Hisham Matar was born in New York City, where his father was working for the Libyan delegation to the United Nations. When he was three years old, his family went back to Tripoli, Libya, where he spent his early childhood. Due to political persecutions by the Ghaddafi regime, in 1979 his father was accused of being a reactionary to the Libyan revolutionary regime and was forced to flee the country with his family. They lived in exile in Egypt where Hisham and his brother completed their schooling in Cairo. In 1986 he moved to London, United Kingdom, where he continued his studies and received a degree in architecture. In 1990, while he was still in London, his father, a political dissident, was kidnapped in Cairo. He has been reported missing ever since. However, in 1996, the family received two letters with his father's handwriting stating that he was kidnapped by the Egyptian secret police, handed over to the Libyan regime, and imprisoned in the notorious Abu-Salim prison in the heart of Tripoli. Since that date, there has been no more information about his father's whereabouts.
Hisham Matar began writing poetry and experimented in theatre. He began writing his first novel In the Country of Men in early 2000. In the autumn of 2005, the publishers Penguin International signed a two-book deal with him, and the novel was a huge success.
The child narrator鈥檚 point of view is only the tip of the iceberg. It鈥檚 as if the boy鈥檚 view of the world is warped by the surface of the water. Actually, Suleiman isn鈥檛 a particularly likeable character. On the contrary, the reader is discouraged from identifying with the first person narrator, for he recounts episodes of his boyhood in which he indulges in inexplicable cruel behavior which contrasts sharply with the boy's childish innocence in the face of evil and deceit.
While the book鈥檚 language is pretty much straightforward and uncomplicated, to the point that at first I thought this wasn鈥檛 going to be worth my while, as I read on, became engrossed by the subversive elements of the plot, and the constant interplay of the two temporal pasts of the narrative (Najwa-the mother鈥檚 past vs. Suleiman-the boy鈥檚 past).
In the Country of Men has been criticized by Arab commentators for being politically vague, for depicting the opposition to the Libyan regime as a slipshod endeavor, in effect caricaturing the resistance movement. IMO this is what gives the book its humanity and poignancy. The novel's primary critique of contemporary Arab society is that this country of 鈥榤en鈥� no longer operates according to 鈥榤anly鈥� codes of conduct. All sense of justice, faith, honor, respect seems to have decayed. This can be seen in the juxtaposition between the strict moral codes women must still adhere to, a seemingly anachronistic tradition that persists in a society whose ruling regime loudly proclaims a total break with the past, the ushering in of the 鈥榤odern鈥�, the 鈥榬evolutionary鈥�, etc. We observe that the most devout adherents of The Guide are men who unashamedly forego ideological principles when it is convenient for themselves or for their superiors: Um Masood can be bribed by a cake topped with strawberries; the secret police try to score with Suleiman鈥檚 mother in exchange for overlooking the 鈥榮hame鈥� of her drinking binges. And despite all the macho talk of capturing the 鈥榯raitors鈥�, the pistol-toting Sharief promptly abandons his idealistic mission when the 鈥榤ighty hand鈥� decides to spare Suleiman鈥檚 father. However, the opposition isn't any better. Najwa鈥檚 brother, despite an American wife and a comfortable life abroad, reverts to the old ways when it comes to dealing with the matter of the family鈥檚 honour being compromised by the young girl. Faraj (Suleiman鈥檚 father), who is apparently one of the main financial benefactors of the opposition, has married an underage girl he has never seen before and even went so far as to deflower her as she lay unconscious with fear on her wedding night in accordance with tradition. Who better, then, to understand the futility of the 'resistance' than Najwa, (Suleiman鈥檚 mother). As a woman, as a victim of patriarchal status quo, she is aware that her husband鈥檚 struggle with the totalitarian regime is a futile battle. The system cannot be overcome when the men fighting it are themselves oppressors. And this is what In the Country of Men illustrates, by intertwining the two narratives: the subjugation of Najwa to the rule of men, and the subjugation of Faraj to the rule of the regime. Najwa鈥檚 adolescent 鈥榗rime鈥� is that she was found talking to a boy in a public caf茅. The 鈥楬igh Council鈥� of male family elders acted with the 鈥榚fficiency rivaling that of a German factory鈥� in meting out the punishment after a closed 鈥榯rial鈥� in which she is not allowed to come to her own defense. Her sentence begins with incarceration, beatings, a forced marriage, denial of access to books, and concludes with the rape on her wedding night. She remembers: 鈥淲hen I got home every light in my life was put out.