Thankfully, browsing bookshelves still can be an adventure.
There’s no end to new books worth reading, and those of us who enjoy literature constantly add to our ‘must-read’ list. Best sellers compete for our leisure hours; literary prizes point us to new talent. It’s hard to keep abreast. But rather than prepare myself for conversations about this year’s Nobel author (Patrick Modiano) my hand rests at a volume by 1988 Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz.
Hmm; how did I miss this? “The Journey of Ibn Fattouma” by the acclaimed Egyptian writer is new to me. Eclipsed by Mahfouz’s popular Cairo series and missing from many online biographies, here is an overlooked masterpiece. So timely. This simple parable resonates poignantly as we innocent mortals traverse our 2014 world of endless wars.
The universal relevance of Mahfouz’s 1983, “The Journey…” is surely affirmation of his genius as a writer and political philosopher.
Layers of morality thread through this short yet complex story: there are traveler-merchants, protected and untouched, journeying through a series of cultures and wars, profiting as they proceed, unconcerned with conflicts underway or any suffering they witness. They glide amorally onto their next marketplace. (For me, together with family protocols, they are Mahfouz’ primary target for criticism.) Accompanying the travelers is Qindil, a young man who left home after betrayal by his teacher and his family. He shares his companions’ immunity but he is curious. So he dallies. Doing so, he encounters manifestations of justice and freedom.
Qindil’s ultimate goal is Gebel, a land of purported purity. Although he knows nothing of its merits and meets no one who’s been there. In the course of his journey Qindil, himself from an unidentified, fuzzy land-of-Islam, confronts a series of civilizations— in its individual way each appears to be a utopia. Each claims spiritual integrity. Blind to any of its deficits, none doubts its own superiority which, in the end, proves its demise.
Each nation lures Qindil with irresistible hospitality. (Is Mahfouz remarking on his society’s values? or Are those warm receptions a means of moving his protagonist through history? I’m uncertain.)
Qindil’s first dalliance is in Mishraq, a moon-worshipping land of free love where he joins a household and fathers four sons. He’s ultimately driven from there to Haira –he is welcome here too–which likewise claims it embodies everything humans desire and need. The same in Halba, the hero’s next destiny. Then on to Aman, and finally to Ghuroub. Readers may identify Mishraq as a primordial society, Halba a capitalist haven, and Aman a socialistic utopia. Regardless, each people believe theirs is the zenith of human existence (although it awards an unseen ruler unquestioned rights and powers over it).
War seems to prevail wherever Qindil finds himself. Haira is compelled to conquer Mishraq; then Halba is drawn into war and takes control of Aman, then Ghuroub must be subdued. Each conquest seems inevitable and morally wholesome as well. Wars are acts of grace rather than of ambition or ill will.
Qindil moves naively through these lands, withholding judgment whether or not he is mistreated. Whatever attachments or hostility he encounters, he is able to move on. His sole aim, he claims, is knowledge and thus seeks out sages at every stop.
Predictably, our traveler never reaches Gebel, his purported goal. He also seems to never acquire the knowledge he asserts is his noble ambition.
I you read this story you’ll find more meanings than I’ve discerned. And you’ll grasp Mahfouz’ message on how humans rationalize our endless wars.
Barbara Nimri Aziz is a New York based anthropologist and journalist. www.RadioTahr