Dystopia in Arabic Speculative Fiction: A Poetics of Distress 9781032303857, 9781032303864

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Dystopia in Arabic Speculative Fiction

Dystopia in Arabic Speculative Fiction: A Poetics of Distress unpacks the nuanced Arabic contribution to speculative fiction. Part of a larger project by Elmeligi to formulate a poetics of literary theory to read Arabic literature, this book examines Arabic dystopian fiction from the lens of social causes of psychological distress. The selected novels combine works by authors already established in studies by Western scholars and many that have not been translated before or have not received enough scholarly attention, yet. The novels represent an array of Arab countries, including Algerian, Egyptian, Jordanian, Kuwaiti, Mauritanian, Syrian, and Tunisian authors. It also highlights the contribution of women authors to Arabic speculative fiction. This book enriches the conversation about what is quite possibly a significant speculative fiction turn in the Arabic novel, as well as provides a new theoretical approach to read such complex and innovative literature. Wessam Elmeligi is Assistant Professor, Director of the Center for Arab American Studies, and Director of the Comparative Literature Certificate and Arabic Translation Certificate at the University of Michigan-​ Dearborn. His research includes Arabic and comparative literature, art, and cinema. He is working on a project of Arab poetics, formulating theoretical frameworks to examine Arabic literature. In this project, he has published two books. The first is The Poetry of Arab Women from the Pre-​Islamic Age to Andalusia, a critical anthology of Arab women poets which unpacks Arab women’s classical poetry as a poetics of rejection. The second book is Cultural Identity in Arabic Novels of Immigration: A Poetics of Return, which examines Arabic migration narratives as a poetics of return. He is also a graphic novel artist and author, and has published two graphic novels, Y and Y, and Jamila.

Routledge Studies in Speculative Fiction

Character and the Supernatural in Shakespeare and Achebe Kenneth Usongo Human Evolution and Fantastic Victorian Fiction Anna Neill Genre and Reception in the Gothic Parody Framing the Subversive Heroine Kerstin-​Anja Münderlein Lovecraft in the 21st Century Dead, But Still Dreaming Edited by Antonio Alcala Gonzalez and Carl H. Sederholm Motherless Creations Fictions of Artificial Life, 1650–​1890 Wendy C. Nielsen Posthuman Subjectivity in the Novels of J.G. Ballard Carolyn Lau Dystopia in Arabic Speculative Fiction A Poetics of Distress Wessam Elmeligi For more information about this series, please visit: www.routle​dge.com/​Routle​dge-​Stud​ies-​ in-​Spec​ulat​ive-​Fict​ion/​book-​ser​ies/​RSSF

Dystopia in Arabic Speculative Fiction A Poetics of Distress Wessam Elmeligi

First published 2024 by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 and by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 Wessam Elmeligi The right of Wessam Elmeligi to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Elmeligi, Wessam, author. Title: Dystopia in Arabic speculative fiction : a poetics of distress / Wessam Elmeligi. Description: New York, NY : Routledge, 2024. | Series: Routledge studies in speculative fiction | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2023010096 (print) | LCCN 2023010097 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032303857 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032303864 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003304838 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Speculative fiction, Arabic–History and criticism. | Dystopias in literature. | Distress (Psychology) in literature. | LCGFT: Literary criticism. Classification: LCC PJ7572.S64 E46 2024 (print) | LCC PJ7572.S64 (ebook) | DDC 892.73/087609–dc23/eng/20230510 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023010096 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023010097 ISBN: 9781032303857 (hbk) ISBN: 9781032303864 (pbk) ISBN: 9781003304838 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/​9781003304838 Typeset in Sabon by Newgen Publishing UK

To those whose wishes make this world a better place

Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

Introduction: Reading Distress as a Narrative of Dystopia in Arabic Speculative Fiction

1

PART I

Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction

23

SECTION 1

Isolation and the Dystopia of Place

24

1 Mistrust in Quest Dystopia: Naguib Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma and Youssef Ezzedin Eassa’s The Façade

25

2 Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia: Ahmed Khaled Towfik’s Utopia and Nihād Shārīf’s Residents of the Second World

44

SECTION 2

Self-​Estrangement and the Dystopia of Time

60

3 Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia: Aḥmad Wild Islim’s The Outsider and Mahmoud Othman’s Revolution 2053: The Beginning

61

4 Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia: al-​Hādī Thābit’s What If Hannibal Returns and Līna Kīlānī’s The Seeds of the Devil

76

viii  Contents PART II

Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction

93

SECTION 1

Meaninglessness and the Dystopia of the Mind

94

5 Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia: Ṭība ʾaḥmad al-​ ʾIbrāhīm’s The Pale Human and ʿumar Ḥāziq’s The First Novelist of the City

95

6 Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia: Mohammad Rabie’s Planet Amber and Buthayna Al-​Essa’s The Guardian of the Surface of the World

111

SECTION 2

Normlessness and the Dystopia of the Apocalypse

126

7 Mistrust in Post-​Revolt Dystopia: Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue and Mohammad Rabie’s Otared

127

8 Inflexibility in Post-​War Dystopia: Wāsīnī al-​Aʿraj’s 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab and Aḥmad al-​Zaʿtarī’s Bending Over the Corpse of Amman

143

Conclusion: Distress, Dystopia, and a Speculative Fiction Turn in Arabic Literature

159

Bibliography Index

175 181

Acknowledgments

When I was deciding on a topic for my doctoral dissertation, in the mid-​ 1990s, at the University of Alexandria, William Gibson’s novel, Neuromancer, has been out for just a little more than a decade. In Egyptian academia it was still a virtual unknown. I went ahead and wrote my dissertation on cyberpunk fiction, enjoying the tremendous knowledge and support of my advisor, Amira Nowaira. I still remember how we discussed a possible translation for the word cyberpunk, possibly among the earliest attempts to do so in Arabic. My passion for science fiction started when I was too young to understand relevant concepts such as speculative fiction and dystopia, and for that I have to thank my family who fostered reading and creativity. Those early insights eventually led to the confidence to write this book that developed over time and would not have been possible without Nowaira’s enthusiastic belief in her student’s project. This book has been informed and encouraged by the undeniable breakthroughs of scholars who wrote about Arabic science fiction in translation, most notably Ada Barbaro and Ian Campbell, and most recently Hosam Elzembely, Emad El-​Din Aycha, and Jörg Determann Jörg, among others. Writing a book is a daunting task, and the time and energy dedicated to this project would not have been available to me without the understanding and warm collegiality of my colleagues at the University of Michigan-​ Dearborn, and at my department of Language, Culture, and the Arts. I worked from the office and I worked from home. In both cases, family and loved ones are impacted when someone is immersed in a book project. This book, like all others, is the product of their love and care. Last, if anything, this book has been another wish and wishes come true. May they always do.

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Introduction Reading Distress as a Narrative of Dystopia in Arabic Speculative Fiction

Definitions This book examines dystopian Arabic speculative fiction from the lens of psychological distress. Clarifying the definitions of some key terms as they are used in this study is necessary, while underlining that those definitions are by no means conclusive and are pertinent to their function in the book insofar as they provide conceptualization of the ideas I am exploring here. In this chapter, therefore, I offer a possible perspective for speculative fiction and dystopia, and then move on to discuss the connection between dystopia and psychological distress. Speculative fiction has been warily used in conjunction with science fiction, as two terms that can be considered as distinct, intersectional, or with speculative fiction as an umbrella term that includes science fiction. One way of pinning down science fiction is to look for the science in the fiction, whereby science fiction offers warnings against the misuse of science (Thomas 2013, p. 19). This would also mean that science fiction is essentially invested in ethical dilemmas (Thomas 2013, p. 19). Other features of science fiction include the use of a plausible innovation, as well as the big picture, or the impact on society (Svec and Winski, 2013, p. 38). Margaret Atwood seems to defy classification of her The Handmaid’s Tale and her work in general as science fiction, arguing that her novels are possible in reality and are not scientific. She describes science fiction as dependent on things that are not possible today, mainly advanced science, while fiction that describes what the human race has done or is doing, or will do tomorrow, is speculative fiction, and she specifies, citing the same novel, as a negative form of Utopian fiction (Atwood, 2005, pp. 92–​ 93). Speculative fiction seems to potentially cover fantasy, and horror, and the supernatural, as well as science fiction. As a matter of fact, in some definitions it includes utopian and dystopian fictions as separate subgenres. The Internet Speculative Fiction Database (ISFDB) “contains science fiction, fantasy, utopian and dystopian fiction, magic realism, fantastic voyages, ghost stories, and the Gothic with supernatural elements” DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-1

2  Introduction (Gill 2013, p. 72). For the purpose of this book, then, I would adopt this wider definition of speculative fiction and would focus on narratives that display any elements pertaining to plausible scientific innovation, supernatural existence, utopia, and dystopia. Moreover, I see speculative fiction as essentially added to humanity, whether directly by presenting human characters or symbolically in the absence of humans. In that sense, two central characteristics of speculative fiction are social critique and possible “replacement or surrogate experience” (Gill 2013, p. 79). This brings us to the second definition that is focal to this study: dystopia. Dystopia, utopia, and whatever lies in between and in relevance to them, is considered a cousin of science fiction (Vieira 2022, p. 25). This is because dystopias focus on social and political critique (Vieira 2022, p. 25). Perhaps more than speculative fiction, dystopia has been problematized, especially due to its nature as a negative entity that owes its existence to being the opposite of utopia. Insofar as a utopia is an ideal society constructed for the good of those who live in it, on all aspects, a dystopia would denote the absence of whatever makes a society ideal. Even one of the quintessential utopias, Thomas More’s Utopia, had it in its fabric the comparativeness of systems and practices, comparing one world to another (Marks, Wagner-​Lawlor, and Vieira 2022, p. 2). It is possible to see dystopias as cautionary tales, reactive to sociopolitical issues, while utopias are “forward-​looking, showing us the way forward” (Vieira 2022, p. 25). The link between utopia and dystopia can even be considered causal. If utopian existence aims for perfection, while the dystopian equivalent is flawed, perhaps, given the imperfect nature of humanity, a utopia is unrealistic while a dystopia is more realistic at least intrinsically. What is more, if dystopia is closer to human nature than a utopia, it could be possible to consider utopia essentially despotic, forcibly molding humanity into perfectionism it cannot attain. In that sense, utopian idealism, or more specifically a failed utopia, can even lead to a dystopian backlash (Vieira 2022, p. 27). Terms such as negative utopia, inverted utopia, and anti-​utopia, have been used interchangeably by some critics, while others sought differences among them (Alihodžić and Jerković 2016, p. 7). Those distinctions, for instance, may highlight the textual method or intent, not just the thematic content. In that sense, anti-​utopia might be seen as an anti-​genre, rejecting the notion of utopianism and not just presenting a critique of society (Blaim 2022, p. 40). In that respect, it might be even seen as parodic, ridiculing not only the futility of utopian didacticism but also the literary devices used to construct a utopia (Morson 1981, p. 138). One account has it that the word dystopia was first popularized by John Stuart Mill, though it appeared before him in 1868 describing Britain as too bad to be practical, which branded the concept itself with a mixture of social criticism, negativity, and impracticality, or unreality (Claeys 2022,