鈥� Years later, her husband鈥檚 fate echoes her own oppression. At the moment of Faraj鈥檚 arrest she immediately understands the enormity of his predicament: the possibility of being placed 鈥榖ehind the sun for ever鈥�. His capture by the Revolutionary Committee men is followed by events paralleling her own submission: a mock trial, incarceration, beatings, forced confession, forced pledge of loyalty, deprived of his books, release. The ironic twist in this role reversal is that it is the woman who now holds the trump card --> She makes the morally superior choice to save him at all costs whereas no man or woman (not even her own mother) was willing to rescue/protect her. In the country of men, it is the woman who saves the day, overcoming the 鈥榗owardly鈥� stance of the Scheherazades past and present - idealists/fantasists who choose slavery over risking all for freedom. Najwa negotiates with her neighbor Ustath Jafer the until then much feared highranking Mokhabarat official and pledges obedience to the regime on behalf of her husband, as she had once given her own wedding pledge to him in order to 鈥榮ave鈥� her family鈥檚 honor: 鈥楢 word had been given and word had been received, men鈥檚 words that could never be taken back or exchanged.鈥� Finally, I want to point out the crowning ironic symbol: The white handkerchief, a testament of Najwa's virgin 鈥榟onor鈥� upon her bridal bed, becomes the white sheet on the mirror protecting the 鈥榲iolated鈥� husband from his own reflected image upon his return home a badly bruised and broken man.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
From my blog: written by Hisham Matar and published in February 2007 by The Dial Press. This is Matar's bio as written on the end flap:
Hisham Matar was born in 1970 in New York city to Libyan parents and spent his childhood in Tripoli and Cairo. He lives in London and is currently at work on his second novel. In the Country of Men will be published in twenty-two languages.
This was a difficult book to read, not because of the density of the writing - dense it was not - but because the characters drew you into their lives in such a way that you wanted to, but couldn't, dialog with them. The story is told through the eyes and voice of a 9-year-old boy, Suleiman, as he describes how he sees what's happening to his family - his mother, his father, and his uncle - and their immediate friends and relatives in Libya in 1979.
The story is tragic in many ways, but life is life and tragedy is part of it. You have to take it as it is because it's the only way to get to know, appreciate, and respect those whose lives are different from our own.
Just the other evening, a group of us were talking about what we perceived as the tragic lives of an elderly couple we all know, a couple who never has enough money to buy healthy food or clothing and who lives in substandard housing. Yet, you can't go in and fix the situation, or even try, unless you're asked, because the damage to human dignity, when you try to make a "happily ever after," according to our own individual standards, is often more damaging than the "tragic" circumstances themselves.
Thus is was with this book. I kept wanting to "explain things" to this little boy, to tell him to grow up and learn what it means to keep a secret, to trust his family, even though it seemed that all the world was falling apart. So much I wanted to tell him. I wanted to hold him in my arms with my hands close to his mouth to keep him quiet, perhaps in the way you might do with a small child. I wanted Suleiman to be more mature than he was, and I wondered why he wasn't. I wanted to tell his mother that she needed to help him grow up by explaining more than she did. The book made me want to get involved and "fix things."
But this was Suleiman's life, his mother's life, his father's life, his uncle's life, and the lives of their friends and relatives, and I could only observe. It's better that way. We can't rule the universe; and even if we could, our disasters might be worse than the real ones we perceive.
The book was disturbing, but I'm glad I read it. The story will stay with me for a long time. I'm glad Hisham Matar told the story in a way I could read and feel it. I am better, even though sadder, for having experienced a bit of Suleiman's life. Like the rest of us who survive childhood - and Suleiman did, we go on and we make of our lives what we can, the best we can. I hope he is doing well!
