences as well as reveal a heightened sense of the fantastic. He also delves into contemplation of
life’s metaphysical phenomena, its commonplace experiences, and its deeper meanings, as in
“Expelled from Paradise,” “Wedding Night,” and “Show me God” respectively, just to name a few. The collection owes its title,
In the Tavern of Life, to one of the short stories. While it is a catchy and interesting title, the story itself is not a spectacular one. Its symbolism is quite simplistic, if not adolescent, and its dialogue stilted. |
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The Book of Strangers: Medieval Arabic Graffiti on the Theme of
Nostalgia, translated by Patricia Crone and Shmuel Moreh. (Princeton Series on the Middle East) 182 pages, bibliography, index. Princeton, NJ: Markus Wiener Publishers, 2000. $16.95 (Paper) ISBN 1-55876-215-9 |
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Crone and Moreh present here a translation and commentary of a fascinating work from the tenth century which has wrongly been attributed, since medieval times, to Abu
`l-Faraj al-Isfahani, famous author of the anthology Kitab al-aghani
and Maqatil al-talibiyin. Given various titles in the sources, including
Kitab al-ghuraba “The Book of Strangers,” Adab al-ghuraba’
“The Literary Writings of Strangers,” or Udaba’ al-ghuraba’
“Literateur Strangers,” the work is an anthology of graffiti written by travelers at various notable sites in the central Islamic lands to record their presence and express the feelings which their surroundings evoked. For the most part these feelings, conveyed in poetry often accompanied by a short prose introduction or explanation, are homesickness, the miseries of travel and exile, and a yearning for lost love or happiness. They include grafitti the author himself observed at famous sites, reports of similar
grafitti, and anecdotes regarding the poetic statements of past and contemporary travelers. The work includes an introduction (pp. 7-18), translation (pp. 19-89), commentary (pp. 91-126), discussion of the authorship of the work (pp. 127-43), discussion of the place of The Book of Strangers in Arabic literature (pp. 145-82), bibliography, and index. The translation, based on Salah al-Din Munajjid’s 1965 edition and two additional manuscripts, is carefully done and readable throughout. Because it includes corrections based on the best extant manuscript, from Qum, it is superior to the published edition. The equally careful, erudite commentary includes maps (pp. 92-94) to help the reader situate the sites mentioned in the work. Thirty-seven illustrations which relate to the content either thematically or geographically, including photographs of travel scenes, ceramics portraying drinking scenes, ancient inscriptions, and ruins of the legendary pleasure palaces of Samarra, add to the reader’s engagement with the text. Crone and Hinds argue convincingly that Abu `l-Faraj al-Isfahani did not write The Book of Strangers, against the medieval biographical tradition―though Yaqut noticed some inexplicable discrepancies—and against the modern editor Munajjid, who tried to insist on al-Isfahani’s authorship through tortuous explanations. They could not identify the author, but showed that he was of the generation after Abu `l-Faraj al-Isfahani, who died in 356 A.H. They conclude that the author was a native of Baghdad, born ca. 330 A.H., probably the son of a secretary for he associated with others of this same class, and possibly, like al-Isfahani, a Shiite. The discussion of the relationship between The Book of Strangers and the genres of ‘yearning for one’s homeland’ (al-hanin ila `l-awtan), books on monasteries and visits thereto (kutub al-diyarat), and ‘delivery from hardship’ (al-faraj ba`d al-shidda), and graffiti and other inscriptions, is rounded out by a general discussion of tenth-century Arabic literature. In sum, this is an excellent work, bringing to life a little-known facet of medieval Arabic literature and opening a window to this rich and understudied tradition. Devin Stewart Emory University |
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Conversations with Emperor Jahangir, by “Mutribi” al-Asamm Samarqandi. Translated and with an introduction by Richard C. Foltz. (Bibliotheca Iranica Literature Series No. 4) 98 pages, bibliography, index. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers, 1998. $12.95 (Paper) ISBN 1-56859-679-5. |
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The poet and litterateur Mutribi spent two months in Lahore at the court of Jahangir in 1627, the final year of the emperor’s life. Coming from the Mughal ancestral lands of Central Asia, Mutribi was regarded as a minor celebrity and granted twenty-four audiences with the emperor, which he described in an appendix to his compilation of literary biographies.