Introduction  3 p. 53). Dystopian literature has proved itself complex and multi-​faceted. For instance, a dystopia may present satirical portrayals of utopia, which might differ from more didactic dystopias that attempt to offer a solution to the decaying world they portray. It is important to note also apocalyptic dystopias that already start during the collapse of society or post-​ apocalyptic dystopias that depict an essentially dying world. An interesting detail in dystopian world making considers the role of resistance, in what is referred to as “critical dystopia” allowing for the presence of potential rebels or reformers, and thus offering hope in their pockets of utopia. In contrast, a dystopia might go as far as to place both the dystopian society and the resistance groups as two facets of dystopia, since the resistance groups require their idealistic ideology and systematic structure that often leads to another dystopia (Claeys 2022, p. 62). Moving from totalitarianism in classic fiction, more recent complications of dystopia react to recent issues of, for instance, security, and raise questions of balancing freedom with security, or security with virtue (Claeys 2022, p. 63). With the gold standard of dystopias being Orwell’s 1984, as well as Huxley’s Brave New World, Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, and Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, it has been the norm for a dystopian novel to construct a fictitious society that critiques current societies, especially commenting on social anxieties resulting from the lack of balance between individual freedom and social cohesion (Alihodžić and Jerković 2016, p. 5). Dystopia in these novels is a glaring portrayal of despotism and hegemony. Nevertheless, the power of those seminal texts has created a kind of textual hegemony in itself: The greatest problem that afflicts prevailing definitions of dystopia, however, is the simple fact that they have become so closely focused on the social critiques operating in the dystopian classics that they have taken these temporally specific aspects of classic dystopian novels as qualities that should be assumed as inherent in all dystopian fiction. (Alihodžić and Jerković 2016, p. 21) The persistence of thematic structures and motifs from classic dystopias has perhaps delayed the emergence of new tropes of dystopia, most notably non-​European and non-​American dystopian novels. As literature of social ills, dystopias should follow societies as they evolve, or devolve, and as they take different shapes from one generation to another, following one major event to another, from revolts to wars to economic collapse. Nevertheless, “most definitions of dystopia ignore the implications that societal change has upon the way this genre manifests” (Alihodžić and Jerković 2016, p. 21). This is counterintuitive as “dystopias are defined as much by their engagement with those social anxieties that are contemporary

4  Introduction to their writing as they are to their kinship to past dystopias” (Alihodžić and Jerković 2016, p. 22). I believe this argument is valid, but just as it relies on the temporal aspect, referring to older works, I would also like to add geopolitical and cultural elements as well. The frame of reference for a dystopia is the societal complexities it explores, and, therefore, societies of other regional characteristics are bound to have different dystopian elements in addition to persisting dystopian elements that survive across time and place. We might be able to agree that the inherent spirit of dystopia is an antithesis of utopia, then the gist of definitions of utopia sees it as an ideal structure of communal life, with members of that societal group enjoying the maximum benefits within a functional system. If we adopt this definition, then the concept of dystopia as it is used in this book, and in the novels this book examines, can be defined with a dysfunctional system where members of a group receive the least possible benefits. The functionality of a system and the benefits it can provide would not be deemed ideal enough for a utopian existence unless they were guaranteed to last, making sustainability a desirable quality for a utopia. In addition, for a system to be considered sustainable, its perfection should be innate, independent of external factors, which means that a utopian world should be able to persist regardless of, in spite of, or in harmony with what lies outside it. Finally, since a utopia is not an individual status but a communal existence, it must garner the mutual support and interaction of its members, which indirectly means that they are empowered through their contribution to the innately and independently successful system. These points are reversed in a dystopian context. A system fails because it is not sustainable. It is incapable of coping with change. Its individual members, as components of the system, are incapable of working together. The plight of members of a dystopian system is that their ability to change their reality is limited. In more familiar terms, then, and certainly for Arabic speculative fiction, a dystopia cannot exist without some form of authoritarianism that not only limits the quality of life of members of a society, but restrains their ability to change or improve the situation. Psychological Distress This brings us to the theoretical framework I adopt in the analysis of Arabic speculative fiction in this book. The failure at the heart of a dystopian world impacts individuals and communities. The threat of an unsustainable system heading toward annihilation or at least persisting with no improvement in sight oblivious to the negative features and the accumulating threats, as well as the inability of its members to save themselves, rely on each other, or on the system, can have a detrimental impact on the

Introduction  5 community and its members. It is a social and psychological crisis. There are many approaches to psychological distress. One of those approaches is the sociological approach, which views distress within a social context. Since dystopia is a speculative society and its members are human beings impacted by it, this book assumes that the characters in a fictitious dystopian society can display psychological distress. In addition, it is possible to examine dystopian fiction from a sociological lens as “dystopian literature is especially attuned to how historically conditioned social forces shape the inner life and personal experience of the individual, and how acts of individuals can, in turn, shape the social structures in which they are situated” (Seeger and Davison-​Vecchione 2019, p. 45). While this book is neither a psychological nor a sociological study, I propose a reading of Arabic speculative fiction from the lens of distress due to social structure as a method of literary analysis applicable to dystopia. For the study of dystopian world as a world where psychological distress is displayed by the characters in the examined novels due to the social structure of their authoritarian system, I am employing theoretical concepts discussed by John Mirowsky and Catherine E. Ross in their book Social Causes of Psychological Distress. In their introduction, Mirowsky and Ross explain that they use an approach that combines the social and the psychological aspects of distress that take into account “fear, anxiety, frustration, anger, guilt, despair, depression, demoralization, fulfilment, and hope” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 8). They link distress to the quality of life which they consider “the ultimate valuable” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 6). The deterioration of social condition is a form of misery. Interestingly, authoritarianism is also associated with forcing an inequality of deterioration, whereby the majority suffer the consequences of decay while a select few do not. This corresponds to distress as well, which is strongly related to injustice, for “the inequality of misery is the essential inequality” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 5). One of the details of a dystopian world is that it was not always there. While we might not know if the dystopian society will have an ending, we do know it has a beginning. The development of a dystopian world may exist inside the narrative frame or outside it, as it can become part of the plot that the reader witnesses or might be a preceding event disclosed in flashback or narrated as a historical background. A war or a revolt can cause a dystopian society whereby a group of opportunists seize power and impose their will. This can take place after an economic disaster as the socioeconomic status narrows down to an economic superclass. It can also happen after an invasion, be it by other countries or extra-​terrestrials, that oppresses the natives of a given land. It might also occur with the insidious spread of new ideologies in a search for perfection that went wrong and placed new ideologies on top suppressing all other beliefs and practices.

6  Introduction Regardless of the origin story of a dystopia, it is presumed in dystopian fiction that a dystopia was not always there. Dystopia is an interruption. Social interruption is a cause of stress, for organized action is interrupted resulting in stress as a response signaling an alarm to individuals (Mandler 1982). Stress is in itself a gateway to distress, which is accentuated by inability to cope, by being deterred, usually due to lack of resources, whether social resources or psychological resources (Ensel and Lin 1991, p. 323). In speculative fiction, a dystopian culture limits social resources and controls psychological resources, making it difficult for individuals to cope, as it relies on deterrents to force individuals to acquiesce, thus leading to distress. Moreover, interruption, and the stress it entails, can similarly impact identity, including the process of “over-​controlled identity systems,” which is associated with feelings of distress (Burke 1991, p. 836). The interruption of social, cultural, and political aspects on a large scale that mark a dystopian narrative also interrupts the lives of individuals. It is essentially a life change. Such change is considered one of the major causes of psychological distress. More accurately, it is the effect of such changes that cause distress in recognizable social patterns. These patterns include powerlessness, self-​estrangement, isolation, meaninglessness, and normlessness. They may be defined as absences, or the lack of what is desired to avoid distress. In that sense, the absent factors are what might be expected in a healthy, or in fiction a utopian, context. The negative patterns are what might be visible in a dystopian world. Powerlessness is the absence of control. It is “the separation from important outcomes in one’s own life, or the inability to achieve desired ends” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 171). In a dystopian world, individuals are not decision makers. As we see in the novels in this book, none of the characters can effectively take control of their lives. The protagonists who attempt to do so are examples of those who attempted, and for the most part they failed, paid the ultimate price, or the narrative ended without revealing the end of their journey. The next factor is the opposite of commitment. It is referred to in Mirowsky and Ross as self-​ estrangement. In fact, it is derived from a Marxist’s notion of alienated labor, where “in working for someone else the laborer belongs to another person” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 210). Laborers are debased rather than developed during work, denied rather than fulfilled (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 211). Dystopian societies are notorious for their imposed uniformity and lack of individuality, whether in novels about robotic machination rendering human participation less individualistic or in novels depicting blind conformity to ideological dogma. The third factor is isolation. It is the contrast of support, and occurs on another level. It is perceived in the “microsocial order of relationships” where the individual does not feel they are significant to anyone and have no one who is

Introduction  7 significant to them (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 213). The lack of support and spread of isolation is an element of many dystopian narratives, where survival rules as a result of the divisive strategies of divide and conquer practiced by authoritarianism. It is common to find characters betraying each other, reporting each other to authorities, and in extreme, but increasingly common tropes, literally devouring each other. The fourth factor is central to a philosophical trait of dystopias and is linked to the previous three. Speculative fiction can engage in a search for meaning, and its opposite, meaninglessness, is significant to dystopian narratives. Meaninglessness is complex according to social theory of distress. It can include a simple challenge to one’s sense of mastery over ones’ life, for “a world that cannot be understood also cannot be controlled” and is, therefore, linked to powerlessness (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 219). Meaninglessness is also tied to “self-​assurance of believing that you know what is, that you know what is right, and that your life is a valid expression” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 219). Another association of meaningless is identity, as Thoits argued that the roles an individual plays add to their identities and increase their sense of meaningfulness, adding to “existential security” (Thoits 1983, p. 175; in Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 219). Meaninglessness in dystopian fiction throws characters into a chaotic realm of purposeless existence, devoid of reasons, and often a protagonist in this type of dystopia would be searching for meaning or identity. In that sense, at least in dystopian fiction, it can be tied to self-​estrangement as a form of lack of commitment to any system during the search for purpose or identity. Since the search or quest is often done by the character alone, meaninglessness then may contribute to isolation as the character cannot form bonds with other characters while they are lost. The last factor is normlessness. Its opposite, normality, offers a structured fabric of values that guides individuals to what is needed and approved in order to achieve legitimate goals. Conversely, normlessness becomes the norm when “the community fails to convince the individual of the legitimacy of its standards for behavior” resulting in the individual choosing “the most effective means toward ends, whether legitimate or not” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 223). One of the common features of dystopian world is lawlessness. This usually reigns in the underbelly of the thin crust of order displayed by an authoritarian regime in the dystopian world depicted in some narratives. Channels of selling a wide array of services and items may range from illegal technology, removing surveillance, and prostitution, to banned books, or books at all for that matter. Covet normlessness is a byproduct that accompanies authoritarian dystopia, threatening to explode into an all-​open apocalyptic nihilism. Among the core social causes of distress are sociopolitical and socioeconomic. Authoritarianism and inequity attracted the attention of social

