Molotov!

          The second half of the novel has finally begun to engage with the oppressiveness of an occupation, going beyond the Australian army’s, seemingly, minor annoyances due to them blocking access to the entertainment district for debauched husbands. The news that the nationalist men who had set out to negotiate for Egypt’s independence had been captured and exiled affected the entire family, especially Fahmy. He vehemently shouts, “If we don’t confront terrorism with the anger it deserves, may the nation never live again” (353). Fahmy, who is usually known for his calm and composed manner, suddenly thrusts himself fervently into the revolution.

            At one point Fahmy even laments that he was not among those who had been arrested when clashing with the English policemen. He is also “troubled that he was still alive and regretted his escape” (360) when he looks back on the moment he hid in a coffee shop while others were being shot and arrested. It seems strange that anyone would want to be arrested and/or shot to death, but I feel like there is something in the essence of revolution that causes people to wish for themselves to be a victim of said revolution. The revolution in Palace Walk could easily be mistaken for the 2011 Egyptian Revolution in Tahrir—also known as “Martyr”—Square.

Student-led revolutions are powerful, and though the Arab Spring inspired the Occupy Movement here in the U.S., the movement here seemed to lack one thing that the Egyptian did not: Martyrs. It is one thing to risk arrest using civil disobedience, but to actually confront the oppressor with your life marks the difference between a revolution and a movement. The failure of the Occupy Movement to turn into an actual revolution shows our unwillingness to fight violence with violence, despite the force used against demonstrators. Civil disobedience is not enough—students in the U.S. should look to Egypt and take notes. 

 Molotov!

Inconsistencies in Naguib Mahfouz' Writing

Not every author writes about his political opinions, or from his own cultural/engendered/ethical/ethnic/etc. position. But Mahfouz’s Nobel Prize Lecture seems not on par with the messages he sends in his novel (or first part of his novel, anyway).

In his lecture, Mahfouz engages the audience in a discussion of the significance of mankind’s moral progress—he calls our era the “age of human rights” (Nobel Lectures 252) and posits that “Truth and Justice will remain for as long as Mankind has a ruminative mind and a living conscience.” (251). But even within the same work of writing—this speech—he contradicts himself, ignoring the possibility of certain cultures to be “civilized”. In fact he makes them seem rather helpless and dumb. He praises mankind’s rigor for obtaining knowledge but implies that the third world is unable to attain this profound status of “civilization.” He says, “…we, the children of the Third World, demand of the able ones, the civilized ones” (254) to follow the examples left by the Good.; “it is both our right and our duty to demand of the big leaders in the countries of civilization…to affect a real leap that would place them into the focus of the age.” (253)

Now where the major contradiction comes into play is this: Mahfouz asserts the importance of universality and “responsibility towards all humankind” (253), exemplifying people living in South Africa who have been living with “deprivation of all human rights in the age of human rights, as though they were not counted among humans” (252), but in Palace Walk his views are inconsistent. Children and women are not counted among humans—they don’t carry the same status and are unable to speak unless spoken to, to look at their “higher-ups”, or to refuse any and all of a person of higher status’ commands. (Amina was thrown out of her own house and could do nothing about it!) Mahfouz completely ignores the globally well-accepted notion of women as part of mankind. For someone who claims he is so forward thinking, it seems a bit at odds.

He also says “We have had enough of words. Now is the time for action.” (253) which was so stunningly ironic I almost laughed out loud. In a speech delivered to people whose jobs it is to sit around and read literature (and judge it), Mahfouz wants to incite action? Half of these people are a hundred years old!

Okay, okay, so the message was meant for the world. But still, it strikes me as terribly ironic because this is an author speaking. If we’ve “had enough of words”, he’s out of a job. Does he expect to lead this revolution? because a lot of people have fancy ideas about governmental and global restructuralism but you don’t see just anyone jumping into action sporadically. What he’s suggesting, effectively, is a war—in a speech that’s intended to promote peace.

Family as Novel

          This semester, we've encountered examples of the family saga genre. Between Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, (in some ways) Grass' The Tin Drum, and now with Mahfouz's Palace Walk (and the Cairo Trilogy as a whole), we can observe the tropes on which this form relies, such as the presence of a comparatively weaker physically, yet emotionally superior female authority figure -- Úrsula and Amina -- or the age-old competition between sisters over the title of first betrothed -- Maryam and Khadija, and Amaranta and Ursula. These familiar roles and conflicts are key to universalizing even the most culturally insular of familial allegories, allowing postwar Egypt to retain its unique character while still feeling cyclic, part of a larger order. Unlike Tolstoy's opening lines to Anna Karenina, "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way," the family novel seems to write itself off its own brethren.  The question is -- if there is an inherent allegorical element then in this sort of narrative, where the same characters are born, grow up, and die in different permutations of life circumstances while still owning their classic roles, is the family saga necessarily a type of allegory? And to what tradition does it owe these standard formulas?  Perhaps this novel is less an allegory and actually more of an expression of the author's national character. After all, Solitude feels distinctly Latin American, and Mahfouz's work and its exploration of Muslim piety belongs only in the Middle East. Rather than simply writing a list of customs, social ideologies, and cultural essences, this genre uses its characters to write about the setting. The Nobel Prize Committee thus favors works of this type, because their focus on the "ideal direction," i.e., historically proven literary modes, is combined with honoring the writer's national spirit. The work is a love letter to one's own country. 

