From Mauritania to the IPAF Shortlist – ARABLIT & ARABLIT QUARTERLY
From Mauritania to the IPAF Shortlist:
Ahmed Vall Dine’s Literary Journey
In conversation with Meriem Essaoudy
Last month, International Prize for Arabic Fiction judges announced that Mauritanian writer Ahmed Vall Dine had been shortlisted for the 2025 prize for his Danshmand, a fictionalized biography of the renowned scholar Imam Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali (d. 1111). Vall Dine talks about his journey as a writer, the challenges that face Mauritanian writers, and why “any writer who takes on the challenge of portraying a historical Muslim scholar is actually fortunate.”
Meriem Essaoudy: Danshmand is your first novel to be shortlisted for the IPAF and the first Mauritanian novel to ever make the shortlist. How does this moment feel for you?
Ahmed Vall Dine: I am delighted that Danshmand made its way to the award shortlist, and I am pleased that a philosophical and Sufi figure as significant as al-Ghazali was the means to achieve this. I am also happy that a Mauritanian author is representing the land of poetry—Mauritania—on the stage of storytelling. We Mauritanians are a people who are not yet accustomed to the platforms of the novel, and the land of poetry remains more familiar and closer to our hearts. The Mauritanian writer still feels more at ease in the tent of poetry than in the house of the novel and finds greater companionship with al-Mutanabbi than with al-Jahiz. Perhaps this achievement will encourage the younger generation to turn their attention more toward this literary genre.
What was the inspiration behind Danshmand? What made you feel a connection to al-Ghazali in particular?
AVD: When I was eighteen years old, I came across al-Ghazali’s book Deliverance from Error. It is a small book in which he recounts his philosophical and spiritual journey, and I was deeply moved by the story—by its honesty and sincerity, and by its discussion of doubt, faith, and his intellectual adventures. I was fascinated by the story of how the most prominent university professor of his time—al-Ghazali—gave up his teaching position in Baghdad to flee to the wilderness and mosques in search of his heart, to discipline his soul, and to heal it from the diseases of the heart, such as rivalry and envy. From that day, the story remained in my mind until the day I started writing novels, and the idea came back to me, alive and vivid, as if I had been contemplating it for a long time.
Your nonfiction works have been translated into English, but not your novels. Do you hope to see Danshmand in English soon?
AVD: Of course, I would be delighted. English today is a language of great influence and prominence. Moreover, I believe that al-Ghazali speaks to Western societies with urgency and has important messages that English-speaking audiences should hear. If Jalal al-Din Rumi has become the most widely read poet in the United States several times over, I have no doubt that al-Ghazali could also become a significant figure in the English-speaking intellectual sphere. Rumi successfully made a vibrant return to English largely because he found an excellent translator, Professor Coleman Barks. I hope that Al-Ghazali, too, can find his own Barks.
What other Mauritanian authors do you admire and think should be recognized regionally and internationally? What are your favorite books by Mauritanian authors from any period?
AVD: Mauritanians have entered the world of the novel hesitantly, and as I mentioned earlier, the spirit of poetry still holds them back from embracing prose. However, the novelist Moussa Ould Ebnou has a unique narrative style that deserves to be read and translated. His portrayal of the human story in the Mauritanian desert is something worthy of global recognition and celebration.
What kind of support exists for Mauritanian writers who write in Arabic, and what kind of support could or should there be? How could the publishing world foster more creative writing from Mauritanian authors?
AVD: Mauritanian writers are left to fend for themselves, with no real support or resources. The country is extremely poor, and there are no structured systems to encourage literature or assist authors. Writers in Mauritania create despite the circumstances, not because of them. They publish and write in defiance of both society and the state, rather than with their support.
As for what international publishers can do, the most crucial thing is to give young writers the chance to have their work read. Most publishing houses only consider manuscripts from well-established authors, which stifles emerging talent and discourages new voices seeking a platform.
You bring a deep knowledge of classical Arabic literature to your work, including your journalism. Do you remember when you first got to know the classics of Arabic literature? Was it from school, from your family, or somewhere else? What sorts of literature did you read growing up?
AVD: I recall when classical language took hold of me because it was the very air I was born breathing. I might even dare to say that the midwife who delivered me—in the deserts of Mauritania—was reciting the poetry of Imru’ al-Qais during my birth, and when she brought me into the world, her hands were stained with the blood of literature, to borrow a phrase from the Syrian poet Nizar Qabbani.