8  Introduction psychologists observing disastrous events such as “the Great Depression, World War II, the cold war, and the social movements of the 1960s” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 230). Authoritarianism rests on forced compliance based on unilateral world views and rejection of difference, whether within a societal, political, or religious context, with an overbearing faith in institutional oversight (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, pp. 230–​231). In the social theory of distress that I employ to read the novels examined in this book, two consequences of authoritarianism are specified as causes of distress: inflexibility and mistrust. Inflexibility is defined as “the tendency to favor particular modes of coping in all stressful situations” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 231). This is forced by “reliance on conformity and obedience as coping strategies” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 232). In dystopian fiction, the inability to move among options is depicted narratively as the communal oppression of the few characters who dare stray away from the rigidity of the system, whether enforced by the authorities through surveillance or brutality, or by self-​righteous, and often brainwashed, members of the community itself. Surveillance by authorities and betrayal by community members are common elements of dystopian responses to flexibility and are signs of inflexibility. They are also signs of the second element of authoritarianism linked to distress: mistrust. Mistrust is the inability to accept the individual moral choices of others, for as its opposite, “trust is a belief in the integrity of other people” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 234). As a result of mistrust, individuals cannot rely on each other, thus causing isolation. It is a strategy favored by authoritarian regimes in dystopian fiction, depicting paranoia as a general atmosphere in many narratives of dysfunctional speculative worlds. In addition to authoritarianism, inequity brings forward consequences that cause distress. The most interesting notions of inequity is that it pertains to both the victim and the exploiters. Both ends of inequity result in “indignation and guilt,” and both consequences cause distress (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 242). The predictable concept of the victim experiencing distress is enriched in the theoretical argument of inequity, as the opposite of equity, as it stipulates that the exploiter suffers from distress as well because of their exploitation. This can happen because the exploiter may feel guilty and guilt leads to distress. But even if the exploiters remain remorseless, the consequences of exploitation can still cause them distress. For instance, the disapproval and anger of the victims cause anxiety, and diminish the self-​worth of the exploiters as their sense of being unloved and unsupported increases (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 243). Another impact of exploitation on the exploiters may be fear, as they become concerned with potential retaliation (Walster, Walster, and Berscheid, 1978 in Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 243).

Introduction  9 In the theory of social causes of psychological distress, powerlessness, or the absence of control, is one of the patterns of distress. Nevertheless, it is the only pattern that is also related to the other patterns at the same time, further complicating them. Its link to those patterns is because the fulfillment of the healthier opposites of those patterns ultimately feeds into a better sense of control. Commitment, support, meaning, and normality, among others, for instance, “imply greater effectiveness, and thus a greater sense of control” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 255). Commitment to work occurs when the individual’s tasks align with their needs, and “if the goal expresses the will of the person performing the task or job, it enhances the person’s sense of control” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 255). The support of family and friends adds to safety and confidence, and “may increase a person’s control directly by providing services, and indirectly by providing feedback and encouragement” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 255). Meaning facilitates purpose by providing knowledge. Knowledge is linked to mastery and control, for “without knowledge, meaning is impossible” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 256). Normality is based on expectations that certain actions will lead to desired results following social standards and guidelines. In that context, “normality enhances the sense of control by making the future seem orderly and predictable” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 256). If these patterns, commitment, support, meaning, and normality, bolster control, then their opposites, self-​estrangement, isolation, meaninglessness, and normlessness, lead to the opposite of control, powerlessness, thus intensifying distress. Even authoritarianism and inequity are related to control. The two consequences of authoritarianism, inflexibility and mistrust, lead to powerlessness, because their healthier counterparts enhance control. Flexibility increases the potential for problem solving which increases the sense of control (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 256). Similarly, trust and control increase together “particularly in circumstances that would otherwise be quite threatening” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 256). As for inequity, it demolishes control not only for the victims, who “feel caught in unfair situations not of their choosing” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 256). Inequity destroys control for exploiters, as well, because “victims cannot be trusted” as “retaliation and rebellion must be feared” (Mirowsky and Ross 2003, p. 357). Powerlessness, then, is a given result of authoritarianism and inequity. Arabic Dystopian Fiction and Psychological Distress The above discussion puts powerlessness as the one element common to all others. Indeed, a dystopia is about powerlessness, the inability to see, let alone choose, a clearer path, solve problems, or trust anyone, whether

10  Introduction fellow sufferers or enforcers, and the inescapable consequences of the draconic dystopian world that have been set in motion, all come together to distress everyone, victim or exploiter alike. The adverse patterns and causes of distress can all be found entrenched in a dystopian construction to varying degrees and with creative intersectionality and interactions. In this book I analyze the novels against this backdrop of social causes and patterns of psychological distress. Powerlessness is at the core of all the novels, portrayed in a myriad variations and tones. The other four patterns of this theoretical framework can help suggest possible categories for reading the selected novels. As such, I divide the analysis into two parts based on the causes of distress, authoritarianism and inequity, followed by the four patterns of distress, two under each cause. For each pattern, I focus on the two manifestations of distress: inflexibility and mistrust. The two major categories are Authoritarianism and Inequity. In Part One: Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction, I focus on authority, real, imagined, visible or hidden, and its detrimental potential on its victims as seen in two patterns of distress, isolation and self-​ estrangement. I believe those two belong under authoritarianism in dystopian fiction as patterns displayed due to authoritarian strategies, such as divide and rule, and corporate surveillance. In section 1 of Part I, Isolation in the Dystopia of Place, I link isolation to place, where, paradoxically, dystopian spaces are structured to intensify isolation rather than eliminate it, making it harder for individuals and communities to connect emotionally, even if they share a physical space. Under isolation, I examine inflexibility and mistrust. In Chapter 1, Mistrust in Quest Dystopia: Naguib Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma and Youssef Ezzedin Eassa’s The Façade, the two novels are compared as examples of the quest motif that amplifies mistrust experienced by the sense of loss that the protagonists in both novels go through during their journeys. In Chapter 2, Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia: Ahmed Khaled Towfik’s Utopia and Nihād Shārīf’s Residents of the Second World, the rigidity of the dystopian worlds in the two novels accelerates the downfall of not only the main dystopia in each novel, but also brings down parallel worlds that were initially perceived as utopian, but eventually turn out to be flawed as well. In section 2 of Part I, Self-​Estrangement in the Dystopia of Time, I discuss self-​estrangement as the inability to commit to one’s perceived and assigned role. In Chapter 3, Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia: Aḥmad Wild Islim’s The Outsider and Mahmoud Othman’s Revolution 2053: The Beginning, I highlight mistrust as a consequence of the notion of surveillance and alienated labor which are evident in two examples of the relatively new Arabic cyberpunk literature, where the gap between technological pervasiveness and social decay merge in an economic injustice of a futuristic Arab context.

Introduction  11 In Chapter 4, Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia: al-​Hādī Thābit’s What if Hannibal Returns and Līnā Kīlānī’s The Seeds of the Devil, I focus on the flexibility of accepting alternate cultural contexts as the protagonists of the two novels question their origins, impacted through time, whether in the case of Hannibal as a historical figure, or Frank, in Kīlānī’s novel, through his heritage. In Part II: Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction, I study the two remaining patterns of distress, meaninglessness and normlessness in relation to the mind. Both are seen in this context as stemming from inequity, where meaning is lost with the futility of finding purpose in a dystopian world that denies fairness, and normality is ineffective to survive the dystopian decay that eliminated rules. Since this part tackles inequity, I attempt to look at perpetrators and not just victims, as many of the central characters in the novels of this part have been part of the system and, feeling guilty or disappointed, find themselves at odds with a dystopia they once embraced. In Section 1 of Part II, Meaninglessness and the Dystopia of the Mind, the mental processing of meaninglessness unravels the psychological and intellectual deterioration that results from the erosion of meaning. In Chapter 5, Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia: Ṭība ʾaḥmad al-​ ʾIbrāhīm’s The Pale Human and ʿumar Ḥāziq’s The First Novelist of the City, I look at the motif of revival in two novels, whether through the freezing of a human being or a transitional life after death experience, analyzing the unexpected psychological changes this process produces in the main characters and their worlds. In Chapter 6, Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia: Mohammad Rabie’s Planet Amber and Buthayna Al-​Essa’s The Guardian of the Top of the World, I discuss intellectual deterioration in one of the most common themes of dystopia, book banning, as both novels deal with censors who question their role in the establishment. In Section 2 of Part II, Normlessness and the Dystopia of the Apocalypse, the readings capture a more horrific end of dystopia as it edges toward spiraling out of control into lawlessness. In Chapter 7, Mistrust in Post-​ Revolt Dystopia: Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue and Mohammad Rabie’s Otared, the narratives reflect the nightmarishness of the post-​Arab Spring world and the paranoia it entailed. In Chapter 8, Inflexibility in Post-​War Dystopia: Wāsīnī al-​Aʿraj’s 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab and Aḥmad al-​Zaʿtarī’s Bending Over the Corpse of Amman, the descent into unhinged violence in warzones is depicted in two novels that portray the price of the manic rigidity of dystopias. In the Conclusion, I discuss the fuller picture of reading Arabic speculative fiction from the lens of social psychology with distress as a possible framework for this vastly and steadily growing genre. I also offer my suggestions for possible further studies, that I hope can make up for shortcomings of this study and perhaps provide scholarly attention to works I did not examine here.

12  Introduction Recent Pioneering Studies on Arabic Speculative Fiction in English: Ian Campbell Writing about Arabic speculative fiction in English at an earlier point would have required extensive research into its origin, mostly to prove, or dispel, stereotypical claims that Arabic literature has not produced speculative fiction and specifically science fiction. Such presumptions are changing at a relatively more noticeable pace, with recent studies that took that archeological step of origin seeking. The most notable of those is the groundbreaking book Arabic Science Fiction by Ian Campbell. He acknowledges the major study by Ada Barbaro in Italian, La fantascienza nella letteratura araba, which introduces a dedicated study of Arabic science fiction (Barbaro 2013). Campbell’s work remains the most solid book dedicated to theoretically approaching science fiction to date in English. He resorts to estrangement as his framework for analysis and his choices vary from earlier works by writers such as Muṣṭafā Maḥmūd, whose focus on spirituality in his work in general seems to partially define his interest in science fiction, as seen in his televised shows titled al-​‘ilm wa-​l īmān, Science and Faith, which ran from 1971 to 1999. Perhaps Maḥmūd’s work is a modern take on the notion of ‘ajāʾib, or mirabilia. Studies tracing the origins of Arabic science fiction point to ‘ajāʾib as early sources of the genre, reflecting a interest in the natural world (Campbell 2018, p. 50). Campbell also refers to Nihād Shārīf’s iconic The Conqueror of Time, the first Arabic science fiction novel to be turned into a major film, and then moves on to other writers, including three novels by Ṭība al-​ ʾIbrāhīm which he discusses collectively. In his conclusion, he makes a reference to other writers such as Ahmed Khaled Towfik, Mohammad Rabie, and Basma Abdel Aziz, recommending them for further research. All three are included here. Classical Arab Dystopian Elements Tracing the origins of speculative fiction, including science fiction, in Arabic seems to go back to The Arabian Nights, which is known as a rich repository of fantastical situations, characters, and objects. From the perspective of speculative fiction, jinn, flying carpets, magic rings, all go under fantasy. But that is not all. It is even possible to find elements of science fiction in those 9th-​century adventures. We can consider the flying wooden horse, for example, as an invention with abilities that did not exist at the time, which fits the definition of innovative devices in science fiction. Another example is 12th-​century Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan, one of the narrative pinnacles of Islamic philosophy by Andalusian philosopher Abu Bakr Ibn Tufayl, that is frequently considered a precursor to Robinson Crusoe and Gulliver’s Travels, that are often credited as forerunners of speculative