Glimpse-JK

   Within the sections surrounding Amina’s accident the reader is able to see glimpses of real emotion, a part of her that has been tamped down by marriage. The surge of fear and excitement at the thought of going outside was undeniable. Her reactions to what many would consider normal activities are oddly intense, she is barely able to walk properly once outside the door, her emotional display of tears in the mosque. Yet this is quickly put down as she remembers her “characteristic temperance and resignation” (181)

            I was upset with her fainting and being hit by a car, her timid and breakable nature was brought back to the forefront. The fainthearted mother who could barely scold her children was back a woman who used her faith to hide from the demons she had created in her mind and no longer the one whose faith and appreciation for beauty moved to tears by the sights around her. The descriptions formed the image of a child, and while that was slightly off putting and fit in with her previous portrayal, the emotions that came forth from the adventure had within them a flash of personality, similar to the first one we were shown when she thought back to the time when she asked her husband about his nights out.

            At the end of the healing process, witnessing her husband’s reactions and scheming it is no wonder Kamal believes that “marriage doesn’t bring happiness” (327). His actions were only slightly better while she was healing, he stopped by and asked how she was, and yet she was thrilled over this attention.  Yet we learn he was merely plotting.

            Another glimpse at her rebellious side came out in a whisper when he began attacking her once he saw she was healed.  He beings questioning her, as if she has tricked him somehow during their twenty-five years of marriage, to which she responses that she doesn’t “deserve talk like this”. Yet this is washed out by his rage and her feeble will.

            While in my previous blog I talked about how the book fits into the mold that the West has created for the Middle East, especially in the ideas of marriage, the opinions from the children and the grandmother were similar to mine. The children question how Sayyid is able to go out and party when his wife is in pain, and Amina’s mother asks why men who are just as jealous as he is are fine with their wives going outside. I was hoping for Amina to react rebelliously against the tyrant that is her husband, at least other characters are made to express their ideas on the absurd situations occurring in the marriage.  

Unnatural Divisions

 If Al-Sayyid were asked whether he would rather be loved or feared he would undoubtedly answer both. His family lives in a state of fretful worship, savoring even the tiniest bits of mercy and praise, deeply upset at disappointing their patriarch.

However, when Al-Sayyid banishes his wife there is a transition that becomes notable: the allegiance of his children. In secret the sons visit their mother while she is away. Mahfouz seems to suggest in this passage that Al-Sayyid’s power has a limit in its scope. He may have an extreme level physical dominance over these people but there is some spirit in each of his children and in Amina, his wife, as well that Al-Sayyid cannot contain. Their desire to look out the window, to venture into the streets, to laugh and love one another seems so natural in Palace Walk that even Al-Sayyid’s choking grip cannot stop the biological urges of his children, not to mention himself. He commands love, but in the same way that the characters constantly refer back to what is out of their control, in God’s control, Al-Sayyid can only extend his power so far.

When his children see him in his element outside their home, there seems to be an understanding that the binary he is living under contends that there is a time for duty and a time for play. Two separate parts of life. There is a time for fear; there is a time for love. Yet in the same way that God’s control is infinite and does not divide between these times of love and fear, there seems to be a suggestion that the divisions Al-Sayyid creates reach for a level of control that is unattainable and unrealistic, that breaks sync with human nature as it is represented in the novel in the will of God, that create divisions in society between outside and inside, between duty and play, that should not exist. A break from which, Mahfouz seems to suggest, is as treacherous as talking back.

They don't say hindsight is 20/20 for no reason...

            Professor Elsherif made me realize something that should have been obvious for this novel, and the rest of the novels we have read this semester as well. Quite frankly, I regret not keeping this thought in the back of my mind, at the very least, for each novel assigned to us in this class. Palace Walk was translated into English from Arabic, of course the native language of Naguib Mahfouz. I had not thought much about this fact, although it was mentioned in the beginning of the semester, I admit. This question began nagging at me after guest speaker Professor Elsherif showed a snippet of the movie version of Palace Walk, and the actor spoke the word, “hawa” which means both “love,” or “affection,” and “air.” In the movie, or originally the book, it created a play on words and made a joke that the English version of this novel totally lost. I even presented the question in class, how much Professor Elsherif thought an American, or any non-Arabic speaker lost reading an English version of this novel. His answer was that honestly, we lost quite a bit simply because we don’t come from that culture. It should have seemed obvious to me, but hearing the truth was so discouraging. Palace Walk has seemed to be the most realistic novel we have read, at least in my opinion, since it is following a family and to a point, deals with issues many of us can relate to, such as sibling rivalry, realizing one’s parents aren’t perfect, and love. The same reasoning made me want to get everything I could out of the novel, politically and culturally. On one hand, I know I will not ever be able to read this with the same understanding and perspective that a person from Egypt that has grown up with a background in the culture. On the other hand, I believe it is my responsibility, if only to myself, to make this an opportunity to educate myself about a history and a whole culture I quite frankly do not know anything about. It is wonderful to read Edgar Allen Poe, John Steinbeck, and Mark Twain, because I don’t think anybody knows everything there is to know about even their own history and culture. However, I believe that pushing yourself to read about something you have no prior knowledge of, is invaluable, but only if you make an honest effort to know the perspective of the author or culture that he or she is writing about. It may be impossible to understand some of the nuances, especially after being translated from another language, but I have learned that not all is lost; one can still learn so much about a new culture or event in history, and the perspective of others.

