Literature, Middle Eastern

Twenty-first-century Middle Eastern (primarily Arabic, Persian, and Turkish) literature encompasses a rich
variety of genres, whose maturation has profited from internal and external influences upon this literature over
the past fourteen centuries. Modern Arabic literature addresses the full range of human experience, often
through a realist approach that employs the Arabic language in ways ranging from the most formal to the most
colloquial. While Turkish and Persian literatures have both followed individual trajectories since the modern
period, they too evince a similar range with respect to genre and employment of language.

Although today these three literatures appear as discrete entities, they share a long early religious, cultural, and
political history. While pre-Islamic Persian and Turkish literatures would prove influential when taken up by
writers in the first few centuries after Islam, pre-Islamic Arabic literature provided the first literary model. Pre-
Islamic Arabic literature is characterized by the mua'allaqat (ca. mid 500s–early 600s ce), a collection of poems
from the Arabian Peninsula renowned for their beauty. These poems are odes to the sorrows of lost love, using
such tropes as abandoned campsites to evoke memories of a beloved. That of Imru al-Qays (c. mid-500s),
perhaps the best known, begins: "Come, let us cry from the remembrance of a love and a home." Although
poetic themes have changed over the centuries, the ode (qasida) has enjoyed continuing popularity through the
twentieth century.

Poetry remained the dominant literary form during the "classical" period of the Abbasid (750–1258), with
romantic praise of a beloved, whether male or female, the most common theme. A folk literature also emerged,
involving heroic or adventure narratives; A Thousand and One Nights is the most renowned example. This
collection of stories, of which "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves" and "Aladdin" are perhaps the best known to
Western readers, began to take shape around the year 1000. It drew together stories with roots in India, Persia,
and the Arab w

``orld. Meanwhile, prose matured as a literary form, a development attributed to the Persian bureaucrats
employed by the Abbasid court. Authors like Ibn Muqaffa (died ca. 760) and al-Jahiz (776–868/9) brought
Persian narrative forms, stylistics, themes, and subject matter into the world of classical Arabic literature.

With the political fragmentation of the Muslim world in the 1200s, cultural contributions from Persia, India,
western Asia, and North Africa intensified, entering the literature primarily through Sufi figures like the
eminent Persian poet Hafiz (ca. 1352–1389). For the Levant and the Persian Gulf—the heart of the Arab world
—the emerging Ottoman Empire provided the most significant influence. The Ottoman Empire aided the
development of Arabic literature by, like the earlier Islamic empires, serving as a bridge joining peoples and
cultures across its great geographic expanse.

Napoléon Bonaparte's (1769–1821) invasion of Egypt in 1798, often described as the beginning of the modern
era, also marked the shift from domestic to external literary traditions as dominant influences on Middle Eastern
literature. The introduction of European colonial regimes, coupled with the modernizing efforts of the Ottoman
state, opened the region to European political, economic, and cultural influences on a much broader scale than
in any previous historical moment. Whether in the form of European themes or genres, the incorporation of
European words or the adoption of European languages wholesale, or literary responses to the new reality of
colonial regimes, European influences on Middle Eastern literature began appearing toward the end of the
century.

The most notable effect of European influence was the emergence of the novel as a primary literary genre of
modern Arabic literature. Imported European novels first appeared in the mid-nineteenth century. By the late
nineteenth century, the genre had attracted an upper-and upper-middle-class following. The reputed "first"
Middle Eastern novel, Muhammad Hussein Heykal's (1890–1956) Zaynab, was published in 1913 and was
followed by numerous novels published in Ottoman Turkish and Arabic.
The other characteristic genre of modern Arabic literature, the short story, also emerged in this period. Drawing
upon the hakawati (story-telling) tradition found in folk literature, the modern short story has been employed to
offer social and political commentary on the difficulties faced by ordinary citizens—particularly those in urban
areas. Finally, the early and mid-twentieth century saw the blossoming of memoirs and autobio-graphic
literature, which blended elements of the tarjuma (a type of formalized curriculum vitae often used to
summarize the life achievements of eminent men), the literary inheritance of the sira (the narrative of the life of
the Prophet Muhammad), and the more personal elements of naturalistic nineteenth-century poetry into
autobiographic and memoir genre traditions.

Drama and poetry were also affected by nineteenth- and twentieth-century European literary movements.
Absurdist and existential dramatic styles have aided works whose political critiques needed to be safely cloaked
in abstraction. On the other hand, an often gritty realism has enabled the production of a rich collection of
novels and short stories, whose narratives are steeped in the daily lives of ordinary people. In poetry, the
introduction of free verse style, breaking the tight conventions of the traditional forms, has spurred the
emergence of new themes: the dramas of ordinary life, emotional responses to the loss of Palestine, and other
topics grounded in the personal experience of the author rather than conventional rhetoric found in earlier eras.

