The First Century after Beatrice

Amin Malouf writes in his novel The First Century after Beatrice about a disaster that plagues humanity, and sends different ethnic groups adrift. To digress a little before I start my review, I cannot but marvel at the fact that Malouf wrote his novel originally in French, I read it in Arabic, and now I’m writing a review of it in English. So even if some rift tears humanity apart, I believe that we can always count on literature to help bridge the gap.
Now back to the novel. The catalyst in this story is a tiny bean sold on the streets of Cairo as a magical cure from bearing female daughters. A visiting French entomologist stumbles upon the beans and decides to keep some as a souvenir. However, this ill-fated souvenir leads to the discovery of an epidemic that will soon teach humanity the importance of the natural balance between genders.
Apart from the obvious theme of sexism, Malouf also tackles a variety of other controversial issues ranging from racism, international development, to population control. The issue of population control is particularly relevant today which is why the BBC recently published an article on the subject under the title “Population: The elephant in the room”. What is notable, as well, is that Malouf divides the world into mainly North vs. South, as opposed to the traditional West vs. East, which is probably a bit more accurate.
Personally, I truly appreciated Malouf’s ability to incorporate very interesting and relevant ideas in an enjoyable and believable memoir. The novel, however, takes a more apocalyptic tone as we approach the end, echoing the looming gloomy end of humanity. It also adopts the style of a preachy lecture, which inadvertently but inevitably affected my ability to enjoy the novel as a novel. So overall, I’d give it a 3.5 out of 5.

Confessions of a Non-vegetarian

Disclaimer: this article may gross you out, especially if you’re reading it early in the morning while having breakfast.

One time, I just woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. Soon enough my mind was wandering and thinking about random issues. Here is one of the whacky thoughts that occurred to me that night: imagine a woman early on in her pregnancy with a vague fetus in her belly not quite resembling a baby yet. Somehow someone for some reason manages to extract this fetus from the womb of the mother, fry it in butter until golden brown, and then eat it for breakfast.
“EEUW!! That is so disgusting” is probably what you’re thinking right now. “That is the weirdest sickest thought I have ever heard” could be another one. But actually it isn’t that weird or sick as most of us apply this concept every morning while preparing omelettes or sunny-side ups. The weird thing actually is the fact that many vegetarians don’t even mind consuming eggs. Hello, eggs don’t grow on trees! They are dead fetuses.
This might be the mummy-hormones turning me into a softy, but can we go back to basics for a minute and think about how we turned so unconsciously cruel. At what point did it become ok for us to grab other creatures, end their lives with a slit of a knife, and simply prey on them?
Of course, the idea of vegetarianism isn’t new at all, as a quick glance around will show. Many practicing Buddhists, for example, refrain from consuming any type of meat. Jesus is thought by many Christians to have been a vegetarian. In Islam it is quite permissible to opt for vegetarianism as a lifestyle choice.
As I mentioned in the title of this article, I haven’t come out of the closet as a vegetarian – yet. While it’s true that I haven’t had any meat or eggs in a while, and the idea of feasting on dead carcasses is troubling me more by the day, I still don’t want to rush into any kind of labels. I already carry more than enough.
Either way, the bottom line is in times of troubled politics in a place like the Middle East, this issue might not be making headlines. Still, it is a grave matter for everyone and it deserves to be given due consideration.

(Painting by Hristian Kunchev)

Ever Wondered How Many Mothers you Really Have?

What exactly defines your mother tongue or native language? Is it the language you first learn to speak? Or is it the language you are most fluent in – if for whatever reason that happens to be different from the first? In such case, could one have two or more mother tongues?
According to the first definition, my mother tongue would be Tagalog, which I lost many years ago. According to the second definition, it would be either Arabic or English, both of which I learned later in life. But I can’t really decide. So do I have more than one mother tongue? Nah, I’m probably closer to a lingual orphan in that sense. The confusion, however, does not stop at the boundary of definitions.
Apart from the obvious function of language to express, a mother tongue also has political implications. Your language of origin is an identity card that defines your group of belonging and loyalties. Choosing to divert from the group by employing another language is often seen as a form of betrayal, and therefore is a source of disappointment within the group.
This simple concept was so much more feasible when different ethnic and lingual groups’ interaction with each other was limited to the occasional exchange of merchandise a few centuries ago. The Arab merchants who imported goods from neighboring countries did not have to worry about MTV Arabia streaming 24/7 right into their living rooms. They were also most likely to speak, read, write, think, and blog in their language of origin. This can be hardly said of today. Physical and virtual interaction, through the web, with people of different cultures and languages has become a part of daily life even in some of the most xenophobic communities. So here’s a thought: language shouldn’t be considered as something you’re born into anymore, nor should it be pegged to a nationality. It would be much more practical for language to be a question of choice.
Would this cause all ethnic groups of the world to eventually adopt a single language if they had the choice? Not, likely. There will always be eager Orientalists and Occidentalists on both sides of the equation to keep it balanced.

(Painting by Filipino artist Angeles)

I Think of You

The collection of short stories entitled I Think of You by the Egyptian-born and Booker-shortlisted writer Ahdaf Soueif is simply one of the best pieces of literature I have read in a while. Soueif’s prose flows beautifully and smoothly just like a poem while maintaining a direct conversation-like connection with the reader. Using that magical combination, the author weaves together a collection of short stories that centers around a number of women struggling with a variety of issues including culture clash, displacement, marriage, families, career, and other themes that are very relevant to our world today. The events in the story mostly take place either under the clear sun of Egypt of under the rainy clouds of England; thus, creating a perfect bipolar medium for contradictions and disorientation.
Even though I truly enjoyed this book and can’t wait to get hold of other stories by Soueif, I have to admit that oftentimes the book was confusing. The first two stories led me to think that the whole book was a number of short stories narrating different periods in the life of a main character named Aisha. However, somewhere in the third story – if I’m not mistaken, I discover that the character’s name suddenly becomes Asia while still retaining striking similarities to the first character. It eventually turns out that there are a number of female characters in the book all leading very similar yet very different lives. Now that I’m mentioning it, I can’t help but think that the book also strikes some resemblance to the author’s life. So a major part of it could be biographical as well.
Anyways, as long as you keep in mind that there is a number of main characters in the book, not just one, the stories will be much more enjoyable and less confusing. So don’t let that dissuade you from enjoying Soueif’s brilliant stories.