My Feels about Mahfouz

For me, Mahfouz has been hard to pin down. My initial assumptions, knowing that he was an Egyptian Nobel Prize winner, was that the novel would gently expose some issues in the Middle East, but stay mostly optimistic about change for the better with help from "the world" (or probably the West). I've been seeing in this class that the Nobel Committee seems to reward authors who are toeing a line, but not crossing it; there's never a severe indictment of the West.
Then after the first half of the novel, I was really confused because I could not figure out why this Nobel Prize winner had written such an awful character, the father. While he isn't technically one-dimensional, he was just an unbearable presence as such a tyrant to his family and a morally-loose man with his friends. In an article I read, Edward Said compared Mahfouz to Tolstoy. Tolstoy, in my limited exposure to him, is a great writer who is able to write very human, multidimensional characters without getting caught up in right versus wrong, or demonizing the Other. In the novel, it seems to me that Mahfouz had created a monster in al-Sayyid; the man kicks his wife out of the house for getting hit by a car. Really?
So I was left wondering why an Egyptian seemed to be playing so much into Orientalist binaries; the wife is submissive and a little mystical with her fear of the jinn, the husband is somehow both a strict Islamic tyrant and a beloved, carousing womanizer. Yes, Mahfouz is showing that a person can have many sides to him, but the father does not really have any redeeming qualities because as much as his friends love him, the reader hates him because we know that he isn't nice to his family. I was struggling.
After Professor Elsharif's lecture, I began to wonder how much of a parable Mahfouz is trying to create with this third of the Cairo trilogy. Maybe my hatred for the father was the reaction he wanted; Said mentioned that Mahfouz was interested in the concept of power. This gave me a new lens to try and sort out al-Sayyid. If he represents a government, a ruler, it's easier to work through the novel, seeing his actions as metaphors rather than a commentary on male domination or feeding into the Orientalist discourse.
I started to see a little more that I liked about Mahfouz after reading his speech. In his Nobel Speech, he continuously takes shots at the way the West has shaped the world. I didn't see much of this in his novel, but I was glad to see Mahfouz fired up against Western domination of history, thought, and the globe. In the end, he talks about the nature of power, and how leaders worked only for themselves, exploiting subjects as stepping stones. Mahfouz mourns the loss of ideas and values from this time; he makes it sound like he is lamenting ancient times, but honestly, there isn't a thing he says that couldn't be applied to the present. Mahfouz lands punch after subtle punch, shaming the "First World" for its treatment of the "Third World". He calls them one family, but not without mentioning the First World's status of superiority, citing its potential, but negligence, to lend a helping hand to those who need it. "We have had enough of words. Now is a time for action," Mahfouz declares,calling for a world with leaders who are responsible to the citizens of the globe, not just those within arbitrary borders. He takes the Orientalism and tosses it back into the West's court saying, "Besides, where can the moans of Mankind find a place to resound if not in your oasis of civilization planted by its great founder for the service of science, literature and sublime human values?"
In the end, I think I've warmed up to Mahfouz. Maybe I didn't see it much in the novel (which, to be fair, is only a portion of a larger work, which is one novel among numerous), but a guy who is going to make a statement (in Arabic) to the Nobel Committee and all of the First World powers present about their selfishness and negligence is alright by me.
"I seem to have troubled your calm. But what do you expect from one coming from the Third World?"
He really got feisty.

The Wedding Chapter and Hypocrisy

The wedding chapter

            There seems to be a lot of contradictions in this chapter, mostly on the part of al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad.  He is jovial when there is nothing to celebrate, and at a wedding he is more reserved than ever.  He is disgusted by his family having a good time, which is so obviously hypocritical since every night he is drunk and rambunctious.  When Kamal accidentally sees him, and a friend calls him over, he must pretend he is disgusted by the music.  He gives all of the answers that his father would insist upon, but it is not good enough because they know he is lying.  His father then tells his friends that he is a cub of the lion, meaning he is a lot like the father.  This is probably the nicest thing that al-Sayyid says about the boy, and he is proud that he can sing but would never admit to singing.  I am having a hard time figuring out why Mahfouz made the father figure such a hypocritical and, honestly, horrible character.  He is angry constantly yet revered like a holy figure.  I could appreciate him as a character if the hypocrisy is intentional, and shows that the patriarchal system is faulty, but it also seems like we might actually be supposed to respect him. 