A list of modern Middle Eastern literature must begin with the Egyptian author Naguib Mahfouz (Najib
Mahfudh, b. 1911), who has exercised a peerless influence over twentieth-century Arabic literature. His best-
known works include the Cairo trilogy (Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street), published from 1956 to
1957, and Children of the Alley (1959). A similarly eminent figure is Jordanian Abdelrahman (Abd al-Rahman)
Munif (1933–2004), whose Cities of Salt (1984), an epic portrayal of the changes brought to a desert
community by the advent of oil drilling there, was rewarded for its authenticity with bans in several countries.

The Palestinian short-story author Ghassan Kanafani (1936–1972) wrote a number of pieces that demonstrate
the richness of the genre, of which "Men in the Sun" (1963) is the most widely known. Egyptian author Nawal
el Saadawi (b. 1930) is best known in the United States for her activist writing on the oppression of women in
the Arab world; within the region she is also known as a novelist, whose works, including Woman at Point
Zero (1975), often treat similar themes. The books of Lebanese novelists Hanan al-Shaykh (b. 1945) and Ghada
Samaan (b. 1942) are also often described as concerned with women's experiences, particularly during the
Lebanese civil war: Samaan's Beirut '75 (1974) can be found on university reading lists in Damascus, for
example, while al-Shaykh's Beirut Blues (1995) uses the war to revisit themes of frustration and emptiness that
she first addressed in The Story of Zahra (1986) and other works.

Some of the most well-known writers of contemporary Middle Eastern literature write in other languages:
Palestinian novelist Anton Shammas (b. 1951) and emerging writer Sayed Kashua (Qashu', b. 1975) both write
in Hebrew; Algerian author Assia Djebar (b. 1936) and Persian graphic writer Marjane Satrapi (b. 1969) write
in French.

Poetry continues to play a significant role in modern Middle Eastern literature. The twentieth century was a
time of great evolution in poetic styles, from the mysticism of the Lebanese-born writer Gibran Khalil Gibran
(1883–1931) to the gentle experiments with form and expression made by Egyptian author Ahmad Shawqi
(1868–1932), the Palestinian poet Ibrahim Tuqan (1905–1941), and others in the interwar period. The best
known figures of the later twentieth century have been those who have turned their mastery of language and
rhythm to explore new poetic forms while expressing often sharply critical political and social commentary.

The Palestinian poet Mahmud Darwish (b. 1942) remains one of the most active voices in contemporary Arabic
poetry; Memory for Forgetfulness (1982) is perhaps his most famous diwan (collection of poetry). The Syrian
poet Nizar Qabbani (1923–1998), known for his often frosty relations with his own and other state
governments, wrote political poetry in the guise of romance and quasi-erotic pieces. His works are often
misrecognized as the latter in the West; translated collections of his poems often bear misleading references to
love in their titles.
In addition to fiction, the genre of memoirs has proven particularly rich in the later twentieth and early twenty-
first century. The best known and most frequently cited is eminent mid-century Egyptian author Taha Hussein's
(1889–1973) autobiography, The Days (1929–1955), which follows the course of his life in three parts. Most
other memoirs, however, focus on the author's childhood. In the late-twentieth century the genre began opening
to women, following the publication of Moroccan writer Fatima Mernissi's (b. 1940) Dreams of
Trespass (1994). (The childhood memoir of Turkish feminist and intellectual Halide Edib Adivar [1884–
1964], House with Wisteria, was published in the mid-1900s.) Well-known Palestinian poet Fadwa Tuqan
(1917–2003; A Mountainous Journey, 1985), Syrian author Siham Tergeman (Daughter of Damascus, 1994),
and Moroccan short-story writer Leila Abouzeid (b. 1950; Return to Childhood, 1993) and others have
published memoirs.

n the 7th century, the fabled Arabian town of Ukaz, located on the road to the heart of the holy site
in Mecca, was known for the hustle and bustle of its market place. Apart from all the normal
commercial exchanges, the market was also a meeting point for the best Arab poets from the
region.

In the midst of all the eloquent men stood a woman, Al Khansa – a nom du plume meaning
“gazelle” or the “snub-nosed” – whose talent for poetry quickly became the envy of her
contemporaries.

