On the New Wave of Memoirs from Iraq – ARABLIT & ARABLIT QUARTERLY
Editor’s note: Publishers who are interested in Iraqi literatures will find more in our May Publishers Newsletter, out on May 15.
By Hend Saeed
In recent decades, memoir has burgeoned in prominence and popularity among Iraqi writers and readers.
As acclaimed author-translator Falah Raheem tells us: “Autobiography is one of the most prolific genres in present day Iraq. Needless to say, Iraq has been for decades the scene of one of the most dramatic human tragedies conceivable. Personally, I find these autobiographical books more interesting and mature in depicting the experience than the experimental fictional rendering of the same period.”
For that reason, we asked several prominent Iraqi writers and critics to recommend one memoir they have recently enjoyed.
Falah Raheem recommends:
It is exceptionally difficult to choose one book. But if I must, then I choose what I consider a masterpiece of the genre which deserves world publicity. It is Ata Abdulwahab’s autobiography سلالة الطين (The Descent of Clay, Arab Foundation for Studies and Publishing, 2004). What distinguishes this excellent work is the combination of a refined literary form and the dramatic exceptional experiences portrayed. One part which appeals to me most is how Abdulwahab managed to translate important literary works (Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf, for example) into Arabic, while in solitary confinement in an abominable prison, behind a curtain, in his toilet. This touches a chord in my experience, for I started my translations into Arabic as soldier in a trench during the Iran-Iraq war. Lastly, there is an empowering message in this book, which evolves through his childhood memories and the dark horrific episodes themselves. Highly recommended.
Diaa Khudair recommends:
It is difficult to write about Iraqi memoirs in five or six lines, because they encompass either the personal histories of the those who wrote about themselves or aspects of the country’s history. There is also a difference between a memoir written by a public or political figure, about his experience in life and government, and a memoir composed by a writer about his cultural and spiritual development, often in difficult circumstances. The writer’s cultural and spiritual biographies are what I wrote about as a critic in my book Extinguished Stars in the Sky of the Stranger’s Memory. This book combines my memoir with those of others.
If I had to choose one of the memoirs I read recently, I would choose حدائق الوجوه (Gardens of Faces, 2008) by Muhammad Khudayyir.
This memoir is a distinctive cultural biography in that it reveals the influence of visual storytelling. The writer explains how his reading of other international writers, poets, and thinkers influenced him and his writing, explaining the process through the visual of a garden: how he absorbs the plants, juices, and fruits of his neighboring gardens to nourish his own garden, which has its distinct way or view. The way in which he writes other people’s stories is filled with images life and death, and yet they also twine with his memories of sitting, daily, at one of the Basra cafes.
“The sad trill of the bicycle’s bell stirs the sycamore leaves on a cold February afternoon, and the mice of time nibble at my future, which is written on the bright yellow fallen leaves, in the scribbling of my limping days, my sixty years, toppled by the trill of the bicycle bell, while my days unfold at a desk under the public clock at the post office. (Muhammad Khudayyir, Gardens of Faces, Dar Al-Mada, p. 52)
Khudayyir had taught himself to grow behind masks, to put distance between himself and others, not only to protect himself, as some masked people do — who don’t want to reveal the beauty of their faces — but to enable him to see other things, deeper than what we are used to seeing in traditional narratives, all without letting anyone see his true, naked face.
Muhsin al-Ramli recommends:
I think that, if you total up all the Iraqi memoirs written until this point, you’ll find far fewer than there should be. Every Iraqi has a story worth telling — both individuals and groups — because of the unique and difficult experiences that they have gone through, or because of what they have witnessed or lived. Most of these are so difficult that people tend to avoid talking about them or prefer to forget them, or else they prefer to avoid embarrassing others by exposing their secrets. Many of the memoirs that have been written are well-calculated and self-censored, so as to avoid exposing intimate or private events.
I’ve read many Iraqi memoirs and biographies, and they also have different styles and aims and techniques. Here, I mention two I liked:
First is غصن مُطَعّم بشجرة غريبة (A Branch Nourished by a Strange Tree) by the poet and translator Salah Niazi. He hails from Al Nasirya, after which he moved to Baghdad, then to London through Aleppo and Turkey. Nizai takes the readers on his journey by comparing life in Nasirya to life in Baghdad and then in Lodon.