Introduction  13 fiction in English, with motifs such as man on island, and journeying into lands of wonder. Another distinguished cornerstone of Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan is the birth story of the protagonist, Hayy. The narrator offers us two alternative possibilities. One is clearly Abrahamic, where Hayy was the child of a secret marriage between a princess and a man who was not approved by her tyrannical brother, the king. To save her child from the wrath of the king, she put him in a box and put him in the sea. He landed on an island and was raised by a female doe that had just lost its fawn (a little of Tarzan here as well). It is the other alternative that is interestingly a candidate for speculative fiction. The child has no human parents. The climatic conditions of the island coordinated to a specific mixture that was conducive to the creation of a human being. The child is also raised by a doe in this version as well. The rest of the novel sees Hayy grow up, learn through observation about many facets of life from botanical life, animal anatomy, to the presence of a supreme being. The merging of science and philosophy only adds to classifying the narrative as speculative fiction. The dystopian elements in the two classical Arabic narratives are integral to the structure of the worlds constructed for those fantastic characters and philosophical concepts. The Arabian Nights experiments with narrativity, with involuted narratives, a story within a story. The overarching narrative is of King Shahrayar who discovers that his wife has been unfaithful to him. He executes her and vows to marry a new bride only to execute her the morning after and search for a new one. His rule turns from the fair, utopian kingdom to one of fear and injustice. Shahrazd, the daughter of Shahrayar’s vizier, convinces her father to offer her in marriage, planning to save the kingdom. With her storytelling prowess, she mesmerizes Shahrayar long enough to heal him and he eventually becomes the loving king he used to be. The world of Shahrayar is dystopian. It combines change, tyranny, rigidity, mistrust, and fear. Though there are many worlds within Shahrazad’s world, she seems to have woven a world of safety and reconciliation by the end of the arch-​narrative. The many stories Shahrazad recounts have their share of dystopian elements as well, although they do not last during the main narrative as the queen’s stories progress nightly to a new phase of her characters’ adventure, and to her own. In Hayy ibn Yaqdhan, the protagonist Hayy grows up in solitude on the deserted island, until he meets another man, Absal. After fighting, they finally come to terms and become friends. They teach each other their languages and Hayy shares his wisdom and knowledge. Impressed by Hayy, Absal invites him to talk to his people. They go to Absal’s country, where Hayy’s wealth of knowledge is not met with enthusiasm or respect. He and Absal return to Hayy’s island, where they meditate and practice spiritual connectivity with the supreme being for the rest of their lives. It is possible to see fluctuating dystopias here. The land where Hayy’s

14  Introduction mother can be considered dystopian in its victimization by a tyrannical king. Absal’s country is clearly dystopic too, alienating Absal and Hayy. Is it possible to see Hayy’s island as utopic? Interestingly, it is the only land among the three that has no regime, government, or any other sign of human control. The focus on human corruption as a cause for decadence or injustice is dystopian. Indeed, Hayy’s personality makes him seem like an early form of the Nobel Savage, John in Brave New World. The utopian element in Hayy ibn Yaqdhan is indicated by the protagonist’s name, which is Arabic for “Alive the Son of the Awakened,” announcing the writer’s intention behind a philosophical narrative of spiritual and scientific enlightenment. The combination of spirituality and science has defined utopian speculative fiction in Arabic, and pre-​modern Islamic traditions. Another narrative comparable to Hayy ibn Yaqzan but which has received less attention in modern literary scholarship in English is by Ibn al-​Nafīs, a remarkable Medieval medical scholar known for his groundbreaking research in blood circulation. His 1270s narrative al-​ Risāla al-​kāmilīyya fī al-​sīra al-​nabawīyya, The Treatise of Kāmil on the Biography of the Prophet, introduces a character not too different from Hayy. Like Hayy, his name is symbolic, for the name Kāmil is Arabic for perfect, thus rounding up the metaphor of perfect existence, a utopia, in his name. Like Hayy again, Kāmil is also generated naturally, but in a desert rather than an island. He also intuitively with observation arrives at a utopian existence. The main difference is that the dystopian element in al-​Nafīs’ narrative is clearer as the utopian society is destroyed by invaders, a reference to the Mongol invasion earlier. Inspired by Abrahamic narratives of angels and demons, early Islamic tradition does underline the fantastical element of wonderous creatures, such as the burāq that carries the Prophet on the night journey and ascendance. An example of the influence of this narrative is found in a text by Abū al-​ʿalā al-​Maʿarrī, of the 11th century, whose work Risālat al-​ghufrān, translated as The Epistle of Forgiveness (1977), depicts the journey of the protagonist to the heavens, and is potentially an influence on Dante’s Divine Comedy. The allusion to the Islamic night journey is not lost on the basic narrative frame of al-​Maʿarrī’s book, although the details of the journey differ significantly. A conservative scholar called Ibn al-​Qāriḥ adopted a hard line, describing many poets as heretics, displaying intolerance of controversy or artistic license. In response, al-​ Maʿarrī’s narrative has for protagonist none other than Ibn al-​Qāriḥ himself, who embarks on a journey to Paradise. Instead of depicting religious figures and charitable men only, al-​Maʿarrī focuses on literary and intellectual figures, including the very same that Ibn al-​Qāriḥ branded as heretics and infidels. The narrative highlights divine forgiveness as integral to a Medieval perspective of Islamic respect for intellect. The protagonist meets poets from

Introduction  15 different ages, including from pre-​Islamic times, thus rendering the spiritual journey into a travel time narrative as well. Al-​Maʿarrī’s narrative relies on Quranic linguistic and literary mastery as evidence of its support for literary genius, just like other narratives relied on Quranic references to scientific wonders as indication of Islamic support of science. Interest in Quranic verses that focus on the miracle of creation can be seen as traditions that contributed to scientific philosophies of al-​Ghazālī, Ibn Sīnā, and al-​Farābī. Indeed, it is to those three philosophers that Ibn Tufayl dedicates his introduction to the narrative of Hayy ibn Yaqdhan, following his attempt to compare their treatises. The earliest of those, al-​ Farabī, of the 10th century, wrote a text titled al-​Madīna al-​fāḍila, which may be translated as simply Utopia, for the word fāḍila can mean most virtuous, or bearing good influence. The book is an attempt to unite mind and soul, or more accurately intellect and spirituality, in a tradition of bringing theology and science together with later philosophers such al-​Ghazālī and Ibn Sīnā, known to Western translators as Avicenna, a medical philosopher, whose work in turn led to literary responses such as Hayy ibn Yaqdhan. Early Modern Arabic Speculative Fiction Speculative fiction tropes progressed in Arabic literature through the 19th and early 20th century. A non-​religious, mostly political turn defines utopian narratives of the turn of the 20th century with writers such as ‘abd el-​Raḥmān al-​Kawākibī’s 1902 Umm al-​Qurā, The Mother of Villages, and Musṭafā Luṭfī al-​Manfalūṭī’s 1907 Madīnat al-​Sa‘ādā, The City of Happiness: both construct ideal cities based on justice, cooperation among leaders, and other societal and political values, signaling what became a high note of social realism in literary writing, especially the novel, led by writers such as Naguib Mahfouz during one of his many literary phases. While it may seem from some perspective that speculative fiction was overshadowed by social realism, speculative fiction was always present in modern Arabic literature to varying degrees and in different forms. While Mahfouz is widely studied for genres other than speculative fiction, his tackling of fictitious travel literature in Ibn Fattouma, one of the books examined in this book, is an interesting repackaging of travel literature as one of the early precursors of speculative fiction (Barbaro 2014). One of the most sited early examples for 20th-​ century Arabic speculative fiction writers is Tawfiq Al-​Hakim, with his short plays envisioning extra-​ terrestrial encounters putting science fiction among the works of one of the most influential modern Arab writers. Al-​Hakim’s science fiction drama can be seen as part of his larger project “that he called Theatre of the Mind, plays intended as literature and aimed at intellectual provocation” (Sharifovich 2018, p. 39).

16  Introduction In Al-​Hakim’s play Taqrīr qamarī, A Report from the Moon, in his 1972 collection, Majlis al-​‘adl, The Council of Justice, we have an early example of encounters with extra-​ terrestrials. Lunar residents discuss human choices as lacking. They focus on the threat of weapons and decide that humanity has destructive tendencies. At the same time, the futility of politics on earth is highlighted as world leaders fail to address the extra-​ terrestrial presence, and, instead, waste time comparing Communism and Capitalism in useless competitiveness (Al-​Hakim 1988, p. 58). In another futuristic play in the same collection, Shā‘ir ‘alā al-​qamar, A Poet on the Moon, a space program plans to launch ships to invade the moon in a thinly disguised critique of Western colonialism. When the protagonist, a poet, requests to be sent on the next trip to the moon, the director of the program has doubts, considering the poet incapable of contributing to gathering useful information from the Moon (Al-​Hakim 1988, p. 94). The poet eventually joins the expedition to the moon and bonds with the lunar citizens, adding interesting emotional and intellectual levels to the motif of alien encounters (Al-​Hakim 1988, p. 95). As the play develops, however, the director of the space program demands from his crew to collect samples, and the poet fails to defend his lunar friends, and ends up hearing their voices, as they continue to communicate with him, thus, perhaps, offering an interesting manifestation of the classical notion of the muse and literary inspiration but from the lens of science fiction (Al-​ Hakim 1988, p. 130). The Egyptian Society for Science Fiction Speculative fiction progressed and evolved during the 20th and early 21st century, perhaps influenced mostly by political and social changes in the region. Recently, attempts to organize writing societies for science fiction writers is garnering attention. One example is the Egyptian Society for Science Fiction, founded by an academic and writer, Hosam Elzebmely. Together with Emad Aysha, another contemporary science fiction writer, they edited a book titled Arab and Muslim Science Fiction: Critical Essays (2022). The book collects interviews with Arab and Muslim science fiction writers from across the globe. In the introduction, Elzembely charts modern Arabic, and specifically Egyptian science fiction, over four waves. The first is the exploring wave, from the 1950s to 1960s, with literary giants such as Al-​Hakim, Muṣṭafā Maḥmūd, and Youssef Ezzedin Eassa, writing speculative fiction among their diverse and rich literary opus (Elzembely and Aysha 2022). The second wave, referred to as the founding wave, from the 1970s to the 19080s, had more writers using speculative fiction, but with some dedicated solely to the genre, the most iconic of those being Nihād Shārīf, as well as Sabry Moussa,