Kod nas je objavio Marso... Proverite za拧to je ova knjiga podobijala tolike nagrade (ili bila u u啪em/拧irem izboru za nagrade)... Libija... Za ljubitelje "Lovca na zmajeve" ili "Jutra u D啪eninu"... ili "Pitanja i odgovora" i "Belog tigra"...
I think Matar is the first Libyan writer I have read (admittedly he was born in the States and later moved to Britain). This is a simple but powerful story of Suleiman, a nine-year old boy growing up in Tripoli whose parents fall foul of Gadafy's revolutionary regime - a society in which very little is as it appears to a young boy's perspective.
There is a degree of retrospective introspection, as the narrator ends up living in exile in Cairo, where he has been sent by his parents for his own protection after his father is released from police custody, and he is not always very likeable, but it was interesting to read about Libya from the perspective of somebody who was brought up there. I can understand why this one was shortlisted for the Booker.
I'm a Libyan, so as soon as I heard of the existence of this book I ran to get it. There aren't many Libyan authors (because, as usual, of Gadhafi), so I have respect for the ones out there.
My expectations for this book were really high. After the revolution any bit of culture that was Libya-related was treated like gold. I knew a lot of people who loved this book, so I guess I built it up in my head to be a masterpiece or something.
Unfortunately it didn't meet up to my ridiculous fantasies. The story is told from the point of the view of the main protagonist, a nine year boy named Suleiman. While the portrayal of life under Gadhafi was accurate, it was told through the impatient and shallow perspective of a child. The story didn't really have a plot, it was more a short memoir. More than once I was reminded of The Kite Runner, albeit with more stilted dialogue and a slower pace.
A lot of elements confused me, like the vaguely Oedipal relationship with the his mother, the fact that no one every explained to him what was going on, how he would begin narrating an event and then abruptly stop and move on to something else.
What I'm trying to say is, without blatantly insulting a fellow Libyan, is that the book was interesting in the fact that it is one of the few books that speak from a Libyan point of view, but as a novel is wasn't particularly engaging.
I began by reading and I wanted more. , by the same author, is fiction with a strong autobiographical basis. Having read the two books in this order one can easily differentiate between fictional and non-fictional elements. The two books are not the same; reading them both is not repetitive.
In this book, we look at a young Libyan boy growing up under Qaddafi's military dictatorship. The year is 1979, and the boy's father is a dissident fighting for change. We see through the eyes of a nine-year-old. The boy is trying to understand his parents' troubled relationship. He is trying to understand the world around him. It is a coming of age story about a young boy who wants to be a man, still loves his mother deeply with the immature love of a child and yet also loves, admires and respects his father. Growing up is about growing independent, and the book shows this with a deft eye. We observe the boy鈥檚 relationships with classmates, neighbors, and family. The ride is emotional, so "observe" is in fact the wrong word. The book shines in how it so accurately and so heartrendingly shows his innocence and his growing awareness of an adult world where opposition has dire consequences. What do you choose? Are you quiet, do you say nothing, do you stay in line, do you follow under the shelter of the wall or do you oppose and put both yourself and your family in danger? And if your mother and father see this differently, can you not understand both? But still you are only nine!
The lines moved me. If I write them here will one grasp their poignancy? The novel ends with his mother straightening his collar. This brought tears to my eyes.
The audiobook is narrated by Khalid Abdallah. Many will love his narration because he dramatizes with fervor. I prefer to hear every word spoken clearly rather than having them jumbled in expressions of anger, sadness and frenzy. I'd rather figure out for myself words' emotional content.
The book emphasizes more the emotional turmoil of living under Qaddafi鈥檚 reign of terror than focusing on historical content.
This is one of the saddest books I鈥檝e ever read. Reading this book has also brought to life all the stories my dad used to tell me about what it was like to live in Egypt with its inequality, dictatorship governments, and that your every action is monitored.
