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Secret Son by Laila Lalami

My review

Although I have cleverly managed to miss most of a celebration of Arab and Moroccan culture that will likely not be repeated in the nation's capital for another century, I did make it down to the Kennedy Center for a panel at which Moroccan-American author Laila Lalami read and discussed a passage from her new novel, Secret Son, due to be released officially in April. (I was ecstatic to obtain a pre-release copy, which is now at the top of my reading list.) Lalami's reading was characteristically incisive, at once exposing hypocrisy without forgoing compassion for human frailty. (A man worried about the behaviour of his daughter in America is introduced for the first time to the illegitimate son he did know he had fathered.) The consensus of the panel generally (although there were some marked differences) seemed to be that the primary concern of art was art, but the infusion of an Arab sensibility into the mainstream of American consciousness could not fail to enrich the perspective of both Americans and Arabs to the benefit of both.

One of the things I have always liked best about Robert B. Parker's mystery stories is that urban(e) tough guy Spenser is regularly cooking some delicious gourmet dish when he is not out roughing up the bad guys. Parker is quite detailed about the mouth-watering meals that Spenser cooks up and then usually washes down with good beer, so much so that one could almost imagine doing the cooking oneself.

So it is that I try new food as much as I can; life should be a culinary adventure. Finding myself in Puerto Rico a little more than a week ago for a conference, I escaped from the lavish Rio Mar resort long enough to sample "Mofongo," a mashed plantain dish, with octopus and conch at a local restaurant. Much to my surprise, I was the only person in the restaurant, a fact compensated for by a magnificent view of the island.

The beauty of the island was in stark contrast to the rather grim reading I brought along. After much searching, I had obtained a copy of Mohammed Choukri's For Bread Alone, and I read it in the evenings after seminars. Choukri recounts his brutal upbringing in a novel that is also very much about food, because there is never enough of it. In one vignette, Choukri jumps off the pier in the harbor to retrieve a crust of bread discarded by a fisherman, only to discover that he is swimming in a sea of shit. (Milan Kundera would no doubt find the novel vulgar but not kitschy.) Choukri's novel counterpoints between desire and disgust, the torments of appetite in a world where there is never enough of anything and a cruel and ignominious death hovers constantly in the background.

Obituaries - washingtonpost.com

"He was the first writer I read as a child who created Moroccan characters that were believable," said Laila Lalami, whose "Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits" chronicles Moroccans' attempts to make the dangerous sea crossing to Spain in search of work.

When I was in Morocco, the British Council Bookstore was one of the few sources for books in English, particularly books for students of English. The books were good, but not cheap, and I used to lend them out to my students for a few days at a time. I wonder how much has changed.

Cat in Rabat and Eatbees have extended essays on why more people in Morocco do not read for pleasure.  Though Cat in particular advances the tri-lingual nature of Moroccan society (Darija, Arabic, French) flavored with Berber and sometimes even English, my experience in Morocco suggested that a significant part of the problem is a lack of reading material at an appropriate level and an early age.  Cat writes:

Our parents read to my brother and I before bedtime; we were encouraged to read for ourselves when we became a certain age; our bookshelves were routinely replenished with fresh Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys volumes; weekend trips to the public library were considered a natural way to spend a Saturday; used book stores acquired an importance early in our lives that has never diminished.

When I was teaching, my students were always pestering me for books in English.  I never had enough, and with the exception of a few special purchases, they were generally too difficult for my high school students.  Not having books to read, or having only books that are too difficult, will discourage any would-be reader.  As Cat notes, she had a plentiful supply of Nancy Drew, etc. as a child. The Hardy Boys may be tripe, but I had a whole shelf as a boy and devoured every one.

However, high school is too late to start.   My two toddlers between them own more books than than I suspect most Moroccan villages do.  And the books are appropriate for babies. They are just taking the first steps toward reading, but I cannot pry the books out of their hands.  (In addition, we read to them throughout the day.)

A Moroccan friend of mine pointed out today that the Qu'ran commands Muslims to read.  Children will not learn to love reading, however, unless they have the opportunity while they are young.

P.S. I think Massir's comment on Eatbee's post, in which she describes giving her children books before they can speak, nicely sums up what I am trying to say.

