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There\u2019s a long-standing tradition that the dog days of summer are meant for reading.<\/p>\n
For months now, newspapers and websites around the world have been publishing their fiction lists so that people can order books to take on holiday or to the beach. The Middle East is a little different. In notoriously hot countries any season is prime reading time. Over the last few years the popularity of book bloggers and influencers has grown in bounds in the Arab world. And that attests to the fact that readers don\u2019t need vacations as an excuse to hunker down with a book. Publishers in the region may be beset with problems, particularly in terms of distribution, but they still provide homes for a plethora of new voices and experiences.<\/p>\n
Interestingly a new generation of translators, both in the East and West, has brought SWANA fiction and memoir into English translation. It is this movement of new short fiction and memoir from the region that The Markaz Review champions in its annual summer double literary issue.<\/p>\n
The stories from Oman\u2019s leading writers show particular sensitivity and edginess. \u201cA Blind Window on Childhood<\/a>\u201d by Hamoud Saud and \u201cBesara<\/a>\u201d by Huda Hamed, both translated by Zia Ahmed, address issues that are rarely discussed. Saud often includes a blind figure in his fiction, and the same is true of this short story. In it, a blind grandfather quizzes his grandson on what he sees, and the two of them visualize beyond the physical world. \u201cBesara\u201d is an excerpt from Hamed\u2019s novel Alashiyaa Laisat Fee Amakinha<\/em> [Things Are Not in Their Place]. It is a coming of age story of a young besara<\/em> woman.<\/p>\n Unfamiliar with the word, I asked Ahmed to explain it, and he added this translation note to Hamed\u2019s excerpt: \u201cBesar<\/em> (female form besara<\/em>, plural beyasir<\/em>) is a person whose ancestors were outside the tribal system as indentured servants of uncertain lineage, or otherwise marginalized in society. Slavery existed in Oman from antiquity until the 1970s, and the beyasir<\/em> were in many ways better off than the enslaved. However in other ways, they fared worse, since the enslaved carried the tribal name and could count on the tribe to protect them; the beyasir<\/em> could only count on themselves.\u201d<\/p>\n Ahmed, an American writer and diplomat living in Muscat, is immersed in the country\u2019s fiction. I asked him why? He answered by email: \u201cOman and its literature drew the world\u2019s attention when Jokha Alharthi won the International Booker in 2019, but Omani authors have been writing thoughtful, provocative fiction for years. As a foreigner in Oman, I was particularly intrigued by the diversity of creative narrative forms that blur the boundaries between memoir, history, and fable. [It almost] feels as if an inconspicuous country on the margins of the Arab world had produced the likes of Alice Munro and Jorge Luis Borges in one generation. So I read and \u2014 frustrated by my inability to convey to my bibliophilic partner the depth of my obsession \u2014 began to translate, with patient help from Huda Hamed and Hamoud Saud, two exceptionally gifted writers from different ends of Oman\u2019s lush literary landscape.\u201d<\/p>\n Unsatisfactory marital relations and difficult family life have long been the bedrock of compelling fiction, no matter an author\u2019s language or ethnicity. The following short stories, each from a different country, convey upheaval in myriad guises, some as the result of migration to another country, others from spending too much time in virtual reality, or even joining a cult.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Lakshmi of Suburbia<\/a>,\u201d by Natasha Tynes, reveals the allure of an internet influencer on a woman who moved from Jordan to the US and \u201cremakes\u201d herself in a failing marriage. In the botanical short story \u201cAn Inherited Offence<\/a>\u201d by Nektaria Anastasiadou from Greece, the fate of the terebinth (or turpentine) tree, one that requires both female and male trees for pollination, foreshadows the misogyny at the heart of a Levantine family. In Kabul, cool Gen Z on Instagram and FB clash with traditional Afghan values in \u201cThe Social Media Kids<\/a>\u201d by Qais Akbar Omar.<\/p>\n Meanwhile in Nora Nagi\u2019s subtly told short story, \u201cCertainty<\/a>,\u201d an Egyptian woman who finds herself in Seoul, South Korea, with her better-educated husband, rises to the challenge of modernity, while he remains mired in tradition.