It may sound like something from Orwell 1984, but it鈥檚 not, it鈥檚 the harsh reality for many living in a region where prosperity and success is granted to a very very small select few, while the majority of the population can barely afford to eat three square meals, or where the majority can鈥檛 even read because it isn鈥檛 a priority for the government. It鈥檚 a place where you will never get the same opportunities that I am lucky to have.
I feel very privileged to live where I do after reading this story.
The book is, once again, a narrative told by the people of a country, about their country for their country (and the world).
As communism is dying around the world, and the effects it had on people's lives are appearing more and more all over the planet, the reader is drawn into this story by the nine year old Suleima writing about his life in Libya and what happened to his nuclear family, the extended family, the neighbor and friends in 1979 during the regime of Mohammar Khadafi. His dad, Faraj, is a successful businessman who did nothing unacceptable when he raped his unconscious fifteen year old virgin bride, Najwa, on their wedding night, since it was totally fine in their male dominated culture. But for the unhappy, unwilling bride, it created years of bitterness which she had to address on her own through her secret martini-addiction and cigarettes.
Suleima witnesses her struggle as well as his father's political struggle and it has an effect on his inexperienced, young thoughts and decisions. He learns how to recognize danger, but also misinterprets people's intentions towards him, resulting in him betraying people he loved the most without knowing it.
The boy tells three people's stories in one narrative His own, his mother's and his father's. It is the oppressed Najwa, his mother, who ended up resolving their situation and change their lives.
Betrayal. A stab in the back. If devoid of conscience, it is free of hurt; else you can never free yourself from the crushing ugly rock of repentance, of self pity.
Did little Suleiman, a mere nine year old child know that he was betraying the ones he loved the most, murdering the hopes of a rebellion, a fight for a cause, a secret mission, a revolution to eradicate another? Was there a realization, even a tiny bit of shame when he did so?
And for what, this heinous misdeed? It isn't easy for a child to cope when the fatal realization dawns on him that his small world that he breathes in is built on a plinth of glorious lies. Is his Baba what he veritably knows him to be? Why does he leave them so frequently when he knows that Mama falls ill whenever he abandons them? Why can鈥檛 he be a simple man like Ustath Rashid, his best friends鈥� father? Left alone to be the man of the house, he is laden with his incapacitated Mama鈥檚 impressionable stories of her past, tales of woe and oppression a child should never discover. A boundary of hatred engulfs him when he realizes that his Baba has lied to him, to his Mama; what is this secret he can鈥檛 be told about? The internal turmoil lurking in a child鈥檚 mind can turn him into a monster, a fire breathing deadly ogre surpassing all confines of treachery.
Hisham Matar鈥檚 story is based in Libya, during the trying times of Gadaffi鈥檚 revolutionary regime. It is a crushing tale of clandestine rebellion against this regime by a handful of comrades who strive for a better Libya, a free Libya lacking in oppression and dictatorship. It is the story of young Suleiman鈥檚 ugly and blatant utterance of truth, his gruesome effort of disentangling himself and breaking free from the cosmos of lies built around him. But truth comes at a price, at a devastating price.
The writing lacks poetry, in fact is bland. It is plainly evident that the author thinks in his native language and what you read is a literal translation. You will inadvertently compare the story with Khaled Hosseini鈥檚 鈥楾he Kite Runner鈥�. The stories from this part of the world are turning out into cliches but where the writing lacks in color, it compensates in its horrific simplicity and grotesque threadbare incidents of cruelty. Not for a moment did I feel any sympathy for the child; in fact I have to vulgarly admit that I hated him.
Throttling freedom and strangling views under the veil of ideologies isn't manly, at all!
Matar writes beautifully, here鈥攕ometimes to a fault. Told through the eyes of a 9-year-old Libyan boy in the early years of Khaddafy's reign, the novel suffers from child-narrator-syndrome: the boy couldn't possibly grasp the significance of what was befalling his family the way the narration suggests. The complex character of his mother interested me more than anything else in this rather slow-moving, Proustian take on a harrowing situation.
Suleiman was nine years old in 1979 Libya. His father was active politically in the underground movement opposing Quddafi's dictatorship. His mother fluctuated between burying her regrets and fears with her "medicine," and trying to keep her family safe.
