Thursday, 25 June 2020
مراجعة لكتاب "في الشعر الجاهلي" لطه حسين
Thursday, 18 June 2020
Death at intervals
Or Death with interruptions (I prefer this translation)
by Jose Saramago
The following day no one died. This is how the Nobel laureate opened this novel, a short shocking sentence that you would expect to be cheered, but there is a subtle message that makes you want to know more. This opening reminded me of Albert Camus' "The Stranger," which he opened with: Mother died today, or maybe yesterday. (There is a lot of debate on the right translation of this). Both novels are philosophical, death is the centre of events in the books, but unlike Camus' novel, Death is the main character in Saramago's. Announcing the death of someone is a sad act, announcing the death of nobody is weird—is this the end of death? Your feelings are perplexed and your mind is discombobulated. How should I feel and what should I think about that? I read the first page because someone I follow on Twitter posted it. I saw the opening line and immediately wanted to read more.
First it was a day without any deaths, then a week. Most people are happy and there is a sense of national pride growing (death stopped only in this imaginary country). Few are wary of the absence of death, mainly the Church and funeral directors. The weeks turned into months and still no one had died! People realised that adding days to their lives does not mean adding life to their days—life does not fill the gap vacated by death! Then death (Saramago presents death as a woman signing letters with "death" as a name but writing in lowercase!) started to try other things, including collecting all the lives of those who should have died over the past few months, all at once.
"Death created time so it could grow the things it wants to kill," said detective Cohle (Matthew McConaughey) in True Detective (series 2017). Here, death is not that evil. She is not enjoying "killing"; she is only doing her job. It is not an easy read. I won't be recommending such a book to anyone even if they are a keen reader. If you are not interested in philosophy, politics and writing, you will not pass the first chapter. To add to the complexity, the dialogue is not well-defined or spaced out—I mean in typing on the page—but rather sentences following each other. Each chapter is one paragraph extending over 20-30 pages, so even aesthetically it is not pleasing. The reasons I persevered and carried on reading are: I was intrigued to know how the abolition of death impacts society, how people lived through immortality and why this happened. I was also impressed by the way Saramago presented every tragic decision made by Death as a challenge and as an opportunity for the political system, the Church, the market and even the maphia (so called to distance themselves from the "mafia"), all while people are suffering. The last reason is simply because I read many books at the same time. I always read extracts of books or full books of poetry—it is easy to jump around. I have a book about history/economics/politics/philosophy going on, often an audiobook to accompany me on my walks and driving. And lastly I have a heavy slow book that challenges me. This time it was José Saramago and it was a good challenge. It is about 240 pages only, and it took me a few weeks to get through it. The book is a dark satire, trying to be funny but it is not (intentionally), because death is not a laughing matter. The thing that will stick with me is how unwanted immortality is, even for Ms Death herself. But the lesson that I took from this hard read is the idea that even when faced by the strangest and harshest acts of nature, some will always make a profit.
Ahmad Baker
Wednesday, 17 June 2020
The art of storytelling..
Griot, in West Africa, is a poet or storyteller who is in charge of keeping the oral history of the village. When a griot dies, it's like a library burnt down, they say.
I have finished reading Born A Crime by Trevor Noah and was mesmerised by the art of storytelling in it.
Trevor Noah is a mixed-race South African comedian. In apartheid South Africa, being born to a white father and a black woman meant a crime was committed. Noah tells stories of his life—funny, sad, and very humanistic. Most of these stories talk about the individual, but they represent a digest of the history of a country and its communities.
The book cover shows what looks like a poster of a smiling Trevor Noah with a black woman walking in front of this giant poster. Inside the book you are laughing with this man as you relive his adventures, and as his mother walks through those stories.
The first story in the book was about a 9-year-old boy, his baby brother and mum jumping out of a moving minibus. It sounds dangerous and exciting, but there is more to it. For us readers from around the world, it is hard to understand the history of a society, but you can understand a story and the context within it. Trevor's mum is Xhosa, a tribe in South Africa; he is mixed race, meaning the mother had a relationship with a white man; the bus driver was Zulu, a rival tribe. Now, there is the history of apartheid, the stereotyping of women in general and Xhosa women, the patriarchal society of the country, the poverty, and much more, all crammed into one simple and funny adventure of a 9-year-old boy. How you tell such a story, how you convey the message, is real art.
As each story moved on, I could easily predict where it was heading, see the ending from a mile away, yet I would still sit in my corner, captive to the storyteller as he goes on telling his story. The stories are so different but I can easily relate to them—weird and wonderful, alien and human, not about me, but they could be me, because he (the storyteller) made me part of the story. I was listening to Trevor's stories, painting the scenes in my mind, putting myself inside the story, watching and listening to the storyteller and to all the surroundings, the characters, the drama, and most importantly, the history.
I finished the book and was more informed about domestic violence, why poverty breeds poverty, why South Africa is struggling, and many more things. I learnt a lot from those stories—a lot about Trevor Noah and a lot about South Africa, also a lot about myself and humanity. Strangely, the main thing I learnt from this book is how to be a good storyteller, so your story is known, your suffering, history and what is holding your future come out to everyone while they are paying attention.
Ahmad Baker