American Islam - Paul M. Barrett - Book - Review - New York Times

The New York Times favorably reviews the new book of family friend Paul M. Barrett on Islam as practiced in America. Barrett profiles seven different moderate Muslims living in America for a variety of viewpoints that contrast with the frequent demonization of Islam in America, although the review notes that conservative and radical points of view are largely unrepresented. I am hoping to pick up a copy at Politics and Prose on January 29 at 7 p.m., where Barrett will be holding a book signing.

Naguib Mahfouz: An Appreciation

Laila Lalami laments the death of one of the Arab world's great writers in this appreciation in the Nation:

With the death of Mahfouz, Egypt has been deprived of its greatest living writer and of its last icon of the twentieth century, and the world has lost one of its most humane literary figures.

Particularly interesting is Lalami's discussion of Mahfouz's interest in both Pharaonic and Islamic Egypt in his works, and his complicated politics in his life.

‘Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow,’ by Faïza Guèn - The New York Times Book Review - New York Times

The New York Times reviews Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow. I'll have to add it to my list.

THE VIEW FROM FEZ: Moroccan classic - re-released. Book review.

Suzanna Clarke recommends A Year in Marrakesh by Peter Mayne.

Starting Over in a Caliph's Castle - New York Times

SETTING up house in a North African slum is not at the top of many wish lists. But as the writer Tahir Shah explained recently, his family's relocation from a cramped apartment in London to a 10-bedroom mansion in this sprawling coastal city was partly to help his two children escape the cultural insularity of his own youth.

The New York Times reviews Tahir Shah's The Caliph's House. Not the least interesting part of the review is the photographs.

MoorishGirl: Tahar Ben Jelloun's The Last Friend

MoorishGirl reviews Tahar Ben Jelloun's The Last Friend, which I commented on earlier.

Three things I have learned so far reading Richard Fletcher's Moorish Spain:

1. The "Arab" conquest of Spain was mostly accomplished by Berbers.

2.  Transportation in the ancient world between Morocco and Southern Spain was easier than within Spain, thus facilitating the conquest.

3.  There was a significant population of Jews in Spain in the eighth century who were badly treated by the Visigothic regime that had succeeded the Roman Empire and who most likely welcomed the comparatively more tolerant Muslims.

Vincent J. Cornell's is a rich study of Moroccan Sufism through the fifteenth century, tracing the role of Sufi "saints" in Moroccan society from the time of the Tit 'n Fitr ribat under the Al Moravids through the institutional role of the Jazulite brotherhood under the S'adian dynasty. It's not often that I admit to being unable to fully digest a book on a first reading, but this book could profitably be reread several times.

Cornell's central contrast is between inner holiness or spirituality (wilaya) and public authority and recognition (walaya), both of which he sees as essential to the identity of the Moroccan "saint." The development of spiritual perfection and supernatural power is concomitant with the obligation to succor the poor and to rebuke, or at least correct, the country's rulers. At the same time, the Sultans of Morocco variously regarded Sufi "saints" either as political allies lending spiritual authority to the regime or as political threats whose criticisms were given weight by large numbers of devoted followers.

Cornell sketches the lives and works of a number of Moroccan saints, including Abu Yizza, As Sabti, and Al Jazuli. In addition, he provides quite a bit of incidental insight into Moroccan history of the period, such as his analysis of the effect of the Portuguese takeover of Morocco's ports on the continued viability of Granada, which lost its supply base, and the focus of the Sufi brotherhoods on jihad in an effort to expel the Portuguese invader, which contributed to the rise of the S'adian dynasty.

Guy Gavriel Kay's evokes the last days of Al Andalus in a historical novel disguised as a fantasy. Without making any claims to historical accuracy, Kay nevertheless vividly reimagines the refined Al Andalus (Al Rassan) crushed between the Spanish zealots to the North and the North African zealots to the South. Not a book to slake a thirst for knowledge about Al Andalus, but perhaps a book to awaken one.

The topical interest of Laila Lalami's might present a danger of obscuring its literary merit if it were not so beautifully written. This compact book of less than 200 pages presents snapshots in the lives of four Moroccans who attempt the dangerous illegal crossing of the Straits of Gibraltar in search of a better life in Spain. The results are ambiguous and poignant.