Her real name was Tumadir bint ‘Amr ibn Al Harth ibn Al Sharid. She was born about 575 in Najid
of Arabia (now Saudi Arabia), died in 646, and is regarded as the greatest Arab woman poet who
ever lived.

Her writing is considered paramount to the legendary Al Muaallaqat poems (a compilation of seven
works regarded as the some of the best poems from the pre-Islamic era). The Prophet Mohammed
was known to have enjoyed her poetry – he would often ask her to compose and recite them at his
gatherings.

"If you want to know the best that has ever been written by a female Arab poet, then you must
read Diwan Al Khansa," says Emirati poetess Maryam Al Naqbi of the Sharjah Centre for Popular
Poetry.

Al Khansa's Diwan (Collection of Poems) features hundreds of lines of her best writing – from
rebuttals and witty responses to famous Arab poets of her time, to works covering themes such as
honour, love, family values and tradition. It is not currently available in English, but extracts are
included in some collections. According to professor Hasan Al Naboodah, an Emirati historian and
dean of the College of Humanities and Social Sciences at the UAE University in Al Ain, Al
Khansa's works provide insight into a rich time in Arab history.

“Al Khansa’s poetry spanned a very interesting period – the pre-islamic period and the early
Islamic period – and so her poems are very important, historically,” he says.

“In Arab literature, particularly poetry, the background of the authors themselves was an important
factor. Al Khansa was from an important tribe, and she had a presence. She was a witness to
important events and her poems capture beautifully what has happened.”

Al Nabigha Al Dhubyaani (535 to 604), a famous classical Arab poet – who is credited with giving
Al Khansa her nom de plume – said of her that no poet could match her skills.

Kahlil Gibran (1883 to 1931), who is sometimes referred to as the “Arab Shakespeare”, was so
inspired by Al Khansa that he sketched a famous portrait of her with a mournful expression.
His portrayal was rooted in her struggles and tragedies. Al Khansa’s two brothers died in tribal
skirmishes, then she lost her four sons who, inspired by Prophet Mohammed’s call for salvation,
converted to Islam and were killed in the Battle of Qadisiyah in 636.

She also converted to Islam, becoming one of the first female poets of the Islamic era.

The loss of her sons for the sake of sharing the message of Islam also gave her another title –
Umm Al Shuhada (Mother of Martyrs). Her poetry, with a focus on grief, continues to strike a chord
more than a thousand years later.

“No matter how many times I have read her elegies, they always touch me and hit at the heart,”
says Al Naqbi.

“It is like she captured the very essence of grief and loss, a timeless and universal theme that
anyone and everyone can identify with.”

Indeed, Al Khansa’s elegies to the fallen, called “marthiyah” in Arabic, are renowned as some of
the most stirring writing of its kind in Arabic.

A story is told of how, when her brother, Mu’awiya, died in a raid, Al Khansa beseeched her other
brother, Sakhr, to seek vengeance against the offending tribe.

Sakhr successfully defeated the tribe and killed his brother’s murderers, but died a year later from
the wounds sustained in the battle.

Al Khansa then composed some of her most famous, heartfelt poems in honour of Sakhr: “Go,
then. May God not keep you far, a man such as you / One who prosecutes injustice and exacts
retaliations / You bore a non-oppressive heart upright, unbending / Like a spearhead whose blade
illuminates the night / Firm and resolute, noble and of noble descent / And I shall weep for you as
long as the dove coos and as long as the stars light up the dark for the night traveller.”

Al Naqbi says that Al Khansa’s poetry has often provided succour when her family suffers a loss.

“The rising and setting of the sun keep turning on my memory of Sakhr’s death,” is a line she cites
as being one of the most comforting.

Several female poets have been dubbed “Al Khansa” of their eras, including Laila Al Akhyaliyya
(died 709), for example, who is considered Al Khansa of the Umayyad period.

“It has always been harder being a female poet in our culture, and in the Arab world in general,
and so legends such as Al Khansa inspire us all,” says Al Naqbi.

One of the first girls’ schools in the country, which opened in 1958 in Deira, Dubai, was named
after Al Khansa. Across the Arab world, numerous schools, hospitals and literary institutions are
named after her.

"Women poets have been around since the earliest times, yet their diwans [collected poems] were
not given the same attention as the men's, even though the women poets may have been
princesses, noblewomen or saints," wrote Abdullah Al Udhari, the author of the 1999 bilingual
anthology, Classical Poems by Arab Women, which includes a chapter on Al Khansa. "Apart from
Khansa's Diwan, no other diwans by women have yet appeared.
“Khansa is the only woman poet to have attracted the attention of the classical editors and critics,
who regarded her as the greatest Arab woman poet.”

