For many decades our school curricula paid scant attention to
modern literature, such as novels, short stories, and drama. This
was a carry-over from a time when rejectionist voices had been
raised against these genres, fearing the negative impact they could
have upon younger generations. When finally I had access to modern
works of literature, I was captivated by their depth of insight and
their lucid beauty. I remember the sheer delight I felt upon
venturing into the world of Naguib Mahfouz,1 losing myself in
Pharaonic history, then moving on to modern Egyptian history,
pondering their sociopolitical issues and fully empathizing with
their concerns and anxieties. I immediately related to his
fictional characters to an extent that I felt I knew them
personally. These were the offspring of the milieu and environment
of Mahfouz and that is why his portrayal of them was so complete
and so faithful. Yet reading Mahfouz is one thing, and getting to
know the great novelist personally is on another plane
entirely.
It is a well-known fact that Mahfouz was a personification of order
and rigor. People used to set their watches by his goings and
comings, his wakefulness, and his sleep. This sense of order was at
the core of Mahfouz's ability to preserve his innovativeness and
his sustained artistic output. He never compromised on his set
schedule for reading or writing.
Mahfouz did not like to travel and left Egypt only twice: Once was
to what was then Yugoslavia, at the request of Gamal Abdel Nasser,
in order to inaugurate the birth of the non-aligned nations. The
second time was to Yemen when it was liberated from its autocratic
regime. It is likely that one main reason why he disliked traveling
was that it disrupted the rigorous regime by which he lived and
through which he left us with such a rich legacy.
The Nobel Prize
When Mahfouz won the Nobel Prize, speculations abounded about the
reasons for his selection. Some saw it as a political move. Others
said that he had been rewarded for his opinions and beliefs, which
went against the accepted rules and conventions of the Orient. A
third opinion reduced his merit to the Trilogy2, for which they
claimed he got the prize. To all these I say: There may be a
measure of truth in all your allegations, but you must also take a
comprehensive perspective to view this great writer's output in its
integrity.
Mahfouz is much bigger than just one element or another. Some
French writers have said that, had Mahfouz been one of them, they
would have erected statues for him in every one of their towns. He
was awarded the Nobel Prize simply because he was a great novelist
with a deep and extensive experience. He has encapsulated within
his writings the trajectory of novel writing, which has extended
over a good part of two centuries.
He began by writing three historical novels: Games of Fate [also
sometimes translated as Mockery of the Fates- Ed.], Rhadopis of
Nubia, and The Struggle of Thebes. These can be considered
historical romances, but Mahfouz was also a realist in the sense
that he brought history to bear on the modern scene. The Struggle
of Thebes, for example, is not only about the "struggle for
Thebes," but also about the struggle of Egypt against the British
occupation. Rhadopis is not the Pharaonic courtesan to whose beauty
everybody used to bow, but the embodiment of the "courtesans" that
preoccupied many of the contemporary rulers. To Mahfouz, those
rulers became so absorbed with the descendents of Rhadopis that
they ended up losing their countries.
Works in Realism
In his second phase, Mahfouz abandoned historical fiction and
turned to writing realist novels. His reality revolved around a
certain society, so he chose the simple Egyptian setting in which
he lived that was peopled by characters he knew, and with whom he
shared its customs and traditions. The events in these novels
unfolded in specific places as the titles indicate - Midaq Alley,
Khan al Khalili, Palace of Desire, Palace Walk and Sugar Street -
so that the setting became the predominant element in these
novels.
In spite of the fact that many of the plots were based on actual
events with which he was familiar, Mahfouz chose to give them
tragic endings. The novel The Beginning and the End is the story of
a family Mahfouz knew, and he was aware that their troubles had
ended in great happiness. Yet he chose to push the family into this
black pit of drownings and suicides in the belief that with such
endings the reader would be faced with a responsibility and the
question "And then?" In these realistic endings, he went against
socialist optimism in order to invest his characters with a
specific Egyptian spirit.
Later, he experimented with a new style and wrote Mirage, a
psychological novel in which Mahfouz took up the theme of Freudian
complexes. Both the Oedipus and Electra complexes came to life in a
plot that mirrors modern Egyptian society - in short, a slice of
life.
Mahfouz ended this phase with Sugar Street before the 1952
revolution. Sadly, many intellectuals failed to see in this novel a
portent of revolutions and the social upheavals to come.
A Simple Portrayal
From 1952 to 1959, Mahfouz stopped writing novels and turned to
screenplays instead. Possibly he felt that he had reached a point
in his realistic technique from which he could advance no further;
also, he feared he would repeat himself. He looked for a new style
until he settled on problems of a philosophical and psychological
nature that would characterize his later work. In these novels, he
mostly delved into the inner workings of his characters' minds. He
made use of his extensive readings in literary criticism so that
all modes of realism were reflected in this writings, such as
naturalism and existentialism, to name but a few.
This short piece does not claim to provide a deep critical survey
of Mahfouz and his work. The object is to present a simple
portrayal of an individual, a novelist, a thinker, a critic, and a
philosopher who will be missed on the Arab literary scene as in the
rest of the world.
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