Conversations with Emperor Jahangir makes this short and entertaining text available in English for the first time. Especially useful as a complement to Jahangir’s own memoirs
(Tuzuk-i Jahangiri), Foltz’s work is a worthy addition to the centuries-long tradition of English renderings of the key historical works of Mughal India.
Conversations offers a brief, but comprehensive overview of Indo-Persian court culture. Poetry, painting, music, foods, and sundry manmade and natural marvels are discussed, as Jahangir questions his visitor about Central Asian affairs and personalities and in turn displays some of the wonders of his own kingdom. The portrayal of both the emperor at his ease and the elderly, sometimes garrulous narrator are vivid and engaging. Mutribi’s work presents the translator with a number of difficulties, and Foltz has handled most of these admirably, although there are some inevitable bumps along the way. Mirzoev’s published text of Mutribi’s Khatirat contains numerous errors, and Foltz has apparently emended this text based on its unique manuscript source. This is done, however, without annotation. While this spares the general reader some learned apparatus, it makes it difficult to assess the accuracy of the translation and diminishes its scholarly value. Mutribi’s prose combines the highly formal diction of the imperial court with the easy colloquialism of a personal memoir. Foltz successfully balances these registers in an English that is natural and idiomatic. There are a few jarring instances of ‘translator-ese’ (“the royal Obeyed-by-the-World command,” p. 53), and over-simplifications of the Persian: “the object of His Majesty’s alchemical gaze” (manzur-i nazar-i kimiya-asar-i an hazrat), for example, is reduced to “His Majesty’s alchemist” (p. 66). By and large, however, Foltz maintains the sense and tone of the original in an engaging and readable English. The rendering of literary terms and the many passages of poetry is less sure-handed. For example, “ode” is a poor match for ghazal; mukhammas is a specific genre to which “pastiche” hardly does justice (p. 71); and slipping past the term tavarud (the unintentional quotation of another’s verse) thoroughly confuses the beginning of the Fourth Meeting. The translations of some verses seem at odds with the Persian text, but these discrepancies may be due to unspecified emendations to the Persian text. In any case, Foltz’s translations at their best offer a clear and literal rendition of the sense of the verses in a plain, though punctuation-free English. These criticisms are perhaps a specialist’s quibbles and should not detract from the overall value of Foltz’s contribution in making this valuable text available to a wide audience in a lively and entertaining translation. Paul Losensky Indiana University |
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The House of Wisdom, by Florence Parry Heide and Judith Heide Gilliland. 37 pages. New York, NY: DK Publishing, Inc., 1999. $16.95 (Cloth) ISBN 0-7894-2562-9 |
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This children’s book, boasting an Arabic inscription of the word ‘wisdom’ on the cover, is the product of the collaborative efforts of Judith Gilliland, a scholar in Middle-Eastern studies, and her mother Florence Heide. Through the real story of a little boy called Ishaq, who lived in Baghdad “a thousand years ago” (p. 2), a number of very important and unusual messages are delivered to the child-reader of this book. These messages include the importance of reading and of acquiring knowledge, and the satisfaction derived from this activity even if the knowledge-seeker does not reach that understanding as an immediate result of the reading.