Publisher Saqi Books recently reprinted Al Khansa’s seminal work in a new edition.

"We are reprinting because we believe that it is a very important book, and totally unique," say
spokesperson Elizabeth Briggs. "These poems, many rarely seen, deserve to reach a wide
readership, which is what we hope to help them achieve through this beautiful reprint of Classical
Poems by Arab Women."

If Al Naboodah was to compare Al Khansa to a western historical figure, it would be Queen

Elizabeth I, who ushered in a creatively dynamic period in English history, referred to as the
“Elizabethan Age”.

“Al Khansa remained a powerful figure, and a leader, in spite of all her turmoil and losses. She was
like a queen,” says Al Naboodah. “Our history is not just the history of men, it includes the great
contributions of our women, and Diwan Al Khansa is one of the most famous ones to learn.”

The Egyptian writer Tawfiq al-Hakim (1898- 1987) is one of the leading figures in Arabic literature and
drama. In his masterpiece, The Sultan’s Dilemma (1960), al-Hakim discusses an eternal question, which is
mightier and has a lasting, influential role. Is it the power of authority or the power of the principles? Is it
the sword or the law? The play is set in the medieval past, but its moral is addressed to the modern
world. It explores the legitimacy of power through the character of a Mamluk Sultan raised into power.
Suddenly, this Sultan faced a dilemma that he is neither a legible ruler nor released from the slavery of
the earlier Sultan. Hence, the Sultan finds himself trapped between using forceful authority to establish
his kinghood or applying the rightful law that might be difficult to be achieved, and it might take time.
Sultan’s dilemma symbolizes the political predicament that the modern world is facing.
Keywords: Arabic literature, political predicament; power, Tawfiq al-Hakim, The Sultan’s Dilemma

The Theme of Choice in The

Sultan’s Dilemma Play
Johaina Bani Oraba

Johaina Bani Oraba

English Language Lecturer

Published Aug 15, 2019
+ Follow
In 1847, the Arabic modern drama has appeared for the first time, in Beirut. Then,
around the time of World War I, the Egyptian theatre was established with the
efforts of Muhammad Taymur, Antun Yazbak, and Ibrahim Ramzi. This Egyptian
theatre presented fruition with Tawfīq al-Hakim, who dominated the Egyptian
theatre from the 1930s. Tawfīq al-Hakim considered as the major pioneer figures
in modern Arabic literature. His works play a great deal in the foundation of an
entire literary tradition of Arabic drama and they are important legacies of Arabic
literature from literary genre that developed in his expressive techniques and
mode of language as well. Also, his works on the modern drama developed the
Arabic theatre and play. He became well known in the Arab world because of his
plays which most of them have been brought to stage in Egypt.

The Sultan's Dilemma is one of Tawfīq al-Hakim’s plays in which he tries to draw
the attention f people towards the international aspect of super power in the
modern world. It was published in 1960. It is composed of three acts.

The Sultan's Dilemma indicates that the choice is between law and sword leads
up to the Sultan’s dilemma and the place of the women, Belle, and it raises a
conflict for the Sultan to make a choice.

The Sultan’s choice leads him up to the dilemma. Al-Mamluk Sultan inherits
power from his former master. The people discover that he is still slave and his
former master has not released him yet; he is therefore legally disqualified from
occupying the throne. He cannot occupy the throne before being free and
released by his master. The Sultan became confused about what he should
choose. The Chief Justice and the Vizier argue about how to find a solution for
this problem in front of the Sultan. The Chief Justice argues that the Sultan
should be sold in a public sale to the benefit of the funds of the government. He
requires that whoever buys the Sultan must set him free immediately. The Chief
Justice refuses the suggestion of the Vizier and he thinks that his proposal is
unethical. The Vizier argues that executing the trader terrorizes the people into
stopping from coming up with such a statement. “In fact, the drama is meant for
the culture and philosophy of the contemporary Egypt and outside as well. In the
drama Sultan found criticism of people from the point of his slavery. It brought
him to the dilemma that remained between the power and law of the state”
(Anonymous). The Sultan choices to follow the law; even though, he is humiliated.
“Sultan: Yes, and this is my frightful hour, the frightful hour of every ruler, the
moment he makes the final decision which changes things. The moment he utters
this little word...the choice that determines the future...The sword or the law or
the sword?

Vizier: I appreciate the delicate situation, my lord.

Sultan: Yet you don’t want to help me with a choice?

Vizier: I cannot. In this situation, you alone must make the choice.Sultan: The
sword or the law or the sword?... Well, I have decided.Vizier: Your orders, my
Lord?