Introduction  17 and Omayma Khafagi (Elzembely and Aysha 2022). The third wave, according to Elzembely, is the spreading wave, from the 1990s to 2011, which is characterized first by focusing on the wider net of speculative fiction, rather than science fiction only, and by popularizing it in best-​ selling formats and young adult fiction, led by Ahmed Khaled Towfik, whose work includes horror as well, and Nabil Farouq, whose work includes spy thrillers (Elzembely and Aysha 2022). The fourth wave is the current one, the authenticity wave as Elzembely calls it, from 2011 to date. It includes writers such as Mohammad Rabie and Basma Abdel Aziz (Elzembely and Aysha 2022). In my opinion, the recent wave has stemmed from the traumatic experiences of the Arab spring of 2010 onwards (Elzembely and Aysha 2022, pp. 13–​14). As a result, I believe we are currently witnessing some of the most poignant and mature speculative fiction in Arabic. I would also add to this that we are, perhaps, witnessing what can be considered Arabic cyberpunk as well, with references to the merge of human and technology against a backdrop of urban decay. Elzembely and Aysha’s book has such a varied ensemble of writers from Arab countries that serves to indicate that speculative fiction is not only taking its deserved place in the literary scene, but is in fact helping shape the literary scene itself. Why This Selection? The selection of novels for analysis in this study constituted what might be called a good challenge. It is good because there are more novels than the scope of this book. The increasing selection of Arabic speculative fiction novels is an indication that this genre, and its subgenres, are thriving at a pace and at a standard that makes it necessary to narrow down the selection even for specific thematic and analytical methods. I based my selection on three criteria. The first is translation and exposure. I attempted to strike a balance between novels that have already been translated in English and are, therefore, available in the market outside Arabic speaking countries, and those that have not been translated in English before. I also tried to include novels that have already received scholarly attention, such as Naguib Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma (1997), Mohammad Rabie’s Otared (2016), and Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue (2016). Some of those have not been translated, especially Ṭība al-​ʾIbrāhīm ’s The Pale Human (2003), although it has received critical analysis recently in Campbell’s book Arabic Science Fiction, and Ahmed Khaled Towfik’s Utopia (2011), which has been translated in English but the translation is out of print. Among the novels that have not been translated are books by established writers, though the novels themselves have not been widely studied, at

18  Introduction least in English, such as Nihād Shārīf, one of the better-​known pioneers of modern Arabic science fiction, but whose novel Residents of the Second World (2016) has not been translated and has received little scholarly attention in English as opposed to, for instance, his better-​known novel The Conqueror of Time. Another significant novelist who also pioneered speculative fiction and should, in my opinion, receive more scholarship in English is Youssef Ezzedin Eassa, whose novel The Façade (2014) is included in comparison with Naguib Mahfouz. Following these are writers whose novels have not been translated and are either relatively too recent for scholarly interest in English or have simply not received the attention that I believe they warrant. Among these are ʿumar Ḥāziq’s The First Novelist of the City (2014), Al-​ Hādī Thābit’s If Hannibal Returns (2004), Līna Kīlānī’s The Seeds of the Devils (2007), Buthayna Al-​Essa’s The Guardian of the Surface of the World (2019), Mohamed Othman’s Revolution 2053: The Beginning (2007), Aḥmad Wild Islim ’s The Outsider (2021), Ahmed al-​Zaʿtarī ‘s Bending over the Corpse of Amman (2014), and Wāsīnī al-​Aʻraj’s 2084: The Last Arab (2016). Only one writer is included twice in this selection, Mohammad Rabie, whose earlier novel, Planet Amber (2010), is a significant example of intellectual dystopia and whose later novel, Otared, is iconic of post-​revolt literature and I felt should be included under that category. The second category is country of origin. Looking at countries where writers of speculative fiction have made contributions that address the topic and approach I am using in this book, I found several that have constructed dystopian worlds in their narratives in such a manner that lend themselves to a study of social causes for distress. There is a rich solid contribution of novels by a total of seven Arab countries by Algerian, Egyptian, Jordanian, Kuwaiti, Mauritanian, Syrian, and Tunisian novelists. My initial, and I have to stress not in any way profound, observation is that the variety of works by national origins seems interestingly linked to the different historical periods of producing modern science fiction, with earlier novels by Egyptian and Syrian writers, and later war-​related novels by Algerian and Jordanian novels. The political and public unrest has apparently caused a surge of interest in speculative fiction by Mauritanian writers, and a new interest by Egyptian writers again. It is out of the scope of this book to delve into the reason why some countries have speculative fiction and the link between this genre and societal, political, and cultural features. I believe this can an interesting topic for further research. It is worth mentioning that other novels could fit into my selection but I did not choose them due to my focus on a comparative approach, and in an attempt to stay within the parameters of exposure, for some of them would have added more to the group of writers familiar in English scholarship than I wanted to cover. These novels include Ahmed Saadawi’s Frankenstein in

Introduction  19 Baghdad, Ibrahim Nasrallah’s The Second Dog War, and Khairy Shalaby’s The Time Travels of the Man Who Sold Sweets and Pickles. I am hoping in further studies to include these works. The third category focuses on women novelists. With Mary Shelley credited for one of the pioneers of science fiction, it still remains a genre that needs to see more women writers published and more speculative fiction by women studied and analyzed. The same applies to Arabic speculative fiction. Nevertheless, the novels of four women writers are examined in this book. What is more, three of them are accomplished novelists, and one already a major figure of contemporary Arabic speculative fiction in translation. One of these novelists is Ṭība al-​ ʾIbrāhīm, who is one of the first Arab women writers of science fiction to receive critical and scholarly attention. Her three novels are discussed at length in Campbell’s book. The best known of all four in Western academia is Basma Abdel Aziz, whose novel The Quest has received not only critical acclaim but scholarly work, establishing it as a major contemporary contribution. Her second novel, Here is a Body, has been translated and is already receiving attention, as seen in a chapter on her two novels by Campbell (2021). Līna Kīlānī, while not translated, is an established writer for young adult and children’s literature as well as speculative fiction with a prolific writing career that makes her a regular in literary studies. Buthayna Al-​Essa’s novel has attracted attention when it was published and I believe is a promising writer of the genre. Comparativeness I am employing a duality in the books as an approach of comparativeness, which I would argue can enhance the potential of starting conversations about possible variations of interpreting and perspective. The study is divided into two parts, and each part is divided into two sections, and each section is divided into two chapters, and each chapter examines two novels. This results in readings of 16 novels. Of these novels, only five have been translated to English to date. I would estimate the same novels have received scholarly studies in English, with additional interest in Ṭība al-​ ʾIbrāhīm in Campbell’s book. Some have been mentioned rather than examined in studies written in English of the development of Arabic science fiction, mainly Nihād Shārīf. Some have been the subject of some scholarly and academic analysis written in Arabic, increasingly in graduate dissertations in Arab higher institutions, again mostly Nihād Shārīf, as well as Ahmed Khaled Towfik and Wāsīnī al-​aʻraj. The rest might have received media and press attention locally but, to my knowledge, have yet to receive the scholarly analysis they deserve in Arabic and English.

20  Introduction A Note on Spelling A note on spelling and Arabic transcription. For the five novels that have been translated, I refer to the translation in all citation, including the spelling of the author’s name. This may result in interesting double spellings for some names. For instance, Tawfiq al-​ Hakim and Ahmed Khaled Towfik share the same name tawfīq, but have been spelled differently in the published and now established translations of their works, so I use the spelling known for each writer. Nihād Shārīf, whose work has surprisingly not been translated in English to date, has been the subject of academic scholarship in English texts writing about Arabic science fiction, but the spelling of his name has not been unified, so I used the transcription. Wāsīnī al-​aʻraj is quite interesting as well. His name is spelled in some references as Wasini Laredj, which is closest to Algerian pronunciation, and in others as Larej, especially in French publications. I kept the Arabic transcription since I am discussing the Arabic edition of his novel which has also not been translated in English. For authors who have not been translated but because they have published interviews in English or have received nomination for awards whereby their names have appeared in English on official websites with consistent spelling, I kept that spelling, such as Bothayna Al-​Essa and Mahmoud Othman. The same applies to titles of novels and characters’ names. Moreover, regarding translations, for novels that have not been translated in English, I provide the translation for quotations and titles, and after supplying the Arabic transcription of the title once in the beginning of the relevant chapter, all subsequent references are to my translation of that title. References Abdel Aziz, Basma. (2016). The Queue. (Elizabeth Jacquette, trans.). Melvin House Publications. (Original work published in 2013.) Abrams, M. H. (1999). A Glossary of Literary Terms. 7th edition. Heinle & Heinle. al-​ ʾibrāhīm, ṭība ʾaḥmad. (2003). al-​ʾinsan al-​bāhit. [The Pale Human]. Cairo: al-​ mūʾassasa al-​ʿarabiyya al-​ḥadītha li-​l nashr wa al-​tawzī. al-​Aʿraj, Wāsīnī. (2016). 2084: Ḥikāyat al-​ʿarabī al-​ʾakhīr [2084: The Tale of the Last Arab]. Beirut, Lebanon: dār al-​ʿadab. al-​Essa, Buthayna. (2019). Ḥāris saṭh al-​ ʿālam [The Guardian of the Surface of the World] Beirut, Lebanon: al-​dār al-​ʿarabiyya li-​l-​ʿulūm. Al-​Hakim, Tawfiq. (1988). Majlis al-​‘adl [The Council of Justice]. Cairo: Maktabat Miṣr. (Original published in 1972.) Alihodžić, Demir and Selma Veseljević Jerković. (2016). The Boundaries of Dystopian Literature: The Genre in Context. University of Tuzla Press. al-​maʿarrī, abū al-​ʿalā. (1977) Risālat al-​ghufrān. [The Treatise of Forgiveness]. Cairo: dār al-​maʿārif. (Original published c. 1033).