The House of Wisdom stresses the importance of consistency in reading, asserting that a satisfying revelation came to Ishaq, when he started to read Aristotle and “felt [Aristotle] was lighting a candle for him, a flame to guide him” (p. 31). Another message concerns the continuity of knowledge throughout time. The book challenges the idea of the superiority of current scientists over people who lived long before them, such as Aristotle, who lived a thousand years earlier than Ishaq’s time, and stresses, through the tongue of Ishaq’s father, that “‘they were not so different,’… ‘And the ones who come after us will not be so different either. We are like leaves of the same tree, separated by many autumns’” (p. 13). The biggest challenge to a Western child would be the book’s open and strong emphasis upon the fact that “while Europe struggled darkly through poverty, ignorance, and superstition, the Arabic-speaking world was rediscovering the legacy of ancient Greece and had reached a level of civilization that Europe would not see for centuries” (p. 35). The book stresses, however, the importance of knowledge throughout history. The notion that all scientists and knowledge-seekers are equally important is one of its main messages. The House of Wisdom is great reading for children, and adds something valuable to their growing thoughts. It is one of very few children books that take the child’s mind seriously. Although beautifully constructed, the language is perhaps a little too challenging for young readers. From the illustrations and the subject, the book seems to address children between the ages of eight and twelve. However, it sometimes shifts its language in order to address older readers. The illustrations and colors are wonderfully employed to keep children’s interest alive. The House of Wisdom ends with a child-like map and a non-fictionalized paragraph about a few historical facts of the time as well as some biographical notes about the real-life characters. This last paragraph in particular seems not to be child-oriented, but rather addresses an older audience, perhaps the adults reading to the child. Ebtehal Ahmad Ball State University |
| Night & Horses & The Desert: An Anthology of Classical Arabic Literature, by Robert Irwin. 462 pages, bibliography, index. New York, NY: Penguin, 1999. £25.00 (Cloth) ISBN 0-71-399153-4 |
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Like his earlier The Arabian Nights: A Companion (Penguin, 1997), Irwin’s latest work is both learned and useful. Irwin points out in the introduction that it is the first work of its kind. Previous anthologies treat topics ranging from sectarian polemic and the law to the history of the
caliphate.[1] Irwin is more single-minded: Night & Horses & the Desert is devoted entirely to the (still broad) field of adab, that is, the literary production of the Arabic-writing intelligentsia of the Near East, North Africa, and Islamic Spain from the fifth to the sixteenth century CE. It is an excellent introduction to the subject. Night & Horses & the Desert consists of seven chapters, organized more or less chronologically. The first concerns the ‘pagan’ poets of pre-Islamic Arabia. Irwin takes the useful step of comparing translations of Imru’ al-Qays’ “Mu’allaqa,” thus underscoring his earlier comments (pp. vii-ix) regarding the risks inherent in translating Arabic poetry. He follows with a brief chapter on the Qur’an. While Irwin identifies its profound influence upon Arabic writing (to the modern period), he might have done more to illustrate the point in the rest of his commentary. Three subsequent chapters trace the emergence of adab into the late twelfth century. Among the book’s virtues is to introduce new readers of Arabic literature to a range of authors, many well-known to scholars of Islamic history, others more obscure but, as Irwin teaches us, worthy of attention. In Chapter Four (“Widening Horizons”), on the crucial period from 750 to 900, Irwin includes selections from Ibn al-Muqaffa’ and al-Jahiz. He provides, as he should, given the author’s range of interests and output, long extracts from several texts by al-Jahiz. Similarly, in Chapter Five (“The Wandering Scholars”), he includes material from al-Tanukhi (among other worthies); Irwin is perhaps misleading in treating his works as wholly ‘literary,’ however, since there is much in al-Tanukhi’s writings for socio-political historians as well. But Irwin also includes, for example, a selection of Shu’ubi polemic by the less well-known Nabataean writer, Ibn Wahshiyya (here rendered, in one of many transliteration errors, as Ibn Washsiyya). The penultimate chapter, on the Andalusian literati and their work, sheds light on the close intellectual and cultural ties joining the Islamic West to the Near Eastern ‘heartland.’ The final chapter treats material dating to the “late medieval” period. One is not surprised to find that Irwin includes extended extracts from The 1001 Nights. At least two groups of readers will be grateful to Irwin for producing this volume. Literate lay readers gain a sustained, nuanced look at a remarkable body of aesthetic and cultural expression. And for those of us who offer survey courses on Arab/Islamic culture and history, Irwin has performed a welcome service. He brings together, in thorough fashion, a range of texts and, in his commentary, weaves them together in a concise and deeply knowledgeable manner. Those who use Night & Horses & the Desert to teach may want to explore the difficulties of translation: his own few original selections aside, Irwin relies upon previous translations. The many prose selections present relatively few problems but the same cannot be said for the poetry. Irwin’s judicious selection notwithstanding, several of the poems require considerable effort indeed. Matthew Gordon Miami University (Ohio) [1] Examples are James Kritzeck, Anthology of Islamic Literature (New York, 1964); and Bernard Lewis, Islam From the Prophet Muhammad to the Capture of Constantinople, 2 vols. (New York, 1974). |
