Zakaria Tamer (b. 1931 in Damascus) is acknowledged as one of the great writers of the modern Arab world. His writing covers a range of literary forms, including stories for children and satirical reflections on Arab affairs that first appeared as newspaper columns and were later collected into separate volumes. His literary stature and influence, however, rest on the type of very short story (al-qissa al-qasira jiddan) included in this work. The first volume of these (Neighing of the White Stallion) came out in 1960 and this work, which is the tenth, in 2002 under the title Taksir Rukab (Breaking Knees). The eleventh, The Hedgehog: A Story (2005), is a set of twenty-two tales that recount the experiences of a single character, a highly imaginative child. Tamer’s fecund imagination and his unique and productive pen will not allow him to rest on his laurels. The next volume of stories is already in the making, and I’m sure others (as well as the stream of newspaper columns) will follow for as long as he lives.
Tamer has often been referred to as a master of the short story, but this is not an entirely accurate description. True, the (very) short story is his preferred form, but he hardly ever publishes these separately. His usual practice is to publish a collection as a single work revolving around a set of themes. The fact that Tamer subtitles The Hedgehog “a story,” though composed of twenty-two individual tales, is clear indication that he wishes us to read his books as artistic units. We see this process at work in the present volume as well, where the stories do not have names but numbers. This is an important point to bear in mind while reading Breaking Knees. Each story can stand on its own, yet there are underlying (and frequently quite subtle) connections of theme, style, and perspective that knit the work together in the reader’s mind long after the book has been read. Actually, the format of the book encourages frequent reading. The work is too intense to be read at one sitting, but the seemingly endless inventiveness in plot and the underlying humor of the writing will keep readers curious as to what the author will be up to next.
Tamer is a satirist, and the target of his satire is the Arab world – its culture, politics, social practices, and dominant religion. In case we have any doubts about what he is doing, he himself tells us directly. To a collection of short essays written at various times but published in 2003 he has given the title The Victim Satirizes His Killer: Short Essays. The title tells it all, the victim being the citizen; the killer, the state; and the literary mode, satire. The comment on the back cover of the book declares its intention. It says in part: “Countries in which there is no room for criticism are poor and miserable, worthy of being lambasted, lamented, and held up to ridicule . . . This book . . . is a modest attempt to offer some criticism of all that holds people down and retards their development and their enjoyment of their right to a life free of fear . . .”
The general theme of Breaking Knees, as of much of Tamer’s work, is repression: of the individual by the institutions of state and religion and of individuals by each other, particularly women by men. Thus the question of authority – political, social, sexual, and religious – forms the thematic core of the book, with (female) sexuality receiving the lion’s share of concern. Political authority is manifest in the emphasis in many stories on the machinations of the police state – arbitrary arrest and detention, interrogations, corruption. Social authority expresses itself in the patriarchal cultural order and the dominance of religious and cultural institutions and conventions that constrain individual freedom. Many stories stress religious hypocrisy and the unfulfilled sexual expectations of women. In some the marriage bed is associated with a place of death for women. Breaking Knees is a daring work of art that deals with taboo subjects like religion and female sexuality in a frank manner and expresses an urgently felt need for change.
In bringing together religion, politics, and sexuality (sometimes all three in the same story) the author is telling us indirectly that these forms of oppression are all connected. There is a malaise at the core of the traditional Arab psyche, perhaps at the core of Arab culture itself, that accounts for the aberrant behavior of many of many of Tamer’s characters. From the perspective of the countless Arab individuals who have adopted modern values based on democratic institutions and human rights, a state of affairs characterized by political and cultural stagnation, destructive worship of tradition, and glorification of a mythical past, appears truly dire. To understand Tamer’s satiric method and the complexity of his narrative vision, we have to put his work in the context of this malaise.
It would be a mistake, of course, to focus solely on the activist, political aspect of these stories at the expense of appreciating them as literature – that is, as discourse that through the particular reaches for the universal. Tamer extends the boundaries of what is possible in fiction. His art is based on a radical questioning of what is usually taken to be “reality” in a work of fiction. His work alerts us to the extent that we as readers come to any story armed with a set of assumptions about the protocols of narrative, such as plot, character, continuity, plausibility, and probability. All these conventions are challenged, and frequently broken. Those who read fiction for comfort must prepare to be shocked at this unrelenting assault on their expectations. Tamer’s fictional world often draws on the world of the dream to confuse the boundaries of the real and the imagined, or even the boundary between life and death: a house can be a character, so can an apple, a cat, a statue, a dead (or seemingly dead) person, as well as the angels and the jinn. Temporality in his stories does not always conform to the ordinary perception of the forward movement of time: a character’s life, for example, may not necessarily end with his or her death. Characters who have died, or ghost-like characters who can only be described as the living dead, continue to exercise a palpable influence on the world of the living.
Though this surreal world is rather rare in written fiction, it characterizes the animistic and mythological world of the folktale (the universal form of narrative par excellence) where everything has a voice and can speak, where time is indeterminate, and space has flexible boundaries. The natural world is suffused with the supernatural, and what takes place does not necessarily conform to expectations. The purpose of fantasy and wonder in folktales is to appeal to the imagination of children, which is more active than that of adults. Tamer draws on the childhood experience of orally recited tales to challenge our comfortable accommodation with the world. The pleasure of reading these stories will be heightened if readers remain alert to the ways in which they touch base with the art of the oral tales, especially the manner in which folktales transform the world of ordinary perception into that of the imagination.