            He also compares the bridegroom to a bull, but means for it to be an insult.  By calling him a bull he means that he looks lazy, like he will only eat grass all day.  In our society, referring to a man as a bull would be a testament to his strength and ferocity.  However, al-Sayyid means quite the opposite.  This might be a language or societal divide that is not intended by the author, but as I read it I saw a major contradiction.  It seems as though he is trying so hard to be angry that he does not realize he is insulting someone with a compliment.  The father seems like the kind of man who would appreciate a bull type man, since he is so stubborn and angry.  However, he would prefer that his daughters did not have to marry since they might end up with a man who will divorce them.  That’s rather interesting, since he divorced his first wife and just recently threw his perfect wife Amina out of his house.  Basically, what I perceive, is that he is afraid they will end up with a man like him, yet he would never admit that, since he thinks so highly of himself.  He also does not want a husband who will let her have fun, since that is completely against his fake principles that he does not abide by every night. 

            I hope that the Nobel committee chose this author because he is working against this type of character and not praising him.  His level of severity makes his family, especially his wife and daughters, prisoners to his will.  I firmly believed that the character was an exaggeration until Professor Elsherif seemed confused by our distaste for him.  He gave the impression that there were many men during the time period of this novel that would have been as strict or more intense than the father.  So, as far as the novel is concerned, is it a conscious attempt at mocking a man like him, or are we supposed to respect his hypocrisy? 

The Palace Bridge

"Palace Walk" by Naguib Mahfouz is an appropriate book to end a semester's worth of observing the matter of and circumstances surrounding Nobel Prize novels. It makes sense that it took him so long (after having written the book) to receive the award-the translation into English, which made the book more accessible to the West, came at at a point in time where the West was becoming more familiar with the East vis a vis international relations. This provides a good context to discuss the themes of the novel.
Much like Orhan Pamuk's "My Name Is Red," "Palace Walk" presents a similar portrayal of the traditional view of the East. Moreover, he reflects on this perception through multiple characters' perspectives as well, and further he describes the impact that the introduction of modernism and Western values have on the respective characters and how it affects them each differently. Again, with the time the novel was written and the time he received the award in mind, the book is timeless. Compared with the knowledge of the revolutionary history of Egypt in the twentieth century, the binary is again well reflected. Mahfouz successfully bridges the two systems of thought through allegory, a tool he uses in many of his other novels.
The main character and patriarch reflects many old world or third world values. He also is very frequently referred to "Him" or "He,"presented as a god of sorts. He carries very strict authority over his household, yet is revered by friends, and even his family. These qualities all represent the old world views in the area, meanwhile, his wife explores more modern and opposite views through her curiosity, which is narrated to us. Her sons too are split, one a nationalist, and the other a revolutionary.
Overall the novel has tones of change, yet presents a picture of multiple views in a mild, introductory manner. The book is again timeless when compared to current affairs in the middle East.

Western Mold -JK

            From the very beginning, while the book sets out to properly portray “colonial Egypt” it seems to be playing heavily into the twisted Western notion of how people in the Middle East live.

            Amina the wife is subservient, happy to be locked away from the world, content with her chores and the birds on the roof. She is meek and subservient, to the point where she is almost eager to wake up and take care of her drunken husband every single night. Only once are we shown any sign of resistance, when she looks back and remembers a “polite objection to his repeated nights out. His response was had been to seize her by the ears…” Now she is content with her marriage that gives her a “type of security based on surrender”.

The way her children treat her can be seen as a continuation of her husband’s contempt towards her. She admits that she cannot contain her rowdy bickering children, and her daughter insults her only to be told a pray in response.

            Amina’s obsession with the “jinn” and constant need for prayer to restrain the ghosts around her immediately set off alarm bells, her mental state is called into question, and one can only wonder if she was always like that or if her marriage caused this imbalance.

            The only place she feels strong is in the kitchen “here she was queen” and from this comes the only way she can get complements from her husband, on her “perfect food” (14)

            Sayyid’s character fits into the mold of the wild Middle Eastern man, horrible to his family and drowning himself in booze. His thirst for alcohol is matched by his thirst for women

“…professional women entertainers of today are the slave girls of yesterday, whose purchase and sale God made merciful”

            He is presented as a boisterous drunk who despite being well liked by his friends, is seen a terror to his own children. “When they [the children] were in his presence they would not even look at each other, for fear of being overcome by a smile…” His departure is describes as a prison guard releasing the shackles on the prisoners.  

            The daughter who is said to be beautiful, Aisha, is described in a very western sense of beauty. “She has a white complexion suffused with rosy highlights and her father’s blue eyes…she had golden hair”. While it is not as if such traits cannot be found in Egypt, the entire combination can be seen as a Western ideal.

            So far the book seems to be fitting quite well into the Western mold that has been created for the people of the Middle East.

