I don't gush. Usually. But.
Five stars are not enough. How about 10, 50, 100?
In other words: masterpiece. Against the Loveless World is that rarest of treasures, a bona fide masterpiece. The kind that comes along ever so seldom. The kind of novel that you don't merely read, but are privileged to enter and live inside for a few precious hours, and the kind of novel that you then can't stop thinking about, for many more hours, for days, for weeks. For the rest of your life.
I've read only a handful of such novels in my life. Beloved
by Toni Morrison. Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. Just Above My Head by James Baldwin. At Swim, Two Boys by
Jamie O'Neill. The Castle Cross the Magnet Carter by Kia Corthron. Mrs.
Dalloway by Virginia Wolff. Affinity by Sarah Waters. Death of a River Guide by
Richard Flanagan. The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Cloudsplitter by Russell Banks.
Cantoras by Carolina de Robertis. And now this. Now Against the Loveless World. What do these novels, my own
personal pantheon of literary masterworks, have in common? Each one is about
something, about something that matters. By which I mean it's not what I think
of as a kitchen-table novel, one with a narrow focus on the domestic details of
a life or two, in particular a white bourgeois or petit-bourgeois life or two.
All too many, most, fictions foisted on us by the literary establishment inside
the U.S. restrict themselves to such a focus. Constrict our reading to such a
narrow perspective. They reflect and uphold the status quo. Well of course they
do, because the perspective of the capitalist ruling class is the only one through
which we're supposed to view the world. The great novels that break out of
these bounds, the novels that draw the reader in to a story that resists,
defies, rejects the racist gaze, the imperialist gaze, the colonialist gaze,
the cis heterosexist male gaze--a story that exists beyond the bounds of bourgeois
literary respectability—these are the novels that matter.
Against the Loveless World matters. It matters because of its key portrayals, three of them as I see it. The first two are characters: the protagonist Nahr, and the six or so most important secondary characters. The third: Palestine.
The characterizations are complex, deeply drawn. Nahr above all, a Palestinian woman whose life unfolds in unexpected directions. Imperialism, invasion, occupation, colonialism, racism, sexism, class are the context of her life. Abulhawa shows this skillfully, artfully, as Nahr guides us through her story. But context is not everything, and the portrayal of Nahr herself, her individuality, character, personality—her quirks and flaws and mistakes as much as her beauty intelligence fierceness devotion loyalty tenderheartedness courage—is exquisite, making her one of the most memorable main characters I’ve ever encountered. Making me love her, feel with her, ache for her, laugh and love with her. With the character of Nahr the reader is afforded the privilege of inhabiting the consciousness of one of the most multilayered, complex, thinking, feeling, fully fleshed protagonists I've ever encountered
For lack of time I’m not going to write about the secondary characters but take my word for it: they are deep and they are real and they are every bit as remarkable creations as the central character Nahr. It is a crime both literary and political that it’s noteworthy when a novel published in this country draws the reader in to identify with, care about, Palestinians. How awful, how absurd, how criminal that simply showing the humanity of Palestinians should be noteworthy! But such is the literary and political landscape in this country. Because U.S. imperialism is so invested in the Zionist colonialist settler state, the bourgeois literary establishment does its bidding by locking out Palestinian voices. So when a work featuring such voices manages to break through, it’s cause for celebration and should be made known far and wide. This is such a work. Read it and you will understand the Palestinian experience a little better.
Central to that experience, the third key portrayal I mentioned, is Palestine itself. In a way Palestine is itself a character in this story. Palestine the nation. Palestine the land. Palestine the homes. Palestine the food. Palestine the music. Palestine the language. Palestine the dance, the dress, the traditions. Palestine the flowers, the hills, the sky, the wind. Palestine the goats and sheep. Palestine the figs, the almonds. Palestine the olive trees. Palestine the lush, the beloved.
Palestine the stolen. The invaded. The occupied. The exiled. The tortured, the assassinated, the imprisoned. Palestine the never defeated. Palestine the people who fight, who fight, who fight, who fight on in whatever way they can.
All this Abulhawa depicts with the utmost skill, with stunningly gorgeous writing, with a page-turning plot, with un-put-down-able momentum that engages the reader intellectually, emotionally and politically. For those who know little of Palestinian stories, it will be an eye opener. For those of us who already know which side we’re on, it is a gift.
In my opinion, all great art is born of suffering. Great art engages with love and loss and pain, with struggle and solidarity. Against the Loveless World is great art.
This is a beautiful, wrenching, soaring, searing novel. It will move you to tears. Let it also move you to action.
Long live Palestine!
Thank you Susan Abulhawa.