I grew up in an environment that was deeply passionate about classical language, loved it, and revered classical literature, preserving it through memory. My father was a literary man, well-versed in poetry, narrating the tales, history, and poetry of the Arabs. I will never forget that he had memorized Maqamat al-Hariri (d. 516 AH) with remarkable precision. Because of this, I memorized dozens of poems from the pre-Islamic and Islamic eras in my early years, which made the temporal distance between me and classical Arabic disappear.
Thus, I can say that my challenge was not in engaging with classical Arabic but rather in returning to writing in the everyday spoken language. I consider myself fortunate to have had this upbringing, as it granted me a kind of universality and expanded my literary awareness, preventing me from being confined to a narrow contemporary framework. This reminds me of an opinion I once read by the British historian Arnold Toynbee (d. 1975), who said that his broad outlook on world civilizations was due to his early exposure to Roman classics, whereas his wife’s academic specialization was more limited because she studied only modern literature or history—if my memory serves me correctly.
Therefore, an early connection with classical literature broadens one’s perspective and allows a researcher to explore an expansive literary landscape that stretches both in depth and breadth.
How does your work as a journalist impact how you think about crafting a novel?
AVD: That’s a great question, and one I get asked often. I’ve noticed that some people assume journalism and novel writing are at odds with each other due to the contrast between fact and fiction—between the immediate, precise, and pressing nature of news reporting and the slow, imaginative process of crafting a literary narrative.
However, I see a deep connection between the two. What does a journalist do? A journalist observes human movements—political and social—and then writes to describe them. This overlaps significantly with the work of a novelist. A writer, after all, contemplates the pulse of life, its breathless motion, the temperaments and conflicts of people, and from that observation, a creative state emerges.
That’s why many great novelists have come from newsrooms—one of the most famous being Gabriel García Márquez. A journalist is a native citizen in the world of storytelling, not an undocumented outsider.
There are other novels that follow great scholars and writers of the past, like Mohammed Hassan Alwan’s novel about Ibn Arabi or Hassan Aourid’s book about Mutanabbi. What do you think are the challenges (and potential pitfalls) of imagining a world that is long gone through the eyes of someone we only know through their writing? Are there historical novels you particularly admire?
AVD: Indeed, it’s an incredibly challenging task. But difficult tasks are a given for anyone who chooses to write a novel—let alone one about a complex figure who lived nearly a thousand years ago.
That being said, I believe that any writer who takes on the challenge of portraying a historical Muslim scholar is actually fortunate, despite the vast temporal distance. These figures left behind rich biographies filled with details, and historical texts meticulously documented their lives, environments, and even the smallest aspects of their societies—from the architecture of cities and the workings of political institutions to street life, animals, and even the presence of the mad and the marginalized.
Take al-Ghazali, for example. His contemporaries wrote about him, describing his temperament and appearance, such as Abdul Ghafar al-Farsi (d. 529 AH). Later historians, like al-Subki (d. 771 AH), dedicated hundreds of pages to his life. Furthermore, the cities he lived in—Nishapur, Baghdad, and Jerusalem—were visited by travelers before, during, and after his time. These travelers left behind vivid descriptions that provide a treasure trove of details, allowing a novelist to construct a historically faithful yet imaginative world.
This is an advantage Arabic-speaking writers have over others. Last year, I read a fascinating book about Shakespeare, and I noticed how much the author struggled to find precise information about his life and era to fill the gaps in the narrative—even though Shakespeare’s time is relatively recent. In contrast, a figure like Al-Ghazali was surrounded by numerous scholars who recorded extensive details about him. This means both historians and novelists have access to a wealth of material that helps them construct a vivid and historically grounded fictional world.
Can you tell us a bit more about what kind of research did you do for Danshmand?
AVD: Thank you for this question. The research phase is my favorite part of novel production.
I read everything we have from Al-Ghazali’s heritage (excluding his technical jurisprudential books). This means I read many volumes, including his major work Ihya’ Ulum al-Din.
Then, I read his biographies in all the primary books, comparing them. After that, I read the chronicles of history from the year of his birth until his death to understand exactly what was happening in the political context, so I could grasp his political mood and the intellectual environment in which he operated.
I also read the books of travelers who passed through the cities where he lived, paying close attention to the details they mentioned about these cities, such as their planning, architecture, thoughts, and moods.
Additionally, I read the latest contemporary books written about him to keep up with the latest analyses related to his thoughts and philosophy.
What’s next for you? Are you working on any new books or projects that you can tell us about?
AVD: Why not keep it a surprise?
Meriem Essaoudy is an online English teacher, currently pursuing a degree in English Studies and Translation at Hassan I University, Morocco. She is also a Spring 2025 intern with ArabLit.