The telephone was bugged, a neighbor was executed, his father's life was in danger. The young boy was trying to understand what he observed, what he was told . . . and what he feared.
The book is told from the point of view of a nine-year-old child in a terribly stressful situation. Suleiman didn't always make the best decisions, but his world was falling apart and he didn't know who he could trust. This is a thoughtful, compassionate, fictional book written by an author whose father was also a political prisoner.
Set mostly in Libya in 1979, this is the story of a family caught up in the turmoil and oppression of Gaddafi鈥檚 regime. It is told through the eyes of nine-year-old Suleiman as he struggles to make sense of what is happening around him. His father is part of the intelligentsia, a group of liberal reformers that becomes a target for persecution. His father is subjected to the cruelties of a police state, including betrayal, arrest, imprisonment, and torture. Interrogations are shown on television. Occasionally the State kills someone in a public execution. The storyline follows Suleiman as he gradually realizes the true nature of what is happening. He tries to protect his mother, and she withdraws into substance abuse.
Matar does not allow the storyline to devolve into a litany of disturbing events (though there is plenty). He also portrays the relationships among families and friends to support each other as their world crumbles around them. He explores the way some people can get ensnared in treachery and violence. The writing is strong, and the narrative is gripping. This book examines how relationships evolve in an environment based on fear and tyranny, which is, unfortunately, still pertinent in today鈥檚 world.
I chose this book because it takes place in Libya of 1979. My father was working in Bengazi (2nd largest city in Libya) in 1979, and things he told me where present in this book. Policemen everywhere; in shops, in the streets, phone calls were usually tracked, you had to be careful of what you were saying, your posture, and attitude.
1979 10 years (1969) after Muammar Qaddafi's bloodless coup d'茅tat and we see life in Libya under Qaddafi (The Guide) through the eyes of nine-year-old Suleiman.
Seeing Libya through the eyes of a young boy is like seeing an iceberg above the sea level. You only see a small percentage. What's below is something larger and more complex.
The boy's narration; (although we understand it is narrated by Suleiman in retrospective, now a 24-year-old and as a grown-up man can give more information and more description that what we might expect from a 9-year-old) is still a boy's narration, and we feel as outsiders. We don't know why A' is considered a traitor, and why B' was hanged, and why C' escaped Libya. The boy narrator leaves a lot to the imagination.
I can't say that nothing really happens. A lot of things happen but they are presented as trivial every-day events, and the whole story feels like a soap-opera, where there's no much development of characters, and the plot takes a long time to develop, and when it does it's barely noticeable. There's no real climax or denouement, just several smaller climaxes and denouements.
Suleiman is not a 100% likeable character, he betrays people around him, he tells secrets of his family to random people, he can be violent sometimes (usually kicking and throwing stones), he has an Oedipal relationship with his mother which is severed every time his father is at home, he feels resentment against others, for reasons unexplained and many more.
When he discovers that his father is not on a trip abroad but he actually stayed in Tripoli, he feels betrayed by his father's lie and now he begins to understand when the grown-ups lie to him and demands explanations usually through the medium of tantrums. "Suddenly the wider world becomes a frightening place where parents lie and questions go unanswered." ( and this last applies to the reader too)
To sum up, the plot had an open beginning and ending and a straightforward plot, didn't love it but didn't hate it either so I feel I should give this book a 3,5 stars. My 1st contact with Libya and certainly not the last.
You can see the complete list of my African Books here:
Some authors make a political statement with their stories, powerful because of the emotional connections we make as readers to the circumstances. In this case, and despite the multiple awards and award nominations, I felt the story was a thin veil over circumstances that the author wanted to talk about. The nine year old makes confusing decisions, isn't afraid when a normal child would be, leading to destruction around him. He felt emotionally distant. At the same time, the author ends up not giving the reader very much background information on what is actually going on, since he tries to keep it to the world of that same nine year old. I'd have to go read another book to understand the context. I would prefer if it was all included here!