| Arabian Love Poems, by Nizar Kabbani. Translations by Bassam Frangieh and Clementina R. Brown. Full Arabic and English Texts. 225 pages. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1999. 16.95 (Paper) ISBN 0-89410-881-6 |
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Nizar Qabbani (d.1998) is by far the most popular poet in the Arab world, and the world’s best-selling Arab author. His poems have often been put into music by famous Arab composers; they are still sung today and memorized by tens of thousands of Arabs, especially by women, who treat his words as a gospel for liberation. The present translation is a revised edition. This translation in English is much needed. Although the Arab novel has received growing attention in the West, especially since the Egyptian writer Naguib Mahfouz received the Nobel prize, modern Arabic poetry in general remains less known. The book opens with a preface dealing with the aftermath of the poet’s death. It depicts specifically his death’s great impact upon the Arab people, and shows the tremendous attention that Arab media devoted to it. The preface is followed by a useful introduction that offers the western reader glimpses into the poet’s personal life, and his political and social commitment. It hints at Kabbani’s diplomatic life, and reminds us of the intrinsic role that Beirut played in his life and writing. Indeed, the poet settled down in the Lebanese capital in 1966, where he established a publishing house dedicated to his own books. It is in Beirut that he devoted himself to writing poetry, and it is there that he lost his beloved wife, Balqis, who died when a building collapsed during the Lebanese Civil War. The translation has three parts: The first contains a selection of poems from the Book of Love; the second is composed of excerpts from One Hundred Love Letters; and the last, entitled Other Poems, offers some poems which link love to revolution, and to social and political issues. Arabian Love Poems succeeds in rendering into English the beautiful poetical verse of Qabbani, which freed the Arabic language from its bonds by putting it back into the stream of everyday life. It gives glimpses of the alchemical power of poetry, capable of reviving the language, and of the almost mystical transparence of love as expressed in the Arabic voice. Nevertheless, a careful comparison with the Arabic text shows flaws. First, the translators have deliberately decided to skip one or two lines, or sometimes a whole paragraph, from the Arabic text, which gives the impression of summation rather than translation. Second, the translators deleted most repetitions in the Arabic text, which renders the English version rather dry, and lacking the internal rhythm of the Arabic verse. Third, some terms are simply translated inaccurately, for example translating “at tût” as cherry and not mulberry, or translating “laylat al-qadr” (the night of Power) as a sign from heaven! These errors produce a vague and empty English text devoid of any trace of Arabic heritage and of the specificity of Arabic background. Fourth, I would have liked more balance in the distribution of the poems. The third part—the shortest—deals with the most interesting aspect of Qabbani’s poetry, that is, love as a power of change and as a rebellion. The reader comes away from this volume with the sense that the poet emphasized solely the physical beauties of women, while his conception of love was much richer. More poems in this last vein could have given the reader a holistic idea of this great Arab poet who, in many of his interviews, refused to be imprisoned in the geography of women’s bodies, or to be labeled “sha’ir al mar’ah” (the poet of women). Amira El-Zein Georgetown University |
| Anatolia Junction: A Journey Into Hidden Turkey, by Fred Reed. 320 pages, maps, notes, index. Burnaby, B. C.: Talonbooks, 1999. $19.95 (Paper) ISBN 0-88922-426-9 |
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Continuing on with his series of inquisitive travelogues, of which
Persian Postcards and Salonica Terminus are the first two books, Fred Reed’s current addition,