Introduction  21 al-​Zaʿtarī, Aḥmad. (2014). al-​ʾinḥināʾ ʿala juthat ʿammān [Bending Over the Corpse of Amman]. Casablanca: al-​Markaz al-​Thaqāfī al-​ʿarabī. Arabian Nights. (2008). (Hussein Haddawy, trans.). W. W. Norton & Company. Arabian Nights. (2010). (Hussein Haddawy, trans.). Daniel Heller-​Roazen (Ed.). W. W. Norton & Company. Atwood, Margaret. (2005). Curious Pursuits: Occasional Writing, 1970–​2005. Virago. Barbaro, Ada. (2013). La fantascienza nella letteratura araba. Carroci editore. Barbaro, Ada. (2014, June 17). ArabLit re-​runs: science fiction in Arabic was not born all of a sudden. [Interview]. Retrieved May 2022 from ArabLit & ArabLit Quarterly. Blaim, Arthur. (2022). Anti-​ utopia. In Peter Marks, Jennifer Wagner-​ Lawlor, and Fátima Viera. (Eds.). The Palgrave Handbook of Utopian and Dystopian Literature. Palgrave Macmillan. pp. 39–​51. Burke, Peter J. (1991). Identity processes and stress. American Sociological Review, 56(6), 836–​849. Campbell, Ian. (2018). Arabic Science Fiction. Palgrave Macmillan. Campbell, Ian (Ed.). (2021). The estrangement of political trauma in two sf novels by Basma Abdelaziz. In Ian Campbell (Ed.). Science Fiction in Translation: Perspectives on the Theory and Practice of Translation. Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 309–​332. Claeys, Gregoy. (2022). Dystopia. In Peter Marks, Jennifer Wagner-​ Lawlor, and Fátima Viera. (Eds.) The Palgrave Handbook of Utopian and Dystopian Literature (pp. 53–​64). Palgrave Macmillan. Eassa, Youssef Ezzedin. (2014). The Façade (Faten Eassa, trans.). Authorhouse. (Original work published in 1983.) Elzembely, Hosam Ibrahim and Emad El-​Din Aysha. (2022). Arab and Muslim Science Fiction: Critical Essays. McFarland. Ensel, W. M., and Lin, N. (1991). The life stress paradigm and psychological distress. Journal of Health and Social Behavior, 32(4), 321–​341. https://​doi.org/​ 10.2307/​2137​101 Gill, R. B. (2013). The uses of genre and the classification of speculative fiction. Mosaic, 46(2), 71–​82. https://​doi.org/​1353/​mos.2013.0021 Ḥāziq, ʿumar. (2014). Riwāʾī al-​madīna al-​ʾawwal. [The First Novelist of the City]. Cairo: Al-​Kotob Khan. Ibn Tufayl, Abu Bakr. (2003). Ibn Tufayl’s Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan: A Philosophical Tale. (Lenn Evan Goodman, trans.) Gee Tee Bee. (Original work ca. 1169–​1182.) Islim, ʾaḥmad wild. (2021). al-​barrānī [The Outsider]. Beirut: Dār al-​ʿadab. Kīlānī, līna. (2007). Buzūr al-​shayṭān. [The Seeds of the Devil]. Cairo: Dār al-​hilāl. Mahfouz, Naguib. (1997). The Journey of Ibn Fattouma. (Denys Johns on-​ Davies, trans.). American University in Cairo Press. (Original work published in 1983.) Mandler, G. (1982). Stress and thought processes. In Goldberger Leo and S. Breznitz (Eds.), Handbook of Stress: Theoretical and Clinical Aspects. The Free Press. pp. 88–​104. Marks, Peter, Jennifer Wagner-​ Lawlor, and Fátima Viera (Eds.). (2022). The Palgrave Handbook of Utopian and Dystopian Literature. Palgrave Macmillan.

22  Introduction Mirowsky, J. and Ross, C. E. (2003). Social Causes of Psychological Distress. (2nd ed.). Aldine de Gruyter. Morson, Gary. (1981). The Boundaries of Genre: Dostoevsky’s Diary of a Writer and the Traditions of Literary Utopia. University of Texas Press. Othman, Mahmoud. (2007). Thawrat 2053: al-​ bidāya [Revolution 2053: The Beginning]. Bidoun. Rabie, Mohammad. (2010). Kawkab ʿanbar. [Planet Amber]. Cairo: Al-​Kotob Khan. Rabie, Mohammad. (2016). Otared. (Robin Moger, translated). American University in Cairo Press. (Original work published in 2014). Saadawi, Ahmed. (2018) Frankenstein in Baghdad (Jonathan Wright, trans). Penguin. (Original work published in 2013). Seeger, S. and Davison-​Vecchione, D. (2019). Dystopian literature and the sociological imagination. Thesis Eleven, 155(1), 45–​ 63. https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​ 07255​1361​9888​664 Shārīf, Nihād. (2016). Sukkān al-​‘ālam al-​thānī [Residents of the Second World]. Cairo: al-​Hayʾa al-​‘āmma al-​sūriyya li-​l-​kitāb. (Original work published in 1977.) Sharifovich, Akhmedov Rafael. (2018). Voyage to Tomorrow: Modern Arabic science fiction. Arabic Language, Literature & Culture, 3(3), 37–​ 42. DOI:10.11648/​j.allc.20180303.13 Svec, Michael and Mike Winiski. (2013). Sf and speculative novels: Confronting the science and the fiction. In P. L. Thomas. (Ed.). Science and Speculative Fiction. (pp. 35–​57). Sense Publishers. Thābit, al-​hādi. (2004). Law ʿ ād hānībāl. [If Hannibal Returns]. Tunis: Maṭbaʿat al-​tasfīr al-​fannī. Thoits, Peggy. (1983). Multiple identities and psychological well-​being. American Sociological Review, 49, 174–​187. Thomas. P.L. (Ed.). (2013). Science and Speculative Fiction. Sense Publishers. Towfik, Ahmed Khalid. (2011). Utopia. (Chip Rossetti, trans.). Bloomsbury Qatar Foundation. (Original published in 2008.) Vieira, Patrícia. (2022). Utopia. In Peter Marks, Jennifer Wagner-​ Lawlor, and Fátima Viera. (Eds.). The Palgrave Handbook of Utopian and Dystopian Literature (pp. 25–​37). Palgrave Macmillan. Walster, Elaine, William G. Walster, and Ellen Berscheid. (1978). Equity: Theory and Research. Allyn and Bacon.

Part I

Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Authoritarianism is one of two cornerstones of socio-​politically-​driven psychological distress. In this part, the novels that expound on authoritarianism foreground victimization. The central characters are pushed into positions of distress by despotic regimes and unfair practices. Such injustice, and the powerlessness it entails, leads to isolation and self-​ estrangement. These two factors are examined here, with novels depicting dystopias that exhibit spatial and temporal decay, highlighting the two recurrent responses of mistrust and inflexibility in each instance.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-2

Section 1

Isolation and the Dystopia of Place The novels in this section depict spatial dystopia. The focus is on places that deteriorate, bringing down with them any sense of belonging. As a result, isolation, as an element of distress, is the expected outcome for residents or citizens of spaces that can no longer embrace them. Those spaces can be stops along the road in a journey, as in Mahfouz’s travelogue, or an amorphous and unfathomable urban nightmare as in Eassa’s nameless city, with growing mistrust against the unknown and unexplained. Those spaces can also be luxurious compounds and neighboring slums, as in Towfik’s Utopia, separated by vulnerable walls, or parallel worlds above and below sea levels, as in Shārīf’s worlds, their inflexibility leading them to eventually collide in their relentless insistence on widening the gaps that separate them. These spaces are divided in many ways, but, ironically, the residents have one thing in common: isolation and the distress it brings.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-3

1 Mistrust in Quest Dystopia Naguib Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma and Youssef Ezzedin Eassa’s The Façade

Introduction What do journeys into uncharted territories have in common? Exploration, self-​knowledge, curiosity, awe, fear, and estrangement, to name a few. Attempting to fathom a mysterious reality may also necessitate comparative perception of the new surroundings against the backdrop of a familiar background, be it place, time, or people. This urge to compare the unknown to the known is evident sometimes in writing about such journeys as well. That may be why, perhaps, narratives about journeys into new, especially fantastical lands, can function as vehicles for allegorical representation or, at least, yield themselves to interpretation as allegories. As a literary device, allegory is often considered a symbolic writing method that builds upon metaphorical reference to a complex, or controversial, albeit known reality that the readers are familiar with to some extent. This means that allegory uses unfamiliarity to initiate a conversation with familiarity. In order for an allegory to function referentially, it often relies on structural patterns that produce methodical analysis. The structural symbolism of allegory enables it to expound on concepts and ideas (Childs and Fowler 2006, p. 4). Indeed, it is possible to divide allegorical functions into two types. The first is a more straightforward reference to specific political and historical events, whereby a character represents specific figures and the plot remaps history, while the second is an ideational or conceptual allegory, where the main characters can embody concepts and the plot can encapsulate their theoretical representation (Abrams 1999, p. 5). Part of the structural patterns employed in allegories is characterization. Typically, an allegorical central character is an innocent protagonist who undergoes an intense experience that projects on realities and concepts that the writer wants to address (Childs and Fowler 2006, p. 4). It is notable that the experiences that the unsuspecting main character is thrown into usually occur as a series of encounters, thus allowing the DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-4

26  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction symbolism to unfold gradually, and structurally, with every adventure or experience (Fowler 2006, 4). With the example of Gulliver in Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, for instance, it is possible to see the series of voyages he embarks on, and the islands or lands he visits, as allegories of specific aspects of human nature, or, more locally, of society and politics at the time. By adopting a form of episodic narrative, allegory, in that sense, is a narrative strategy (Abrams 1999, p. 6). Earlier forms of allegory were explicit, using personification to clarify principles, usually for moralistic purposes, such as good deeds and vices, seen, for instance, in morality plays, while fables, using animals, and parables, using shorter narratives, may also be considered allegorical in nature (Abrams 1999, p. 6). Dismissed as too mechanical, allegory received some share of critique as a literary device. Nevertheless, it survived, and even thrived, in genres such as satire and science fiction, with allegorical undertones in science fiction novels such as George Orwell’s 1984 serving as one example here, possibly due to the space it provides for comparative analysis and for projecting both abstract ideas and familiar events metaphorically (Childs and Fowler 2006, p. 4). In his book The Literary Mind, Mark Turner argues that we think in terms of stories. He explains that storytelling employs projection. This process helps our minds make sense of one story through the projection of another. While Turner is not directly discussing allegories, his definition of projection fits allegory as it is extended to other forms such as parables. He sees the allegorical process, in that sense, as a foundational cognitive principle (Turner 1996, Preface). Looking at allegorical writing as conceptual enables readings of how allegory may function in a blended space where materials that form an allegory combine and interact (Singling 2002, p. 506). Such blending challenges the rigidity imposed on allegory and views it as more profound and complex. It avoids the oversimplification that may result from analyzing allegory from the lens of cognitive metaphor theory only, seeing metaphors as explanatory for concepts, while not necessarily grasping the nuances and depths of the metaphor itself and not just its function (Singling 2002, p. 504). Narrative and extended metaphors can work together to bring forward symbolic meaning in a contextualized structure. Allegories, if seen as extended metaphors, therefore, can be paired with narrative strategy to forge a level of symbolic meaning that represents intended concepts and ideas. This chapter examines the intersectionality of allegorical writing in two speculative narratives with dystopian quest, which eventually displays a pattern of mistrust in psychological distress. Written within only two years of each other, the two novels adopt allegorical narrative strategies that interrogate the authors’ questions about spirituality. The first, The Façade by Youssef Ezeddin Eassa, was published in 1981 and translated by Faten Eassa in 2014. The second, The Journey of Ibn Fattouma by Naguib