Do as I say, not as I do

al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad’s motto should be the age-old adage “do as I say, not as I do.” He presents himself as an honorable, religiously conscientious, morally strict man who accepts no excuses from anyone, especially his children and wife. He is much like Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde in that he presents completely opposite personalities in front of his family, and then with his friends, business associates, and just about everybody else besides his wife and children. Even in the first chapter, Amina states that if she did not see his jolly, cheerful side herself while waiting up for him to come home, she would never have known it existed. His children are outright afraid of him while the employee at his store “revered and loved him the way everyone did who had any dealings with him, whether of business or friendship” (36). He asks his son, Fahmy, if the youngest boy, or “son of a bitch” is doing his homework and studying in school (20). In reality, al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad never finished primary school, even though he can interact with attorneys and more educated people from keeping up with reading the newspaper and becoming friends with these attorneys and government officials. He describes his religion as having no room for “innovation” but clearly takes some aspects of it more seriously than others (42). He does not understand why he should not be allowed to drink wine with his friends when he is not hurting anyone or causing any harm to anything. This may be the only thing I like about al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad thus far: he challenges Shaykh Abd al-Samad and does not back down, even if he is somewhat sarcastic and Shaykh Abd al-Samad does not appreciate his answers or “excuses” (45). Had any of his children given him sassy answers or explanations like the responses he gives to the Shaykh, al-Jawad would have been furious. He also states that he “goes crazy for a pretty face” but does not marry them so he does not have to divide his assets and land among his existing children. Judging from the Shaykh’s response, it would be more honorable to marry these other women that he associates with.

"The soul of the country"

Right from the beginning of the novel, we are presented with a family that lives within very strict guidelines and roles. Most startling is Amina's routine and submissive nature. She has learned to be happy with her life even though her husband is rarely home, preferring to be out on the town, drinking with his friends. Amina wakes up, out of habit, at midnight so she can receive her husband, undress and wash him. The role of women in the world of the novel has been set from the first chapter, which concerned me. The man, too, is just as bad, as Al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad is portrayed as a nearly-absentee father. While he imposes strict rule upon his family, he gets to do what he wants; it's contradictory, like Bibi mentioned, that he and his family are Muslims, and while the family is forced to be strict and devout, the father is allowed to break the rules and see women and drink, out all night.
The problem this novel has already begun to pose is the question of the portrayal of Islamic worlds and families. In Newsweek, Christopher Dickey said about the novel, "[Mahfouz] writes about family, and to understand the Egyptian family is to understand, more clearly than any political treatise can explain, the soul of the country," basically reducing all of Egyptian culture to this family we are presented. Emily said that Americans, with a tendency to remain ignorant, are content to make and believe sweeping generalizations of other people, countries, and cultures. There is a danger, then, when Mahfouz uses a single family that is (so far) very one-dimensional and embodies a lot of stereotypes to explore his ideas and themes on this Egyptian street. He seems to be very reductive.
If, like Dickey said, understanding the family is understanding the soul of a country, then so far, we are to understand that Egypt is about submissive women, strained family relationships, perversions of religion, and dominant, inattentive men.

The Australian Occupation(?)

Al-Sayyid Ahmad Abd al-Jawad is a powerful merchant both feared and loved (mostly feared) by his family, but loved, respected, and highly sought after by fellow merchants, government officials, attorneys, and women of Cairo. Amina, Ahmad’s wife, learned early on in their marriage to fear her husband:

It had occurred to her once, during the first year she lived with him, to venture a polite objection to his repeated nights out. His response had been to seize her by the ears and tell her peremptorily in a loud voice, “I’m a man. I’m the one who commands and forbids. I will not accept any criticism of my behavior. All I ask of you is to obey me. Don’t force me to discipline you.”

She learned from this, and from the other lessons that followed, to adapts to everything…in order to escape the glare of his wrathful eye.” (4)

Kamal’s harmless, childish pranks must be hidden from his father, and even Yasin, the eldest, who’s body “resembled his father’s in size and bulk” (16) feared Ahmad as well.

            Ahmad is as loved by those who do not have to endure his tyranny as he is feared by those who do, and is even reprimanded by friends for missing a party because “they had not found the same pleasure in drinking that they did with him. Their party, as they put it, lacked its soul” (83). Despite being either loved or feared (and sometimes both) by, seemingly, all of Cairo, Ahmad has an almost unavoidable adversary: The Australian army. What angered him the most, sadly, was that their “tyranny separated him from the Ezbekiya Garden entertainment district, which he had abandoned in defeat…He could  not stand to expose himself to soldiers who openly plundered people of their possessions and took pleasure in abusing and insulting them without restraint” (12).

            Yasin, who takes after his father in his lust for women, is also forced to abandon the “festivities” of the Ezbekiya entertainment district: “Then the Australians appeared on the field, and Yasin had been obliged to forsake his place of amusement to escape their brutality” (72). He too laments his circumstances: “God curse the Australians! Where are you, Ezbekiya, for me to disperse my care and sorrow in you and draw a little patience from you?” (75).