<\/p>\n A frequent contributor to The Markaz Review\u2019s fiction pages has been MK Harb, from Lebanon. His humorous short stories about life in Beirut are usually told from the point of view of a group of reoccurring characters, Malek, his friends and family. In the short story, \u201cWe Danced<\/a>,\u201d Malek and Careema join a pseudo-psychotherapy group.<\/p>\n In a region riven by conflict, some short fiction in the issue portrays a possibly despicable political character as someone to pity. The protagonist in Odai Al Zoubi\u2019s stream of conscious short story \u201cTen-Armed Gods<\/a>,\u201d translated by Ziad Dallal, is stuck in the horrors of waiting. He is a minister in the Syrian regime and there are only two outcomes for those who stray from the Ba\u2019athist Party \u2014 torture in prison or death. The story unfolds in a rigid, unending block of words, with no paragraphing. Thoughts about the minister\u2019s mistress flit in and out of his musings on his political rise and fall. In Mohamed Farag\u2019s \u201cKeeping Up<\/a>,\u201d translated by Nada Faris, a man finds himself lost in a Kafkaesque labyrinth of Egyptian officialdom.<\/p>\n From these oppressive continual presents we also encounter flashbacks to the past, as in the compelling short story, \u201cMadame Djouzi<\/a>\u201d by Algerian author and cultural critic Salah Badis, translated by Saliha Haddad. Using a poignant metaphor, the tale describes a photograph of Che Guevera falling off the wall in a once lavish house that witnessed the heady days of liberation struggles from Cuba to Algeria and South Africa.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Mulberry Tree<\/a>\u201d by Mohammed Alnaas is the first chapter of Alnaas\u2019 satiric novella, Alerak Fe Jahannam<\/em> (Altercation in Jahannam). In the excerpt, translated into English by The Markaz Review\u2019s managing editor Rana Asfour, the village in question bears the name for \u201cHell\u201d in Arabic. A local conflict develops there after a fight breaks out between a haji and a Chad war veteran \u2013 all over a badly brewed bottle of homemade hooch, bukha<\/em>.<\/p>\n Rana Asfour has translated several pieces of Alnaas\u2019 writing into English. She explains by email that he is a writer to whom she likes to return.<\/p>\n \u201cWhen the Gaddafi regime fell in 2011, many Libyan writers felt it was safe to finally be able to bring forth their works \u2014 which is something they had not been able to do before because of the suppression of ideas from the controlling state. One of these emerging young writers is Mohammed Alnaas who, with each new work, be it a short story or novel, breaks down taboos, and challenges society\u2019s status quo by tackling themes like masculinity, gender roles, sexuality, women\u2019s role in society, the absurdity of conflict, and public corruption among others.<\/p>\n \u201cWith each of his works I learn a little more about Libyan culture, form of address, society, and the nuances of language. At times, it feels like I\u2019m learning a new language altogether, despite the fact that what I\u2019m translating is formal Arabic. But he intersperses this with local dialogue that brings that extra bit of excitement and challenge into the translation. And that\u2019s another thing I like about working with Alnaas\u2019 pieces: he\u2019s always open to dialogue regarding his translations and there\u2019s always something useful I\u2019ll garner from those interactions.\u201d<\/p>\n Another first chapter published in our double summer issue comes from Karoline Kamel\u2019s Victoria<\/em><\/a>, a popular novel from Egypt translated by Ranya Abdelrahman, it was shortlisted for the 2024 Sawiris Best Novel Award for emerging writers. In the first chapter Kamel depicts a sickly mother who takes her daughter to the seamstress to get new galabeyas<\/em> made in preparation for what might be their last family holiday together.<\/p>\n South America might lie thousands of miles away from the Middle East and North Africa; yet there is an overlap of literary techniques and approach between the two areas. For young South Americans, the magical realism of Gabriel Garc\u00eda M\u00e1rquez has given way to the subgenre narrativa de lo inusual<\/em><\/a> [narrative of the unusual]. Still, the venerated Colombian winner of the 1982 Nobel Prize for Literature casts a long shadow over Alireza Iranmehr\u2019s short story, \u201cFirefly<\/a>,\u201d translated from the Persian by Salar Abdoh. One might imagine the lives of conscripts in the Iranian army as a serious matter. However, Iranmehr\u2019s irreverent tale about a fellow nicknamed \u201cDjinn,\u201d who\u2019s always going AWOL, also has echoes of Joseph Heller\u2019s Catch 22<\/em>.