Phillip Kurata's dissects the slimy underbelly of a thinly fictionalized Tunisian police state. His naive, self-centered protagonist, Habib Ben Hamed, is quickly in over his head as his brother lures him into becoming an agent of the national police, a job for which his basic decency renders him completely unsuitable. This hard-boiled novel provides an unblinking look at the brutality of the modern police state, also a topic of considerable contemporary interest as Morocco reflects on the Years of Lead and on its own current human rights record.

Jamil M. Abun-Nasr's is a finely detailed tapestry which sweeps from the early days of the Al-Moravids in Morocco to the post-colonial regimes in Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, and Libya. While the book is academic in tone, it is so well written as to be accessible to the casual reader, so long as one is willing to come to grips with the intricacies of Maghreban dynastic politics.

While I learned more from the first half of the book, which discusses pre-Modern Maghreban history; the second portion covering the modern era was particularly relevant in light of the recent rioting in France. Abun-Nasr vividly describes how the European powers — under the guise of bringing civilization — ruthlessly exploited their North African colonies. Although the fruits of their policies were most bitter in Algeria, it is clear that throughout the Maghrib the European powers' short-sighted pursuit of commercial gain had long-term repercussions for everyone involved.

Laila Lalami, author of Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits and of the blog MoorishGirl, is being profiled by Moroccan magazine Tel Quel. (Available on line, in French, on October 28, 2005).

Peace Corps Writers reviews former Morocco Peace Corps Volunteer Jeffrey Tayler's , about his travels through the Sahel to the south of Morocco.

I ended up reading Tahar Ben Jelloun's Le dernier ami (The Last Friend) quite by accident. I was reading quite a bit about Ben Jelloun's Cette aveuglante absence de lumière, the English translation of which () had just won the International IMPAC Dublin Award. I naively mentioned to a Moroccan friend that I was interested in reading Tahar Ben Jelloun's latest novel, and he quite naturally (and generously) offered to lend Le dernier ami to me.

Le dernier ami is the story of the formation and unraveling over several decades of an unusually close friendship between a Moroccan professor and a Moroccan doctor. The story is told from the point of view of several narrators, mainly the two principals, Ali and Mahmed. In doing so, it paints a vivid picture of Moroccan life in the late 60's and early 70's.

Quite striking to an American reader, I think, is the author's direct and matter of fact account of the sexual awakening of his two protagonists. Without indulging in the soft pornography so characteristic of modern writing in English, Ben Jelloun is quite explicit about the sexual lives of the two young men in his story. I found this remarkable in part because I have found the public face of sexuality in Morocco to be quite conventionally moral (apart from fairly widespread prostitution). Ben Jelloun recounts the ingenious ways in which his characters circumvent their society's moral strictures in order to find sexual fulfillment. (The only similar treatment of Moroccan sexuality I have run across is the opening chapters of Jeffrey Tayler's . In reading about the adolescence of Ben Jelloun's characters, I experienced the pleasant shock of finding my own naivete exposed.

From the passions of adolescence, the novel quickly passes to chilling description of the brutalities of a Moroccan prison, into which the two protagonists are cast for reasons that are never very clear, other than the fact that they are young, educated, and flirting with communism. Imprisonment forges a far closer bond between Ali and Mahmed, who rely on each other to survive the experience. In the background is the shadowy and sinister presence of General Oufkir, the Minister of the Interior, chief torturer of King Hassan II's regime, and mastermind of two failed coups, the second of which resulted in his death and the decades-long imprisonment of his family.

Their release from prison marks the point at which the paths of the two protagonists diverge. Ali becomes a professor of geography and a operator of a ciné-club in Rabat; Mahmed becomes a doctor and ventures abroad to Sweden. While Ali manages to carve an apparently comfortable niche for himself in Morocco, Mahmed is at home neither in Morocco nor in his adopted Sweden, to which he repeatedly and unfavorably compares his native land. Ben Jelloun explores not only the complex relationship between Morocco and other countries, but the complex social relations of the characters within Morocco itself. Not until the very end does Ben Jelloun manage to fuse and reconcile the growing tensions between the two friends.

As far as I know, Le dernier ami has not yet been translated into English, but it is written in a straightforward and direct French that is likely to be accessible to anyone who speaks the language at an intermediate level.