            Besides interrupting—or only slightly hindering—nights of debauchery and infidelity, the Australian occupation seems to be of little consequence to the people of Cairo. The merchants, thus far, remain unharmed, as do the families and regular townspeople, seemingly, so long as they avoid the entertainment district. I feel like I keep waiting for the Australians to exhibit signs of widespread tyranny, but all Ahmad and Yasin can complain about is the army getting in the way of their escapades. Is Mahfouz simply introducing sporadic moments of tyranny to later fully release the Australians on the people of Cairo, or is this as far as it goes? And if this is “as far as it goes,” then what is Mahfouz saying about Australia’s occupation of Egypt during this time? That their presence was a minor annoyance? That is was necessary because it was a time of war? I feel like I have more questions than answers at this point, but hope to see the actual effects of an occupation, rather than the minor inconvenience the Australians pose to wanton men. 

Hypocrisy of Religion in Palace Walk

            In the novel Palace Walk written by Naguib Mahfouz, Al-Sayyid Ahmad is shown as a very religious man who is quite strict with his wife and children. He does not allow his wife to leave the house without him and uses Islam as the reason. However we can clearly see his hypocrisy through his late night exploits. The interactions that al-Sayyid Ahmad has with his children show the hypocrisy of his religion.

            Yasin—who is the oldest son of al-Sayyid from a first marriage—seems to have the closest relationship to his father, and is constantly worried about the reputation of his mother who he considers “a bitter humiliation” (77). After divorcing his father, she has begun to see many other men—something that both Yasin and his father find “degrading and demeaning” (77). At one point when the two are speaking about the impending nuptuals between her and a new man, al-Sayyid asks his son “didn’t we vow to consider her a person who never existed?” (107) which implies that they are so ashamed of her that they don’t even acknowledge her anymore.

            When al-Sayyid Ahmad’s son Fahmy decides he would like to marry a girl who lives next door to the Ahmad family, his mother is ecstatic—she would love to have such a respectable addition to their family—but his father is outraged that his son would make such a bold decision. When speaking with his wife about it, he says “what could corrupt a schoolboy to the extnt that he would make such an outrageous request” (128), showing that he does not approve of young boys being so determined one way or another. He also believes that his son has seen this girl (which is forbidden). He says “I didn’t know I had sons who were sneaking looks at the respectable women of our neighborhood” (129) which is especially hypocritical since he is doing much more than “sneaking looks” at other women.

            We do not see very much interaction with his daughters Aisha and Khadija or his youngest son Kamal (at least this far in the novel), but we do see their interactions with Amina who very much respects (or more likely fears) her husband and always relays his beliefs to the children. The daughters have a good relationship with their mother, and cherish eating breakfast because “it was one of the rare times in which the three women were alone” (29) and they could gossip and tell secrets that they would not tell their father. They never show any interest in gossiping with their father—let alone telling him their secrets. This disconnect shows that he is not as interested in his female children but instead prefers his sons. 

Amina in Palace Walk

Amina, the mother and wife in Palace Walk, is an entirely tragic character. She is pious, quiet, and obedient. She is almost completely content with her cloistered life. She loves her view from her screnned balony, where she can peek out a little hole in the screen to feel contected with the greater world. And she loves her kitchen, where she is queen. Page 14 describes how she rules the kitchen: "The fate of the coal and wood, piled in a corner, rested on a word from her".

Amina accepts her husband's decisions about how she will spend her days for the majority of her life, until the one time she does not follow his decrees. That one time, of course, she does not to go off and cavort like he does- she goes to worship. Through absolutely no fault of her own, she gets hurt and her husband learns about her minor transgression. Of course, he thinks her choice to venture outside of the home and go to the mosque is an earth-shattering event and sends her form the home as punishment. The irony of punishing someone for leaving the house by kicking her out of the house is not lost on the reader. Amina's sole sin earns her exile. She may rule her kitchen, but she cannot control any other aspect of her life except for her attitude towards it. She lives contentedly until her piety causes the end of her isolated time in her home.

M is for “Muslimism”*

           Mainstream American culture has become accustomed to memorizing misconceptions of cultures and religions outside of the states. Naguib Mahfouz’ Palace Walk complicates the issue of an Islamic perspective but does not resolve our contentions on the matter of so-called morality; effectively, it perpetuates the Americanized stereotype of Islam as an evil and misogynistic society.

Male Dominance and Obedience in Palace Walk: As is fairly obvious from the very beginnings of the book, Amina’s life revolves around her sometimes-neglectful, most-of-the-time strict husband. His treatment of her—verbal and emotional abuse—is considered normal by other characters in the book. Amina’s mother even tells her he could have “taken second, third, and fourth wives. His father had many wives. Thank our Lord that you remain his only wife.” (5), a proclamation of such validity Amina must accept it. She sits on the floor before him, as if in worship—the obedience to a master, and when once she asks him not to go out entertaining he fires back angrily, having been stripped of the authority entitled him.

Roles of authority don’t end with the couple, however. Their children exude the same tendencies; the boys’ relationship to their father is similarly docile because they are intensely frightened of him, the girls avoid him entirely when possible, and he them.