In Baghdad, he was looking for something he was missing but couldn’t find: “I wasn’t miserable, but my sadness was boundless. I was searching for something that was missing from my life. I thought an invisible cap would lead me to it, since, from my earliest childhood, I felt I was missing something, and when I moved to Baghdad, I searched for it in books.”
The second book I recommend is هكذا مرت الأيام (How the Days Went By) by Balkis Sharara. In her memoir, Sharara reveals how Iraqi high society — intellectuals and aristocrats — lived during the second half of the twentieth century. In the foreground, there are individual stories, while in the background there are large social, political, and historical events.
She also wrote about her sister Dr. Hayat Sharara’s suicide. I knew Hayat Sharara personally during my university days. I knew her as a professor, translator, and as an educated woman. We were shocked by the news of her death along with her daughter, and there were many rumors about the reason for her suicide. I remember this part of the book, which is extremely meaningful, pithy, sensitive, and beautifully told.
She wrote: “When I traveled from London to Beirut, I found my sister Hayat’s final letter waiting for me, three months after her death. I gazed at it, held it in my hand, and kissed it. I read it a few times until the murmur of the winds became a whistle. A letter from beyond the grave.”
Inaam Kachachi recommends:
Finding سوالف (Swalif) by Widad Al Orfali was like finding a treasure. I dove into the 422 pages of stories, information, and rare photos.
Ninety years ago, Al Orafli came to the world blue and motionless after her mother suffered difficult labor. The midwife took care of her after she showed some movement and hid her from her parents for a few days as she considered how to tell them she was a girl. Her mother fainted when she discovered she had a girl. Her father, Mekki Al Orfali, who studied law in Istanbul and became head of the courts system, found it a blessing and named her Widad. He then encouraged her to study. He hired a music teacher to teach her at home and sent her to Beirut to study art and social studies at a junior college. Later, she graduated from the Institute of Fine Arts in Baghdad. She married a diplomat and traveled the world with him and became a well-known artist. She established “Al Orfali Gallery” in 1983 in Baghdad, which became a gathering place for the city’s intellectuals.
Besides her personal life, she talks about, for instance, an incident she witnessed while working as a marketing and advertising manager at a dairy factory in Abu Ghraib in 1960. She was asked to testify in the military court when her director was accused of wasting the factor’s money when he sent the carpenter to his home to build a chicken coop. When she was asked what type of coop this was, and how big it was, she said:
“It’s a cage for chickens, not elephants. The coop was built from the factory’s discarded wood, which the director had also used to build fences for the employee’s homes, thus improving the overall appearance of hte village. Moreover, the cage was built on government land, and thus it will remain part of the government property.” Then she was asked why she had requested a printer that was imported from the US, she retorted: “Why does dairy factory need a printer? Well, it needs a color printer to print stickers that help to explain the product to the consumers.”
She concluded her testimony by saying, “I wish there were more people like this director, who is supportive and loyal to his employees.” Everyone in the room went silent . The director wasn’t imprisoned, but he was laid off and later hired by the UN World Food Program.
May Muzaffar recommends:
In his book “رحلتي إلى الصين” (My Journey to China, Arab Foundation for Studies and Publishing, 2012), Rafa al-Nasiri takes readers back to his upbringing in the city of Tikrit, a small town north of Baghdad on the banks of Tigris. In 1956, his family moved to Baghdad to provide better education for their children, and his teachers also advised him to join the Institute of Fine Arts in Baghdad after discovering his artistic talent. In Tikrit and Baghdad, the family lived on the bank of the river, with an open space that played a big role in his imagination throughout his life. In Baghdad, he met with pioneering artists, such as Faiq Hassan and Jawad Selim. And when he received a scholarship to continue his academic study, he chose China. This was a bold and unusual choice for a 19-year-old, moving to a country under restrictive regime.
His decision came after he had visited a Chinese art exhibition hosted by the institute in 1959, “From painting, printmaking, ceramics, and traditional crafts, I was astonished by what I saw, especially with the painting and ceramics, and I visited it almost every day. When I had to choose a place for my academic study, I didn’t hesitate to choose China.” In the memoir, he writes about his life in China, describing his daily life, study, professors, and his exposure to artistic experiences in engraving and printing that qualified him to excel and gain the trust of his teachers.
Back in Baghdad in 1963, he was appointed to teach at the Institute of Art, becoming the first Iraqi artist to specialize in graphic art in Iraq. He later became one of the icons of Arab art.