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  27 Mahfouz, was published in 1983 and then in translation in 1992. To unpack the symbolic aspects of the extended metaphors weaved through elements such as characterization and plot in the two novels, I attempt a reading of how both writers combine narrative strategy with allegory functioning within conceptual structures to present two speculative worlds. Both novels follow formulaic structures based on the premise of an innocent protagonist undergoing a number of experiences that are presented as surrealistic and at times waver from the bizarre to the incomprehensible, and at times downright nightmarish, a process which proves to be an unraveling of concepts that the novelists unpack in their narratives. The Journey Mahfouz’s novel is a self-​proclaimed journey. A parodic element is perhaps hinted at in the title, as Ibn Fattouma brings to mind Ibn Battouta, a renowned Medieval Arab explorer whose travelogues helped define the genre in Arabic literature. The allegorical aspect benefits from the parodic title early on in the narrative. It paves the road for an expectation of an account of an expedition into cultural and geographical spheres unknown to the protagonist-​narrator and reader, building on the authenticity of the Ibn Battouta’s accounts, and, therefore, adding a realistic tone to the first-​ person narration of the novel. The allegorical nature of the novel is abundant in name choices, starting from the protagonist and his family and moving on to the lands he visits during his fateful journey. The role of spirituality defines the allegorical aspect and as the novel progresses links the allegory to the features of speculative fiction in the narrative. The protagonist is called Qindil, which means lamp or lantern, and is a traditional symbol of light and guidance in Islamic mythos, as is evident, for instance, in the use of miṣbāḥ, another word for lamp, in a Quranic chapter titled al-nūr (light), where verse describing the divine light of God by comparing it to a light from a lamp, Allah is the Light of the heavens and the earth. His light is like a niche in which there is a lamp, the lamp is in a crystal, the crystal is like a shining star, lit from “the oil of” a blessed olive tree, “located” neither to the east nor the west, whose oil would almost glow, even without being touched by fire. Light upon light! Allah guides whoever He wills to His light. And Allah sets forth parables for humanity. For Allah has “perfect” knowledge of all things. (Qur’an 2008, 24:35) While the verse is not mentioned in the novel, it bears underlying symbols that underlie the narrativity of the journey. For instance, the lamp in the

28  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction verse is enclaved in a crystal, which is set in niche, pointing out the layering of light, and that the lamp is a bearer of light. Symbolically, the role of the lamp is reflected in the role of Qindil as traveler bearing light, who, like the lamp, is not the source of light, but is only one vehicle of disseminating that light or guidance. In other words, Qindil, in embarking on his truth-​seeking journey, recounting his experiences, and recording his thoughts, he acts like a lamp, shedding light on corners that are already there. His accumulated experiences, manifested in the lands he visits on after the other, are a dramatization of the light upon light metaphor in the verse. Perhaps most significantly here is the narrativity of the metaphor, as God presents parables as means of guidance in the verse, and maybe we can take the Journey of Ibn Fattouma as another parable in the grand narrative of human existence, especially as Mahfouz ends his protagonist’s journey with no answer as to which land is the perfect specimen of human life, and does not show us the true destination that Ibn Fattouma risks everything for, as the novel ends when the traveler sees the land of Gebel, the rumored land of perfection, in the horizon. This adds to the notion that human knowledge is limited and that only God has perfect knowledge as the light verse above stipulates. Symbolic Names The allegorical significance of the name Qindil is enhanced by the nickname his step-​brothers give him. Intended as derogatory, they refer to him using his mother’s name, hence Ibn Fattouma, or the Son of Fattouma. Qindil’s mother, Fattouma, was a much younger wife of his father, the traditional Mahfouzian patriarchal figure, seen in many of his works, from Si Al-​Sayyid in the Cairo Trilogy to Gabalawi in Children of the Alley. A foreboding paterfamilias, these characters, to name some, represent authoritarian power, that ranges from realistic societal critique of paternal control, to political innuendos of political despotism, to mystical symbolism. In this novel, the name Fattouma is a thinly disguised reference to Fatima, the Islamic Prophet Muhammad’s daughter. Fatima’s significance is specifically pertinent to Egypt, as the Fatimids, the Islamic dynasty named after a woman was formed in Egypt, and gave the Islamic world Al-​Azhar, established in the 10th century CE to remain one of the most revered pinnacles of Islamic scholarship and jurisdiction to date. It is hardly a coincidence that the Mahfouz’s Fattouma’s full name is Fattouma al-​Azhari, which is the Arabic adjective for Al-​Azhar. A student and scholar of Al-​Azhar is referred to as Azhari. Nevertheless, perhaps in a tongue-​in-​ cheek detail, Fattouma’s father, al-​Azhari, is no scholar. He is a butcher, and his full name is al-​Azhari Qatayef, with the surname being a well-​ known, Baclava-​like delicacy of Egypt and the Arab Mediterranean. The

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  29 religious-​sounding name is thrown on a decidedly non-​sublime butcher whose family name is a type of dessert, both probably more inviting to self-​ indulgence than spiritualism. Interestingly, the food metaphor is extended as Fattouma is married to Qindil’s father, whose name is Muhammad Al-​ Innabi, with the last name derived from inab or grapes in Arabic. Indeed, the octogenarian was a grain merchant. He married young Fattouma in his later years angering his adult children, hence their animosity toward Fattouma and Qindil and the nickname of Son of Fattouma, intended to remove their father’s name from their step-​son. The naming allegories of characters, however, do not stop with Qindil and his parents. Fearing for his safety as his step-​brothers might hurt him, Fattouma refrains from sending Qindil to an elementary school so he would not have to be away from her for extended periods of time and, instead, sends her son to a teacher called Shiekh Maghagha al-​Gibeli. Only here we see a continuation of the recurrent refrain of names in Mahfouz’s choice of names for spiritual leaders. Gibeli is not too far from Gabalawi, the name given to the patriarch of the Children of the Alley, or one of his descendants, Gabal, or, indeed, Gebel, the name of the magical city that Shiekh Gibeli inspires Qindil to visit as the ultimate destination, a utopian city of light, justice and good. All these names have one affinity or another with the Arabic noun gabal, which means mountain, and the verb gabula, which means to shape, or create. In an Abrahamic spiritual context, both words resonate with creation narratives, with the verb gabula, as well as early references to mountains, with the noun gabal, whether in Quranic stories the mountain where Ibrahim (Abraham) first witnesses the miracle of reviving a dead bird and instantly succumbs to belief in the one God, or the biblical and Quranic reference to Moses and Mount Sinai. The names of characters take an interesting turn when, after Qindil’s father, al-​Innabi, dies, his mother, Fattouma, marries the much younger teacher, Gibeli, thus, the symbolism of the creation/​mountain motif so prevalent in Mahfouz’s novels does finally fall into place after all the toying with food metaphors. The transition from the much older father al-​Innabi to the 40-​something step-​father Gibeli is in itself a possible allegory of conversion, with al-​Innabi representing a heritage pre-​dating the awakening initiated by Gibeli, whose age in the opening of the novel is similar to the age of 40 when the Prophet received revelation. In an intriguing reading of the allegory, Fattouma, as a reference to Fatima, was Muhammad’s daughter and her husband was Ali, who was much younger. This is also not unsuitable for the allegory in the novel since Ali and Fatima are the central figures in the Shiite Islamic sect, and Al-​Azhar and Fatimid, as mentioned above, were originally Shiite. The references to the Prophet’s family are enhanced by another character, Qindil’s first love and wife. Her name is Halima, which is the same name as Muhammad’s foster

30  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction mother. This rounds up Mahfouz’s choice of names with early Islamic significance, albeit that they are not used with exact matches to their rules. This blending of the potential allegorical interpretations only adds to the mysticism that Mahfouz is weaving, coming close to a plausible similarity only to introduce a different possibility, thus keeping the interpretative alternatives relatively open but still within a general allegorical context. Qindil fits the allegorical protagonist. An innocent, inquisitive travel, thrust into a world he did not choose, but at the same time brave enough to keep going. He is somewhere between fate and choice. He did not choose to be born in a complex familial network of sibling rivalry and second marriages, nor did he choose to be raised by a mystical teacher. Nevertheless, he does choose to embrace the mysticism and to embark on a journey that he believes he is destined to fulfill. In many ways, Qindil is the ideal prototype of the chosen traveler, he does little to change his surroundings. He seems more invested in understanding them and in surviving the dangers they hurl at him. He is not a savior as much as seeker. The similarity in name to the famous traveler Ibn Battouta is soon challenged, as while Ibn Battouta’s journey is motivated by gaining knowledge and is mapped to specific destinations, Ibn Fattouma’s journey is motivated by loss, escape, and mistrust (Ouyang 2003, p. 87). His mistrust is fed by his fear of his step-​brothers, betrayal of the woman he loves who marries another, and even a betrayal of his master and teacher who marries his mother. The allegorical fabric of the novel intensifies once the journey begins. The names remain a significant indicator. The consistency of name allegories is especially evident with the names of the lands that Qindil visits. The first land, Mashriq, refers to the east. There is an important distinction here in Mahfouz’s choice of word. The word mashriq in Arabic is more than just east, which is also sharq. The word mashriq is derived from ashraqa, which is the verb for sunrise. Mashriq is the place of sunrise. This detail underlines the symbolism behind the name as the origin of the cultures, or civilizations, that Qindil visits. In a sense, it refers to the east not only as a geographical location, but as the cradle of civilization, the locale of light. Ironically, the people of the land named after sunrise worship the moon. Qindil, as narrator, describes their rituals of orgies under moonlight, a scene which places the land of Mashriq as an early historic civilization, as the ritualism and the naturalness mirror pre-​modern cultures. It relies on peaceful existence, rejects indoctrination, and encourages physical and natural harmony, a sense of pantheistic hedonism permeates their culture. It is with this backdrop of heightened sensuality that Qindil meets Arousa, and settles down with her and has children, only to be exiled by the leaders of Mashriq for trying to raise their firstborn as Muslim, which is viewed as illegal indoctrination by the people of Mashriq.