<\/p>\n Horror, of the allegorical nature, permeates the short story \u201cThe Doll with the Purple Scarf<\/a>,\u201d by Iraqi novelist Diaa Jabaili, translated by Chip Rossetti. After conquering Mosul, ISIS declared war on dolls, and Barbies and inflatable sex dolls, among others, await their fate in a warehouse. In \u201cFrida Kahlo\u2019s Mustache<\/a>\u201d by Abdullah Nasser, translated by the Markaz\u2019s senior editor Lina Mounzer, a couple\u2019s yearning for a baby somehow invokes a strange biological transformation. From M\u00e1rquez to Kahlo and the Mexican writer Nicol\u00e1s Medina Mora, who briefly appears at the beginning of Salah Badis\u2019 \u201cMadame Djouzi,\u201d one could suggest that the cultural influences of Central and South America have become important touchstones for MENA writers.<\/p>\n The graphic novel is another popular form that has taken root in the Middle East. This issue\u2019s featured artist, Deena Mohamed<\/a>, is an Egyptian comics practitioner, writer, designer, and author of the fantasy Shubeik Lubeik<\/em> [Your Wish Is My Command]. Katie Logan, who interviewed Mohamed, has also contributed a review of Persepolis\u2019s Marjane Satrapi\u2019s graphic compendium, Woman, Life, Freedom<\/em><\/a>, which features a cadre of graphic artists from around the world.<\/p>\n Remaining with that revolution, in Iran, Nika Shakarami<\/a> was one of the early\u00a0demonstrators murdered by the Iranian regime during the 2022 women\u2019s protests. The mystery surrounding her death \u2014 the regime said it was suicide \u2014 upended the 16 year old\u2019s family. Poupeh Missaghi translated the mourning diaries of Nika\u2019s aunt, Atash Shakarami, who was jailed and forced to give a televised false confession after she disputed the government\u2019s claims in public and online. In the issue, Missaghi writes about Atash\u2019s diaries: \u201cHer writings \u2026 provide a complex, double-layered narrative, first, of Nika\u2019s life as a victim of regime brutality, and second, of Atash\u2019s own life as a survivor of state horror. It is an interwoven biography of two Iranian women, related by blood, from two different generations, each fearlessly standing against a totalitarian regime in their own way.\u201d<\/p>\n For Atash Shakarami, writing is an act of resistance and so is reading. This theme resonates throughout the short stories and flash fiction by the issue\u2019s younger writers. Haidar Al Ghazali, 20 years old, writes from Gaza. His debut short story in English, \u201cDeferred Sorrow<\/a>,\u201d given to the Markaz by PalFest and translated by Rana Asfour, is about the shocking choices a father is forced into making on the frontline of a seemingly never-ending conflict. Seventeen-year-old Stanko Uyi Sr\u0161en wrote \u201cThe Cockroaches<\/a>\u201d in Zagreb, Croatia, for a school assignment. Its subject of gay love during the war on Gaza is reminiscent of the heartfelt entries written by Palestinians on the groundbreaking, geo-location website, Queering the Map.<\/p>\n The memoir included in our double summer literary issue may also strike the reader as something unexpected. Lina Mounzer has translated an excerpt from Fawzi Zabyan\u2019s Memoirs of a Lebanese Policeman<\/em><\/a>, which she describes as: \u201ca rare \u2014 both literary and cynically funny \u2014 look into the internal workings of the Lebanese security apparatus, it is also a historical document of a tumultuous time, detailing the political functioning of the country during the Syrian military occupation and in the aftermath of their ousting [in 2005].\u201d<\/p>\n Sometimes life can be stranger than fiction. While studying Arabic in Cairo, Bel Parker became a butcher\u2019s assistant<\/a> in a small historic quarter of the city. Her experiences of halal butchering, and the welcome she received from the surrounding community in the predominately male profession, make for fascinating reading. That she was largely accepted is particularly notable, given traditional Islamic beliefs against the practice of women being involved in the slaughtering of animals.<\/p>\n
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