Perhaps part of the novel is rooted in Mahfouz’ life—if not literal details then at least thematic ones—and it should be accounted for that his male perspective influences the telling of the novel. But Ahmad Abd al-Jawad’s strong patriarchal influence is almost cartoonish in its representation of Muslim values, and only recycles American ideas about the violence “inherent” in the religion.

Americans have a reputation for ignorance. Perhaps we also have an affinity for it, at some times. Our culture is obsessed with simplification of other cultures because by contrast, our complexity makes us vaster, more intelligent, more able to conquer. “Muslimism” is a bastardization of two words, conjoining “Islamism” (Islamic fundamentalism) and “Muslim” (a follower of Islam) to perfectly muddy the entirety of the religion and its place in society.

Our warped perception of external societies is also present in Palace Walk, which, though told “through the eyes” (okay, so it’s third person but you get the idea) of a Muslim, vilifies Muslims—at least Muslim men.

 *as if to emphasize my point, Microsoft Word’s error indicator did not try to correct my use of the word Muslimism (the red zigzag line did not appear); it’s become so culturally engrained that American software has accounted for it. 

Mahfouz's Speech: A Reading

I would like to take a look at selections from Mahfouz's Nobel Lecture:

I was told by a foreign correspondent in Cairo that the moment my name was mentioned in connection with the prize silence fell, and many wondered who I was. Permit me, then, to present myself in as objective a manner as is humanly possible. I am the son of two civilizations that at a certain age in history have formed a happy marriage. The first of these, seven thousand years old, is the Pharaonic civilization; the second, one thousand four hundred years old, is the Islamic one. I am perhaps in no need to introduce to any of you either of the two, you being the elite, the learned ones. But there is no harm, in our present situation of acquaintance and communion, in a mere reminder."

Like Orhan Pamuk, Mahfouz's literary persona is built upon a cultural crossroads between religions (pantheism and Islam),  historical periods (Ancient Egypt and the fall of the Byzantine Empire), and ideologies (kingship cults, the Quran). However, his barb pointed toward the predominantly Western European members of the Academy and the Swedish Nobel Prize Committee, a half-mockingly bow to their intelligence, reveals that Mahfouz has not abandoned his own perspective, despite the repeated Islamic extremist attempts on his life, and his own admission that an artist coming out of an austere Islamic upbringing is nigh impossible.

"It was my fate, ladies and gentlemen, to be born in the lap of these two civilizations, and to absorb their milk, to feed on their literature and art. Then I drank the nectar of your rich and fascinating culture. From the inspiration of all this - as well as my own anxieties - words bedewed from me. These words had the fortune to merit the appreciation of your revered Academy which has crowned my endeavour with the great Nobel Prize. Thanks be to it in my name and in the name of those great departed builders who have founded the two civilizations."

Curiously, Mahfouz highlights the trend that the Committee champions unique worldviews that belong to no single tradition, and this peculiar preference is likely what has barred any Americans since Toni Morrison (1993) or Saul Bellow (1976) from receiving the award. An American's identity, while the product of a "melting pot" cultural ideology, and even more as a member of a nation absolutely indebted to the West and the Enlightenment for its genesis, is nonetheless of no unique character other than the inward-looking gaze that European society scorns. That being said, the  aforementioned most recent American winners have none of self-possessed, middle-class, capitalist eye of past American recipient Sinclair Lewis (1930). Perhaps the Nobel Committee, in the light of World War II and the Holocaust's gutting and devastation of the Western European consciousness, had to revise their policy, favoring less an uncompromising individual vision and more a sense of cultural connectedness and unity in order to rebuild Europe and foster a sense of solidarity.

"You may be wondering: This man coming from the third world, how did he find the peace of mind to write stories? You are perfectly right. I come from a world labouring under the burden of debts whose paying back exposes it to starvation or very close to it. Yes, how did the man coming from the Third World find the peace of mind to write stories? Fortunately, art is generous and sympathetic. In the same way that it dwells with the happy ones it does not desert the wretched. It offers both alike the convenient means for expressing what swells up in their bosom."

What Mahfouz seems to be forgetting here is that the extraordinary nature of his circumstances tends to beget an individual with an extraordinary life, and this sort of experience is vital to writing. This "labouring" of which he speaks is the necessary struggle of a writer. There is a zero-sum proposition to be made here, where one's greatness and skill is proportional to the life's suffering they are prepared to face; the diligence, self-discipline, loss of anonymity, individual smallness, all of this -- for a book. But the writer does not choose his art, and then suffer. No, he writes, suffers, and writes for the catharsis. Mahfouz, in lighter terms, expresses a similar sentiment.

"I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I feel I may have somewhat troubled your calm. But what do you expect from one coming from the Third World? Is not every vessel coloured by what it contains? Besides, where can the moans of Mankind find a place to resound if not in your oasis of civilization planted by its great founder for the service of science, literature and sublime human values? And as he did one day by consecrating his riches to the service of good, in the hope of obtaining forgiveness, we, children of the Third World, demand of the able ones, the civilized ones, to follow his example, to imbibe his conduct, to meditate upon his vision."