At the same time, I wonder if that was the author's intent - to portray the confusion a child would feel during war, revolution, and oppression. In his small universe, the parts of life he depends on - family, friends, school - are all disrupted by forces he isn't sure if he should fear or show loyalty to. He suspects his Dad may be a traitor, what is a child to do when he isn't told everything?
鈥檚 unfolds in the first-person voice of nine-year old Suleiman living in Gaddafi鈥檚 Libya and struggling to make sense of the events disrupting his life. Whether it is through his omnipresent, larger-than-life images or through the brutal actions of his revolutionary army and secret police, Gaddafi鈥檚 presence haunts the pages of the novel.
Suleiman witnesses the escalating horrors of living under a brutal dictatorship. The father of his best friend is arrested by the Revolutionary army, beaten and kicked before being swept away to an unknown destination. The father later appears on television 鈥渃onfessing鈥� his crime of treason. He is publicly executed at a sports stadium to the resounding cheers of the crowd. Not long after, Suleiman鈥檚 father is arrested. He returns home so badly beaten and bruised that Suleiman doesn鈥檛 initially recognize him, thinking a monster is sharing his mother鈥檚 bed. Eventually, Suleiman鈥檚 parents decide to get him out of the country for his own safety. He is sent to Egypt where he completes his education and becomes a pharmacist.
Whether he is describing the burst of flavor when eating mulberries or the public execution as it plays out before his narrator鈥檚 eyes, Matar writes in vivid, immersive description. Suleiman鈥檚 observations are recorded in minute details, lending an air of verisimilitude to the writing. But there is disconnect and incongruity between his interpretation of what he sees and reality. He refers to his mother鈥檚 鈥渋llness鈥� and her 鈥渕edicine鈥� bottle. In reality, his mother is a drunk who becomes reckless after having too much to drink and who burdens her son with stories of her forced marriage. He perceives the secret police agent stationed outside their home as a reliable friend. He compares the condemned man鈥檚 resistance to walking up the gallows to a shy woman鈥檚 resistance to being coerced on to the dance floor. His confusion is compounded by the knowledge his parents shelter him from the truth although he doesn鈥檛 know why.
Violence, fear, torture, surveillance, house searches, disappearances, gender oppression, and lies are daily occurrences in Suleiman鈥檚 life, leaving a lingering impact with far-reaching consequences. His confusion and fear manifest in bouts of cruelty and violence toward others. He betrays a friend鈥檚 confidence, physically wounds a playmate, and intentionally tries to drown the beggar, Bahloul.
Through the voice of his nine-year-old narrator, Hisham Matar captures the long-term, debilitating impact on a child growing up under an oppressive regime. Suleiman鈥檚 life, friends, and family have all been disrupted by forces he doesn鈥檛 understand. As an adult living in exile in Egypt, he feels lost, emotionally distant, empty, and alienated. When he looks back at his childhood at the end of the novel, he recognizes his personal trajectory took the shape it did due to political forces completely beyond his control.
Hisham Matar has produced a compelling first-person narrative of a child鈥檚 experience with living under a brutal dictatorship.
Behind reports of dissidents intimidated, tortured and killed by the world's repressive regimes hide the subtler, more obscure stories of their young children. They experience a world overcast by two shadows: parents trying to shield them from alarm and Orwellian governments denying that anything is amiss. Writing from his current home in London, Libyan author Hisham Matar has captured this plight in his first novel, a haunting, poetic story about a 9-year-old boy struggling to comprehend what's happening to his family in the vise of Col. Moammar Gaddafi's reign of terror. In the Country of Men, which was shortlisted for last year's Man Booker Prize, includes frightening glimpses of the dictatorship's abuses and Libya's brand of Islamic puritanism, but Matar focuses primarily on the psychological damage wreaked on his young narrator.
In 1979, Suleiman is an only child enjoying summer vacation in the usual ways of children everywhere: swimming, climbing trees, playing with his friends in the streets. But a deep anxiety pervades his home in Tripoli. A man is parked outside in a car "like a giant dead moth in the sun." His father, a successful businessman, is tense and distant. The adults who drop by sound happy until Suleiman steps out of the room; then they fall into panicked whispers. His mother grows increasingly dependent on her secret "medicine." A model of matronly care and concern during the day, she burdens her son at night with tales of her forced marriage at the age of 14, the sexual humiliations she endured, the dreams she relinquished.