In this work the universal takes many forms, the most important being the theme of gender identity and conflict, a ubiquitous subject in literature going all the way back to the myth of the Garden of Eden. The opening allegory of the book (itself a major literary form in all literature) announces this theme. Perhaps the patriarchal social order that prevails in most Arab countries gives the subject of gender identity and conflict an additional poignancy, but its significance for literature in general arises from its reach into practically all aspects of life, from the level of personal identity to that of social interaction and culturally determined modes of behavior. From this great subject arise subsidiary themes that endow literature with a moral dimension. I am thinking here of passion, desire, identity, and love of self which animate much individual behavior in these stories.
There are no wasted words in Tamer’s musical prose. His descriptions, whether of the environment or of his characters, are always precise and to the point. Since these stories are very short, the writer must get to the action immediately by setting his scenes in familiar environments, like the home, the coffee house, the fields, an orchard, or the street. Though very short the stories are not incomplete. Each offers a psychological portrait that does not challenge credibility. The author does this by means of a number of devices. I have already alluded to a reversal of the relationship between the “real” and the “fictional,” yet Tamer uses reversal in a number of other ways as well. He may aim to shock or demonstrate the absurdity of social or gender roles by reversing them. The most shocking for a male-oriented culture would be the reversal of the masculine and feminine that occurs in several stories, with men consciously assuming or being forced into roles and positions usually assigned to women. Sometimes reversal is subtly introduced within the texture of the writing itself when the narrative point of view shifts without warning from the subjective to the objective, allowing more than one voice to speak within the same sentence. The embedded voice, the voice within the voice, also acts like a story within the story, giving us more than one narrative in each story. While the presence of these multiple voices adds psychological depth to the narrative, it also serves to alienate readers from a comfortable relationship with the text, because there is no single voice that speaks through it. The devices I have just mentioned, along with a highly imaginative reliance on metaphor, give these stories a unique form of psychological realism which I call the realism of gesture.
The satirical mode itself also gives this work a universal dimension, for when successfully practiced satire functions within the framework of a sophisticated world literary culture. There may be a problem with contemporary Arab culture and the Arab political system, but literature has always been highly valued by the Arab people, and Arabic literature, though not so well-known in the “West,” forms one of the world’s great literary traditions, with a history that goes back to well before the rise of Islam in the early seventh century C.E. Historically satire (hija’ ) has been responsible for some of the greatest works of Arabic literature. Yet satirical fiction does not work on its own: it needs irony, which is another universal mode of organizing literary discourse. Irony lightens the air of seriousness by putting some distance between the author and his words. Without irony, which introduces a subtle undertone of wonder into the writing, a satirical author might sound like a moralizer and end up losing the reader. At the same time irony introduces another level of complexity in the narrative voice. If we compare irony to counterpoint in music, then we can see how it acts in concert with Tamer’s narrative to enable him to speak in more than one voice at the same time. In Tamer’s work we have to see the beauty in the pattern, where we find themes and variations everywhere we turn. The logic of each set of variations is a kind of dialog between what is possible and what is not possible once the assumptions underlying the opening actions are granted.
Tamer is a great prose stylist of the Arabic language, and here is where the challenge in translating him lies. His prose is poetic in its economy – lucid syntax, characterized by precision in the choice of words coupled with sentences that are very much aware of their rhythms. In a novel, or in more conventional short stories, even if the translation suffers from lapses, the translator can always rely on the fictional element to get the meaning across. But Tamer’s stories, as I have tried to show here briefly, represent a perfect union of meaning and form in which the performative role of language is part of the satirical meaning. A translation that is not aware of these values and does not make sufficient effort to transfer them to English will, in my opinion, do more harm than good. The choice of words must be managed in such a way that their range of signification always remains under reasonable control, with – if possible – no proliferation of nuances. Each word must be absolutely the right word for the context, and, equally importantly, the rhythm of the prose must dance in English as it does in Arabic. I have tried my best to replicate these values in English. The challenge was to produce an idiomatic and fluent rendering that is sensitive to the sound values of English yet remains as close to the literal meaning of the original as possible. I have therefore aimed for a text that is transparent enough to allow readers to peek through to the original, while at the same time remaining fluent enough to help them forget that what they are reading is a translation. I paid very careful attention to the rhythm of the prose with its measured and nuanced repetition of adjectives, which I have reproduced – sometimes sacrificing fluency for their sake – because repetition is one of the hallmarks of an elegant Arabic prose style. Yet it was not always possible to maintain the rhythmic repetition at the level of the clause, but even here all changes in rhythm were kept to an absolute minimum.
Tamer has been translated into a number of languages (English, German, Russian, Serbian, and Spanish), but he is not as well-known among international readers as he deserves to be, given his achievement. In English he is represented principally by Tigers on the Tenth Day And Other Stories (1985), which consists of twenty-four stories that were selected by the translator but which did not originally appear together in a single volume. It is my hope that a fresh translation of a recent complete work based on the principles mentioned above will help open a space for Tamer among the reading public in the English-speaking world, encouraging others to translate more of this superb and highly imaginative body of work.
Ibrahim Muhawi, Eugene, OR (USA)