Anatolia Junction, takes his reader on a journey to uncover what he terms the “Hidden Turkey.” The “Hidden Turkey” that Reed wants to unearth is the Islamic identity that once played such an important role in the lives of the Turks, but which has been suppressed since the founding of the Turkish Republic in 1923. Reed’s quest in this work is to ascertain whether or not the Westernizaton supported by Kemal Atatürk has succeeded in its mission “to destroy Islam as a vital, unifying force, as a social cement of unmatched adhesive power, and as a political potentiality” (p. 20). In search for an answer to this inquiry, Reed decides to retrace the footsteps of the Kurdish mystic Said Nursi. Starting at an empty grave in Urfa, Reed treks around much of southeastern Anatolia, acquainting his readers with members of various Islamic groups along the way. Reed focuses mainly upon the Nur movement, which is based upon the teachings of Said Nursi. However, Reed does not spend all of his time gallivanting around southeastern Turkey. At various points during his narrative he takes his reader to Istanbul. He uses Istanbul as a way to punctuate the inherent tension that exists between a secular state and the rising influence of the Islamic movements that are threatening the sacred tenets of Kemalism. Even though writing about the impact of Islam in Turkey may seem like a rather sensitive issue to tackle, one might expect that since Reed is a Canadian journalist he would be able to maintain a high degree of objectivity while covering his subject. Disappointingly, this is not the case. Reed is proud to refer to himself as an “adopted Quebecois” (Salonica Terminus, p. 227), and as such he lets his own feelings of being a repressed minority overtake his narrative on occasion. What might be an otherwise fresh and informative insight into the resurgence of an Islamic identity in Turkey is offset on numerous occasions by bouts of nationalistic editorializing that are sure to alienate many would-be readers. For starters, he has nothing even remotely benign to say about the Turkish government, referring to it as a corrupt and repressive military regime time and again. His continual references to southeastern Turkey as Kurdistan, and the fact that he had the gall to let it be labeled as such on the included maps, are not going to win him too many admirers among members of a Turkish community who are still dealing with the scars left behind from a protracted civil war. The irony should not be lost upon the reader of such nationalistic leanings coming from an American expatriate, turned Quebecois, who has spent some time living in Greece and traveling around the Balkans and the Middle East. Despite its shortcomings, however, Anatolia Junction is still a valuable work in its own right as it could serve as a nice complement to some of the more mainstream works on Turkey. If you already had five other books to read on Turkey and wanted to add a sixth, then Anatolia Junction might merit some consideration. Carl Holtman The Ohio State University |
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In My Childhood: A Study of Arabic Autobiography, by Tetz Rooke. 304 pages, appendix, references, index. Stockholm: Almquist and Wiksell International, 1997. $52.50 (Paper) ISBN 91-22-01766-6 |
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The main aim of In My Childhood is to trace autobiographical narratives of childhood through twenty books (listed on pp. 273-79). The first is al-Ayyâm by
Tâhâ Husayn, which constitutes indeed the first modern and serious attempt to write an autobiographical work in the Arabic-speaking world. It is followed by other twentieth-century narratives like
Qisat hayât (Ibrâhîm al-Mâzinî, 1890-1949), Sijn al-`umr (Tawfîq
al-Hakîm 1889-1987), and `Alâ al-Jisr (Bint al-Shâti' b.1913), to mention only a few. The introduction makes clear that literary issues rather than documentation will be in the foreground. We learn that Rooke has undertaken this investigation with a collection of sixty autobiographies, retaining definitively only twenty—a reasonable decision. Reasonable too is the decision to begin with al-Ayyâm. The decision to make 1988 his terminal point was a practical one: “the book of Arabic autobiographies and memories appear[ed] in the 1990s,” which Rooke could not have anticipated when he began his project. (Nevertheless, he adds, he “tried to use texts published after 1988 for reference as much as possible” [p. 11]). This choice helps him establish a solid base of investigations on the genre. In his second chapter, “Defining Autobiography: A Formal Approach,” he compares similar generic topics—biography, memoirs, diaries, letters, and self-portraits. Rooke favors the definition Lejeune formulated as “récit rétrospectif en prose qu'une personne réele fait de sa propre existence.” [1] The sheer amount of material in this rich and innovative presentation is a clear argument in favor of the author’s immense effort. There have been numerous investigations of the modern Arab world, but this is the first detailed and innovative study to sum up all the aspects of autobiography in its relation to other genres of Arabic literature. And since the study of any genre requires a study of its predecessors, Rooke searches out possible European models, some not well known. “No one denies that Arabic autobiography has been inspired and profoundly influenced by the corresponding ‘western’ genre,” Rooke argues, “but it is not the informing ‘mentality’—if it exists—that has been ‘imported’ by the Arab writers, but the narrative form as such.…However, the fundamental change in the Arabic generic system from ‘classical’ to ‘modern’ literature, which also means a change in the literary function of the personal account and its ‘form,’ is not an outcome of intellectual colonizing, as Gusdorf would have
it,[2] but of social development (p. 5).” |
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