Sultan: I have decided to choose... to choose...

Vizier: What, my Lord?

Sultan: ... The law! I have chosen the law!” (p.85,86. Act 1)

He is sold off in public to be taken by the highest bidder. The ill-reputed woman,
Belle, is the one who has the highest bid. The sword in this play signifies an
instrument despotism and its administration of justice. It seems like a way that
can be used in order to achieve justice. The Sultan is confused between law and
force. He could have chosen the sword instead of law and refuse being sold in
public, but he chooses the law because he does not want to make a huge mistake
that would be passed-down with the coming generation and he would give a
chance for those who want to occupy the throne. By choosing the law, he
protects himself and his authority.

The woman choice brings happiness to the Sultan. The woman, Belle, is a clever,
wise, beautiful, rich, and she is interested in arts and literature. She is the one who
has the highest bid when the Sultan is sold in public. She is ill-reputed woman.

“ Belle: You don’t believe, and you don’t take what I say seriously! Well, let it be.
Think ill of me as much as you like. It is not my habit to defend myself against the
wrong ideas of others. In the eyes of the world, I am a woman with a bad
reputation. I have come to accept this verdict. I find that quite a comfort and am
no longer interested in correcting people’s opinion. When a human being goes
beyond all the bounds of the bad, he becomes free... and I want my freedom”
(p.131, Act 3).

At first, she refuses to manumit him. She defeats the Chief Justice who wanted to
nullify her deal with a brilliant argument. The Sultan gives in his fate as a chattel
of the woman who bought him. When the Chief Justice becomes a tricky lawyer,
who succeeds to scheme to hold the woman to the letter of the law, the Sultan
reprove him for violating the role which is that he is supposed to guard as a Chief
Justice which is the integrity of the law. She meets with artists and scholars in
different cultural parties. This lets her mind opened; however, it was not
understood by the common people who blamed her as a whore. When she insists
that the Sultan should spend a night in her establishment, some people vilify her.
However, her conversation with the Sultan represents that she is innocent, and
she is interested in arts and cultures. “She was indeed a well-bred, cultured and
educated lady and became a torch-bearer of the society concerned, who honestly
could solve the great problem like that of the manumission of the Sultan in the
drama” (Anonymous). She succeeds in saving the life of the Sultan. Also, she
saves the life of slave trader from the executioner.

The play represents the conflict of choice between law and sword. The power of
the sword is represented by the Vizier who was insisting on the Sultan to execute
to stop people from going into the spreading of the Sultan's bondage and not to
let him govern. The law is represented by the Chief Justice who confronted the
Sultan and insisted that the law should be applied despite everything. After the
tragedy of the Sultan's revolution and his submission to the mind, he decides to
follow the law. The Sultan chooses to follow the law because he knows that it is
the right way to protect the rights and to be beloved by people. Also, he can see
the consequences of following the sword on his country and rule. The choice
explores that the strong person is the one who protects himself with the law and
rights, not with the sword. Moreover, the play shows that the society needs the
legal sovereignty to be in the

right way rather than anything else. The subjection to justice is very glorious.
Also, it explores that the Sultan plays a great role in protecting the law. The
society needs honest juries as well as it needs as strong army. While the army
protects the country, the honest juries protect the rights of people. Obviously,
without justice of the law, people cannot have a strong and victorious army.
Justice of law gives people the rights without which individuals become humbled
and lost.

All in all, The Sultan's Dilemma is one of the modern Arabic drama. It is one of
masterpieces that written by Tawfīq al-Hakim who is known as pioneer figures in
modern Arabic literature. The play examines the moral commitment of the just
ruler because he is caught in a dilemma which could be faster solved through the
sword than it is according to the law. It finds the solution for the conflict issues
which people become confused whether to chose law or sword to solve them.
The Vizier and the Chief Justice argue about how to solve this problem with the
Sultan. Vizier suggests that the Sultan should chose the power of sword, while
the Chief Justice suggests that he should follow the law. The Sultan becomes
confused about what he should chose. He finally choses the law. Also, the choice
of the woman, Bella, brings happiness to the Sultan. She is ill-reputed woman;
however, her conversation with the Sultan change

Death Is Hard Work is a novel written by Khaled Khalifa. Published originally in 2016, it was translated from Arabic
into English February 12, 2019 by Leri Price. The story is set in Syria as three siblings—Bolbol, Hussein, and Fatima
—journey to complete their dead father's final wish of being buried next to his sister, Layla, in their hometown of
Anabiya. The normally short drive turns into a few days' journey full of stress and violence as they must travel
through warring territory with constant checkpoints they are stopped at.
The novel was one of the finalists of the National Book Awards and has been notably reviewed by numerous
sources like The Wall Street Journal, Kirkus Reviews, and The Los Angeles Times.[1]