Matar writes in a voice that shifts gracefully between the adult exile looking back and the young boy experiencing these events through his limited, confused point of view. Why are they burning father's books and papers? Who is that voice breaking into the phone calls? Why has another boy's father "vanished like a grain of salt in water"?
"I couldn't wait to be a man," little Suleiman thinks, "heavy with the world," but what does it mean to become a man in a country where men are either brutal or cowed? Powerless to save his family from threats he can't begin to understand, Suleiman falls into bouts of sullenness and anger, committing acts of betrayal that immediately sting him with shame.
Looking back at this "time of blood and tears, in a Libya full of bruise-checkered and urine-stained men," he realizes that his childhood left a "lasting impression on me, one that has survived well into my adulthood, a kind of quiet panic." Though set in one of the world's most peculiar, most despotic countries, this sad, beautiful novel captures the universal tragedy of children caught in their parents' terrors.
Sadly, a quote from Francis Bacon comes to mind, that some books should only be sampled or some such thing. This book was quite dull. I started it with great expectations; it was the first novel I had read by a Libyan writer and with Libya constantly in the news, I thought its moment had come. It is also a book narrated from the perspective of a nine-year-old boy, and I was looking forward to some innocence, humour and charm. There was not much of that- the boy seemed at once too mature and too clueless. Though not a translated work, the book uses language in a vapid, unimaginative manner. Again, we seem to have the usual genre coming out of the Middle East- sociology and political studies posing as literature. They don't make for good bedfellows, in my opinion, or at least not the way it's done in the Arab world. Perhaps the socio/political issues are so pressing and so current that writers cannot devote themselves to exploring the issues normally explored in the novel- by the time the writers are done with conveying what they perceive as the necessary information- of repression, brutality, torture, religion, and exile, there is not much time left for anything else. To be fair to the book, there were a few touches I liked. The fact that Suleiman (the nine-year-old) betrays his father and his best friend (though does not do serious damage to his father) is insightful. Is this the nature of such repressive regimes- that even innocent children end up betraying those they love most, as- at some unconscious level perhaps- they understand that it is the easier option. Another theme I thought was dealt with well was that of exile- Suleiman ends up forced into exile by his parents, and while he has no desire to return to his homeland, he resents his parents for depriving him of his homeland, no matter the reasons. And the irony is that for his parents, sending the son to Egypt was the ultimate sacricife they had to make to guarantee his safety, and yet the son, though understanding this, does not feel any more compassion towards them. Suleiman himself is caught in a cycle of safety and emptiness from which he can never be delivered.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
I bought 'In the Country of Men' because I heard Hisham Matar talking on the radio and was captivated. He talked not just about this novel (without giving too much away - always a challenge!) and also about the writing process itself, eloquently expressing all the joys and difficulties that go with the territory of trying to create a story that combines drama with truth. The book won numerous awards, including being shortlisted for the Man Booker, and is based on harrowing real-life events which Hisham and his family experienced themselves during the implosion of Libya in 1979.
I was therefore surprised - and feel guilty to admit! - that I was disappointed. The story is written in the highest quality prose, of that there is no doubt, sometimes poetic, sometimes brutally factual, but there was something about the overall tone of the narrative that I found grating. I kept telling myself this was unreasonable of me, since the narrator of the story is the 9 year old boy, Suleiman, trying to understand why the world he knows is collapsing around him - so of course there was going to be a distinctive slant to the text. Yet I have read other such narratives through the eyes of youngsters - To Kill A Mockingbird springs to mind - and been gripped as opposed to irritated. There were moments when I was genuinely swept along - as little Suleiman himself is - by events and actions he does not understand, but I am afraid I could not separate myself from the annoyance sufficiently to award it more than three stars.
Perhaps it was a book that just came at me at the wrong time. Books can do that, it's part of their fascination. Just as stories can land in our laps just when we need them most. Hisham Matar is an excellent writer, he just wasn't right for me.