The author seems to be at his most inappropriate in this passage, apologizing for embodying the image of him as a highly political supported of Egyptian nationalism and angry denunciation of Islamic groups such as the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood. But his aesthetic "vessel," his writing, must necessarily reflect his own individual views, predilections, and frailties. Palace Walk, featuring alcoholism, infidelity, female subservience, and crushing patriarchy, reflects the struggles of a man who came of age in a Third World regime where these misgivings are far too common and far too riveting to be anything but the source of great writing, and a difficult life.

The Fear of the Jinn

The Fear of the Jinn

From the start of the novel, it is easy to tell that religion and superstition play an important role in the life of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s family and the culture they live in.  Through the course of a simple conversation, the Qur’an is quoted and referenced in multiple contexts.  They are either asking for God’s forgiveness, or blessing, or submitting to his will.  Amina is especially religious and quotes the Qur’an often when speaking to her husband.  She seems to use these phrases when she is most terrified of his reaction.  For instance, when telling her husband about her accident, she adds to the end of the story, “May God spare you any evil, sir” (197).  Since Amina seems the most devout, I was intrigued when her intense fear of the jinn was introduced. 

The jinn are described as a type of demon that have a real and physical presence in Amina’s life.  Amina cowers at night with her only defense of, “reciting the opening prayer of the Qur’an… about the absolute supremacy of God” (7).  At first I compared the jinn to the devil of the Christian faith.  However, unlike the devil, the jinn are not blamed for tempting followers or causing evil.  They seem more to be invisible creatures who could harm humans through possession.  Amina states that they are, “demons who could not be lured away from these spacious, empty old rooms for long” and that she can, “frequently hear their whispers… be awakened by their warm breath” (7).  The jinn cause Amina great fear and she never feels safe unless her husband is home.  Even when Amina has children, their presence causes more anxiety than a sense of security.  She would hold them protectively and yell at the jinn, “Leave us alone.  We are Muslims and believe in the one God” (8).

Since the life I lead is very different from that of al-Sayyid Ahmad’s family, and I am not a Muslim (nor familiar with the religion), I looked up information on the jinn to fully understand them.  I found information on the Wenner-Gren Blog which publishes findings of the Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research.  In the blog, they describe jinn as, “a type of sentient, invisible creatures whose creation by God from fire is mentioned in the Qur’an—to harm humans, either directly, by entering their body and possessing them, or indirectly, from the outside.”  This definition goes along with that one found in the novel.  The blog goes further to explain that possession by the jinn can only be healed by Quranic healer because many Egyptians are convinced that the Qur’an, as the Word of God, can cure any disease including physical and mental ones.  Amina is a direct example of this belief as she tries to heal from her accident.  She attempts to refuse to see a doctor because, “she did not believe in modern medicine and associated it with major catastrophes and serious events” (188).  Even al-Sayyid Ahmad expresses this sentiment when he tells Amina, “Stay in bed till God heals you” (197).  This explanation of Quranic healers being able to cure everything also explains why Amina sees the Qur’an as her only defense against the jinn and surrounds herself with, “a protective shield of Qur’an suras, amulets, charms, and incantations” (7).

Religion and superstitions obviously play a large role in the novel.  By learning more about the relationship between the Qur’an and the jinn, it is easier to understand many of Amina’s thoughts and actions. It becomes clear that religion exists as a protection against other beings as well as being a method of forgiveness, acceptance, and blessing.

Source - link to the Wenner-Gren Blog: http://blog.wennergren.org/2013/02/interview-ana-maria-vinea-and-between-the-psyche-and-the-soul/ 

A Bend In The River

            Within the beginning of the novel I was reminded of a few of the other books we have read previously in the semester. The focus on time has been a central theme within many of the books. In “ A Bend in the River” Salim presents Africa as if it is outside of time he describes the blending of past events with one another until it is impossible to tell which one came before the other, and says that Africa has been ruled by Arabs and then Europeans yet remains the same.

            The main link I thought of was between Salim and the Magistrate in “Waiting for the Barbarians”.  Both men are in the middle of the situation with their hands holding onto both sides, unable to devote himself to one or the other. Salim says that the Europeans not only want slaves and gold, but also to have statues put up of them as people who had done good things for the slaves.

            Then he says that slavery on the east coast was different for they had domestic servants “protection of a foreign family was preferable to being alone among the strange and unfriendly Africans” within this he is saying Africans are afraid of other Africans. This contrasts with what he said about Zabeth, how she was safe in her village, and that leaving it was dangerous.

            When he talks about the slaves that his family had, he is convinced that they wanted to be there. Many times he makes it seems as if his family was doing the slaves a favor “We were stuck with them” “The slaves could take over…” “The slaves have swamped the masters” etc. It could be seen as a toned down version of the European lie he is upset about.

            Parts of “A Bend in the River” also reminds me of Siddhartha whenever Salim describes his family. The first look the reader gets at his family is when Salim discusses their religious ways, and the overall life they lead, in a disparaging tone. “To stay with my community…was to be taken with them to destruction” “I wanted to break away”.