Background[edit]
The Syrian novel, Death Is Hard Work, was written in light of the ongoing Syrian civil war (2011-current). At this
point, the Syrian civil war had set a nation against itself. Chemical weapons were being used to subdue the general
population, sowing more distrust in an already-shattered nation. Multiple military sectors were competing for the
upper hand, making civilian life dangerous as towns and roads became war zones.[2]
In 2013, during the difficult and violent conflict, author Khaled Khalifa suffered a heart attack; he was temporarily
bed-bound in a hospital. During this time he reflected, with the constant noise of bombs bursting in the background,
on the question of what would happen to his body if he were to die during this wartime. His reflections resulted in
this novel focused on familial conflict regarding a corpse needing burial within a war zone. [3]
Considerable parallels are seen between the war in Death Is Hard Work and the current Syrian civil war, as both
show how war affects normal life.[4]

Plot summary[edit]
During the civil war in Syria, a rebel leader by the name of Abdel Latif al-Salim lay dying in a Damascene hospital.
Abdel reveals his dying wish to be buried beside his sister Layla in his hometown of Anabiya to his son Bolbol, who
steps up and pledges to honor his father's wishes, regardless of the troubles that he may encounter along the way.
Bolbol then tells the news of their father's death to his sister, Fatima, and brother, Hussein, who both agree to help
Bolbol accomplish his father's wish.
Bolbol sets out with his siblings to cross Syria with Abdel's corpse in tow. This journey proves to be more complex
than originally thought; with the addition of military checkpoints every few miles, a few hours journey is turned into a
days-long odyssey.
At the first of many military checkpoints, the guards recognize Abdel's corpse, and set out to have his dead body
arrested for crimes against the regime. After much discussion with many guards, Bolbol manages to bribe the
authorities to permit the body's free passage, allowing the group to continue their voyage. As similar events continue
to occur with each passing checkpoint, Bolbol contemplates how easy this journey would be if only they were
transporting sacks of cumin rather than a dead body. This leads Bolbol to reminiscence on his past, recalling
particular details of his youth, such as the neighborhood he grew up in, and the practical effects of being raised
during wartime.
After calling in a favor, the group stops at Bolbol's childhood friend, Lamia's (whom he was passionately in love and
wrote poetry to, but could not marry) house after dropping Abdel's body off in the local morgue for the night. Over
the course of their stay, Lamia and her husband, Zuhayr, offer to help the group pass the next few checkpoints with
relative ease, due to Zuhayr's family connections to the regime. It is also revealed that Lamia continues to be an
object of Bolbol's obsession. Bolbol spends the night longing for the old days, when he was in love with Lamia. This
leads directly into Bolbol recounting an old story regarding the relationship between Abdel and his second wife,
Navine, particularly from when they met, to when they got married after the death of Adbel's first wife and mother to
his children.
With the corpse rapidly decaying, the guards at each checkpoint begin to provide leniency to the group more readily,
allowing them swifter passage just to be rid of the sight. After the group passes a man's half-eaten corpse, an
argument breaks out between Bolbol and Hussein about how easy it would be to simply leave their father's corpse
there to be eaten by wolves, and no one would be the wiser. This leads Bolbol to provide backstory on Hussein,
explaining his tendencies to overreact and lash out at loved ones, and his long history of causing trouble with family.
Meanwhile, the corpse's decay has gotten to the point where the scent can no longer be masked with cologne.
After stopping for the night in their van, the group is attacked by wild dogs after the scent of the corpse, leaving the
siblings panicked and increasingly on-edge. At the peak of this panic, Hussein picks a fight with Bolbol, who goes
down quite easily with a few punches. The stress of their journey has begun to break the siblings, as they all resolve
to sob in silence for the night.
After passing through several more checkpoints, the group is stopped by an extremist group, who end up
withholding passage from Bolbol until he completes a "religious reeducation course." Left with no other choice,
Hussein and Fatima, who has been struck mute, continue on without Bolbol, even more determined to reach
Anabiya now that the corpse shows signs of maggot infestation. The two siblings reach Anabiya before sundown,
and meet with a cousin and uncle of theirs: the only surviving relatives in the village. Plans are made to bury the
body at morning prayer. Bolbol arrives at the village and rejoins his siblings, having been turned over to his uncle by
the extremist group. That night, each sibling reflects on how little they desire to see each other after the burial.
After the burial, Bolbol resolves to be addressed only by his original name, Nabil. Fatima has gone permanently
mute from the shock of the journey. Hussein quite uncharacteristically keeps to himself. The siblings begin their
journey home, and each show a large degree of relief as they pass through the checkpoints with ease, now that
they are not in possession of their father's corpse. Hussein and Fatima drop Bolbol off at his neighborhood in
Damascus, and leave without exchanging words. Bolbol contemplates how his house smells of his father's corpse,
and how he wants his face to melt under the hot water like his father's corpse had melted away in rot.

Characters[edit]
Main characters[edit]
 Abdel Latif al-Salim – Father of Bolbol, Hussein, and Fatima, husband to Navine. Nicknamed "The Anabiyan"
after his hometown, he was a major rebel leader in the civil war. His death and subsequent burial are the driving
elements of the novel.
 Bolbol – Middle child, younger son of Abdel and Navine. Usually described as weak, fearful, and paranoid. At
his father's death, Bolbol shows unusual courage and determination to honor his father's wish to be buried in his
hometown, Anabiya.[5]
 Hussein – Oldest child, older son of Abdel and Navine. Hotheaded and temperamental. Enjoys commanding
others, especially through the use of aphorisms. Had the dream of being successful and powerful but those
plans fell through to leave him as a minibus driver.[5]
 Fatima – Youngest child, only daughter of Abdel and Navine. Loves gossip, and generally very emotional and
empathetic. Feels compelled to reunite the family after her father's death, to keep the peace within the family.
Known to have two children, an older son and a younger daughter. She is described to live in a male-dominating
life both in marriage and in her intermediate family.[5]
Secondary Characters[edit]
 Navine – Second wife to Abdel. Worked as an art teacher before marrying Abdel. She was raised in a middle
class, educated family, making her marriage to Abdel somewhat controversial.
 Layla – Sister to Abdel. Committed suicide by dousing herself in kerosene and setting herself ablaze in order to
avoid an arranged marriage to a man she could not love.
 Mamdouh – Fatima's ex-husband. Studied under Abdel during high school years.
 Hiyam – Bolbol's ex-wife. Divorced Bolbol, disappearing with their son, named for Abdel.
 Lamia – Bolbol's childhood friend and ex-lover. Dedicated to helping people in need; known to house upwards
of 40 refugees in her house at once. Received letters of poetry from Bolbol, but never pursued the relationship.
 Zuhayr – Lamia's husband. Went to prison before marrying Lamia. Family has ties to the regime, but is
sympathetic to the rebel cause.

Reception[edit]
Death Is Hard Work received attention and praise from reviewers, with Middle East Eye calling it "a road trip novel
unlike any other."[6] and The Guardian noting how the novel is "robust in its doubts, humane in its gaze and gentle in
its persistence."[7]
Elliot Ackerman of The New York Times directly compares Khalifa to American author, William Faulkner, stating
"Many fine American writers have claimed the mantle of Faulkner's successor ... With "Death Is Hard Work," Khaled
Khalifa has, intentionally or not, also laid claim to that title." [5] Similar sentiments were given by Nadia Ismail of The
Columbia Journal.[8]

s this idea of her.

Khaled Khalifa’s ‘Death Is Hard Work’ sheds light on

life in the shadows of the Syrian War
BY DAVID L. ULIN
“If you really want to erase or distort a story,” Khaled Khalifa declares in his astonishing new
novel “Death Is Hard Work,” “you should turn it into several different stories with different
endings and plenty of incidental details.” He’s referring to the salutary comforts of narrative. This
— or so we like to reassure ourselves — is one reason we turn to literature: as a balm, an
expression of the bonds that bring us together, rather than the divisions that tear us apart.

And yet, what happens when that literature takes place in a landscape where such attachments have
been severed, where “[r]ites and rituals meant nothing now”? These concerns are central to “Death
Is Hard Work,” which takes place in contemporary Syria and involves the efforts of three adult
children to transport the body of their father, Abdel Latif al-Salim, from Damascus, where he has
died, for burial in his home village of Anabiya, a drive that would normally take just a handful of
hours.
Normal, however, is a relative concept, for the novel takes place in the shadow of the Syrian Civil
War, which has rendered even the most basic activities (finding enough to eat, going to work and,
yes, burying the dead) into an epic struggle against an all-consuming chaos where anyone can
disappear. Death is so pervasive that it “wasn’t even a source of distress anymore: it had become an
escape much envied by the living.”

The situation is one Khalifa knows firsthand. Raised in Aleppo, he has lived in Damascus for the
last two decades, and a focus of his work is the ease with which norms evaporate in the midst of
political upheaval and civil war. His last book, “No Knives in the Kitchens of This City,” which
won the Naguib Mahfouz Medal for Literature in 2013, also begins with the death of a parent — in
that case, an Aleppo matriarch — then interweaves the stories of her surviving family members to
develop a kaleidoscopic portrait of that devastated city over 50 years. This new novel is not a
companion volume, although inevitably it has echoes, but rather a continuation, a deepening of
Khalifa’s engagement with the broken narrative of his country, where for many people, life has
been reduced to “a collection of trivial acts that would sooner or later have to come to an end.”

That the same might be said of every one of us is part of the point Khalifa means to make. We are
all connected by the fragile tendrils of our humanity. But the social order we like to take for granted
is little more than a shared hallucination that could go wrong at any time.

Take those siblings at the center of “Death Is Hard Work”: Bolbol, whose deathbed promise to his
father initiates the novel’s odyssey; his older brother Hussein, now estranged but once the favorite;
and their sister Fatima. There is little that they share in common, other than the accident of birth.
“In ten years,” Khalifa tells us, “the three of them hadn’t been gathered in the same place for more
than an hour or two during Eid.” Now, they find themselves trapped together in Hussein’s minibus,
“[t]aking up their old roles … [which] made them feel less afraid.”

That’s a necessary bit of fiction, something to fall back on as the landscape through which they
travel becomes more hostile and intractable at every turn. For one thing, there is Abdel Latif,
slowly decomposing in the back. Even more, there is the war, which explodes around them in the
form of snipers, air raids, tank conveys, militia waving guns from pickup trucks. Shortly after
leaving Damascus, they are detained at a highway checkpoint; “They’re going to arrest the body,”
Hussein whispers to Bolbol. It’s a moment of high absurdity, hyperbole even, except it isn’t —
because of the old man’s sympathies, which are not with the regime, there is an outstanding warrant
for his arrest.

What do you do when you find yourself in a situation where a corpse can be arrested, where even
the fact of death is not enough to offer absolution or reprieve? This is one of the questions posed by
the novel, and it applies equally to oppressed and oppressor, both of whom are caught with one
another in a descending spiral, a gravitational field from which they can’t escape.

“The agent,” Khalifa observes of the arresting officer, “couldn’t seem to make up his mind from
one sentence to the next as to whether the state regarded a person as being merely a collection of
documents or rather an entity of flesh, blood, and soul.” The agent, and the citizens alike. “The
inhabitants of the city,” Khalifa insists trenchantly, ironically, “regarded everyone they saw as not
so much ‘alive’ as ‘pre-dead.’”

On the one hand, that’s a defense mechanism: humor so bitter it metastasizes into scorn. On the
other, it reminds us of the human core of the novel, and the adaptability, even in this doom-struck
landscape, of Khalifa’s characters.

It takes the siblings three days to travel from Damascus to Anabiya, during which time their
father’s body literally splits open with decay. The journey recalls Faulkner’s “As I Lay Dying,” the
long last ride of Addie Bundren; like Faulkner too, Khalifa employs a shifting array of voices and
reflections, moving from perspective to perspective, present to past and back again.

The effect is a persistent deepening, as stories are introduced and then revisited, details added
through the play of memory. That the most vivid of these narratives — the suicide of Abdel Latif’s
sister Layla, for instance, who set herself on fire rather than enter into an arranged marriage with a
man she did not love — are also the most private only underscores what the book most wants us to
recognize: that the real life of people takes place undercover, in the territory of the heart. Even the
fighting is framed through such a filter: “Bolbol reflected that in war, little things … were enough
to give you hope: a considerate soldier at a checkpoint, a checkpoint without traffic, a bomb falling
a hundred meters away from you on a car that had cut you off and taken your turn in line …
Chance has just given us a new life! If that car hadn’t shown up, the bomb would have fallen on
us!”

This, “Death Is Hard Work” suggests, is what sustains us, even (or especially) if the public
narrative has, like that car, been blown apart. The power of the novel — of all Khalifa’s novels —
is that it unfolds within a human context, which pushes against and resists the prevailing social one.
What other option do we have? We behave as we must, even if that means going through the
motions, we act (to borrow a phrase from the late Czech playwright and president Vaclav Havel) as
if we are free. “After all,” Khalifa admonishes, “you have to do something if you aren’t just going
to lie down and die — if you don’t want to sink down to the center of the earth.”