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  31 In sharp contrast to Mashirq is the next land, called Haira. Its name is Arabic for confusion. As soon as Qindil finds a room, he exclaims “Civilization was, no doubt, to be found here. What a difference between this and Mashriq!” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 53). With modern standards, Mashirq is seen as primitive or uncivilized. Soon, however, the reader discovers that Haira is ruled by a king who presents himself as the image of their god on earth, followed by a select elite class that controls everything, while everyone else is grateful to work for the ruling class in their farms and factories, doing “manual work” while the elite “provide them with their daily bread,” for apart from the king and the elites, “the rest of the people, they possess no sanctity and have no talents” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 60). Haira is an empirical power, capturing prisoners from Mashriq and even encroaching on the next land on Qindil’s path, Halba. With a name that means ring or arena, Halba is a thriving land with a claim to liberty. The first words Qindil hears upon entering its gates are “Welcome to Halba, the land of freedom” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 80). The notion of freedom in Halba relies on recreating everything into a melting pot. Qindil even finds Islam practiced there, unlike in both Mashriq and Haira. Yet, he feels it is different from his experience of the faith. He takes a wife there, Samia, who describes to him a version of Islam that accepts “independent judgement” that is constantly shaped by reasoning. Meeting his old love, Arousa, in Halba, however, Qindil decides to follow her to the next land, Aman. Once again, the name of the land is meaningful, as amān in Arabic is safety. Ironically, the land of Aman has a history contrary to the meaning of its name. Qindil remembers his teacher and step-​father, Sheikh Maghagha, telling him that when he embarked on a similar journey a long time ago he could not go beyond Aman because it was embroiled in civil war, a fact that Qindil hears again from his hosts in Aman, who provide more details, proudly recounting how “the enemies of the people” were defeated in that civil war, explaining that the enemies of the people were “the landowners, factory owners, and despotic rulers” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 122). It is a warring land, constantly on the edge of war with its neighbor Halba. The land of Aman, like those that precede it, does not suffice for the traveler. He moves on to his next, penultimate stop. This time, the land is Ghuroub, literally sunset. With Mashriq, or sunrise as the first destination, implying the dawn of civilization or life itself, Ghuroub indicates the end of the human endeavor, or perhaps on a personal level, the end of the individual search for truth. Interestingly, Mahfouz didn’t pick Maghreb, which is the direct antonym to mashriq, indicating the place of sunset as opposed to the place of sunrise. The word ghurub is sunset itself. Mahfouz here underlines the process, in all its finality, rather than a specific space. As a result, Ghuroub is depicted as a land of emigrants, or rather refugees, who deserted or left because of various reasons. Rather

32  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction than a land of sunset only, light does exist, but it is a different light. Qindil describes it light as “the most beautiful sun,” a sun that “gave off a light that held no troublesome heat, a light that gave was accompanied by a gentle breeze and a pleasant fragrance” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 134). Qindil’s stay at Ghuroub ends abruptly as Aman invades it to secure its borders with Halba, occupies all lands, and offers the people of Ghuroub a choice of either agreeing to remain but as serfs working for the new occupiers from Aman or to leave safely in exile on caravans prepared by Aman, heading toward none other than Gebel, the next land. Qindil chooses to leave, feeling destiny calls upon him to complete his journey to the elusive land that his teacher and step-​father talked about with such reverence and wonder. The cryptic land of Gebel remains shrouded in mystery. True to the allegorical metaphors in Mahfouz’s lore, a mountain is mentioned as Gebel, which means mountain anyway, is perched on the Green Mountain, and is described by the caravan leader as “the land of perfection” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 146). Qindil gives his journal to the caravan leader, entrusting him with giving it to Fattouma. The narrative ends with an abrupt turn to third person narration, declaring “with these words ends the manuscript of the voyage of Qindil Muhammad al-​Innabi, known as Ibn Fattouma” and wondering whether one day another manuscript describing Gebel will surface, a knowledge that “lies with the Knower of what is unseen and of what is seen” (Mahfouz 1997, 148). The lands that Qindil visits can be seen against the backdrop of sociopolitical systems. He experiences the nature-​ driven pre-​ state of early human existence in Mashriq, wary of new ideologies and systems. He then passes by Haira, closer perhaps to Medieval civilizations including European feudal systems, ruled by a few elites oppressing the commoners. He then goes to Halba, which might be closer to the American model, all-​ encompassing melting pot, that remolds the ingredients it tries to assimilate rather than takes them as they are originally, freedom-​seeking but also constantly on edge and fiercely competitive. After that he moves to Aman, enforcing uniformity and imposing a single vision of what constitutes the common law, at the expense of war and violence, perhaps a reference to Communist regimes. His next stop is Ghuroub, deeply meditative and wise, but essentially incapable of self-​defense. Ghuroub is possibly a nod at countries of ancient roots that have once offered wisdom but are finally losing their power to more brutally practical colonial powers that use them to fortify their borders, a possible reference to colonized countries, including Africa and the Middle East, that were once lands of wisdom and beauty but are now hijacked by superpowers for endless wars by proxy. Finally he reaches Gebel, with its Abrahamic references, but which does not necessarily have to refer to religion only, but, just as likely, to perfection, that Utopian ideal that all the previous lands and the systems they represent

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  33 claim to have designed. While no reports arrive about life inside the utopian Gebel, its existence is confirmed. This, therefore, marks all the other lands, the ones we can identify with and interpret based on familiarity, as nothing more than dystopias, failed attempts dwarfed by the promise of Gebel. Yet, we wonder whether Gebel is comparable to the previous lands, and whether it is fair to compare them at all, when we learn that no caravan can enter Gebel. The path to it is too narrow, the caravan master says. When the travelers complain to the spiritual advisor accompanying them, he confirms what the caravan master says, and tells them the only way to Gebel is “on foot, as those before us have done” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 148). The presence of a spiritual advisor on the caravan underlines the inseparable role spirituality plays side by side by the practicality of social and political life of communities. The inability to cross the narrow path through the mountain to reach Gebel presents it as an individual journey, framing perhaps the inadequacy of all collective attempts in the different lands leading to Gebel. They are dystopias because, apparently, there are no communal utopias. The only perfect state one can reach will be found at the end of a personal and individual journey. Perhaps, then, a utopia in Mahfouz’s novel is the survival of the distress one goes through in all the dystopias of human existence. In addition to his family before his departure, Qindil, throughout his journey, meets characters that complete the allegorical structure, with names that add to potential interpretations of their symbolic significance. He marries three times and the women he marries shape his emotional growth. After he leaves his first wife, Halima, home, he meets a woman called Arousa in his first stop, Mashriq. Qindil falls in love with Arousa. They marry and have children. Although Qindil is eventually exiled by Arousa’s people for attempting to raise their firstborn child as Muslim, Arousa remains an important love interest of Qindil’s, and he meets her at other lands, as she too travels later with her people during wars among the lands where they accidently meet after their initial separation. Arousa’s name is Arabic for bride. It is possible to see her as the stereotypical, or even ideal, female partner that eludes Qindil. Her love for him does not blur her independence and strength. She remains a source for his regret when he loses her, and a source for hope whenever he meets her again. The third wife is Samia. Qindil meets her in Halba. They have a child and Qindil reassures himself that by marrying Samia he can settle down and his child would be born in “freedom and security” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 105). Soon, however, he meets Arousa passing by with a caravan from Mashriq heading toward Gebel. Seeing Arousa shakes Qindil and rekindles his passion for traveling and his dream to reach Gebel. He takes permission from Samia and travels again. The three wives mark three aspects of Qindil’s development. Halima, with her name reference to the Prophet’s

34  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction family, which also means patient, symbolizes a stage of stability and strong foundations, a fostering of Qindil’s belief system that drove him to seek the truth of Gebel. Samia seems to be on the other end of the three female characters, surprisingly similar to Halima. Samia’s name means sublime, and, like Halima, she offers stability and a respite from all the conflicts of the lands Qindil experiences. Like Halima, again, Qindil leaves her and moves on, although he worries about her. The one constant element in Qindil’s relationships is Arousa. This is evident in her mobility, as she is the only woman Qindil meets at more than one place. She is the only wife who challenges Qindil. When he is exiled from their land, and he meets her later, he finds out she has married another man, a Buddhist, and she even tells Qindil that her second husband is a “remarkable” person (Mahfouz 1997, p. 109). Arousa remains a taunting possibility of what might have been for Qindil. She is more like a reminder who motivates Qindil to move on, a reminder he needs to get back on track. The stability Qindil has and sacrifices twice, with Helima and Samia, contrasts with the constant mobility of Arousa, but, since he ends up with none of the three women, perhaps the relationship that best represents Qindil or suits him is not the binary of stability/​mobility, but the symbolic pursuit that requires him to abandon his sense of comfort and stability, just like he has to leave Halima and later Samia to seek Gebel. To do this, he must keep open his mind and his heart, allow them to embrace the journey. When he succumbs to an urge to settle down and replicate the traditions of his family, as seen when he tries to raise his son like he was raised, Qindil is exiled and forced to be on the road again. The relationships Qindil has with Halima, Arousa, and Samia reflect his relationship with the journey, resisting the temptation of stagnation and comfort for the sake of the pursuit of truth and the openness to experience and learning. Guides and Teachers In addition to family members and the three women in Qindil’s life, a series of characters play a pivotal role in shaping his journey. In each land he visits, Qindil meets a master, a teacher, sage, or wise person of some kind. They combine the characteristics of spiritual guides to cultural and social advisors. They are not necessarily always the stereotypical guru of sheikh or priest. They may be inn keepers or commercial partners. In some cases, they volunteer to help Qindil as a stranger coming to their land. In other cases, Qindil is assigned a guide by the authorities of a land he visits as part of a security procedure with all visitors. Sometimes he finds them; at others they find him. But there is always someone. In Mashriq, there is Fam. He is the owner of the inn where Qindil stays. He is a former traveler, and his streetwise wisdom fashioned by those of a seasoned traveler

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  35 shines through when Qindil is exiled from Mashriq and is lamenting his separation from Arousa. Fam tells Qindil, “You must know that a traveler should not strive after a permanent relationship” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 49). While Qindil clearly does not heed the advice, as he later marries Samia, it does symbolize one of the main tenets of Mahfouz’s novel: the significance of the journey which might even surpass the destination, and which necessitates what might be the biggest sacrifice of all: letting go. Attachment here might apply to more than family and love, for as a narrative of spiritual and intellectual pursuit, Fam’s advice may be referring to the necessity of ideational flexibility, the need to willingly not adhere too much to specific concepts, but open up to whatever the path might bring. In Haira, Qindil meets Ham, another inn keeper with a name that rhymes with Fam. Ham warns Qindil not to practice his religion and tells him that only the religion of Haira is allowed, which he sums up as simply worshipping their king (Mahfouz 1997, p. 54). Unlike Fam, who is at least somewhat understanding, Ham is a nationalistic zealot who rejects and despises any deviation from what his king ordains. When Qindil sees Arousa a captive in Haira and dares protest, he is jailed as well, wasting 20 years of his life in a prison cell in Haira. In prison he meets Daizing, a sage from Mashriq. Once Qindil meets Daizing he says mournfully, “I am your victim,” blaming Mashriq for his exile and subsequent travel to Haira which ended with his imprisonment (Mahfouz 1997, p. 74). Interestingly, Daizing is the second character after Arousa from Mashriq whose presence is seen in other lands. In a sense, Mashriq, as symbolic of the sensual and almost primordial state of the human condition, does not fade away, but accompanies us, represented by Qindil, in all our stages. In Halba, the inn keeper, Qalsham, is a jovial fellow who is accepting of all creeds, as long as there is profit involved. Qindil meets a new master in Halba, with a role more similar to his homeland than that of the inn keepers, Sheikh Hamada al-​Sabki. As they discuss religion and society, however, Qindil learns that al-​Sabki has a non-​committal and very accepting philosophy. He discusses how all religions co-​exist in Halba and how their leader is “heathen” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 85). When at some point Qindil wonders whether Muslims in Halba follow Abu Hanifa, referring to the well-​known theologian’s advocating of tolerant interpretation, al-​Sabki surprises him by shrugging off the notion of following any sect or imam at all, saying, “with us, there is not necessity for that” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 90). In Aman, things take a different turn. As a land of rigid structure and a rather paranoid practice of security, it makes sense for the leadership of Aman to assign a guide to every visitor. Qindil’s personal guide is called Faluka. It is an interesting name, as the word falūka means a small boat or raft. Indeed, Faluka almost literally sails silently behind Qindil wherever he goes, following him like his shadow (Mahofouz 1997, p. 115). When

36  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Qindil asks whether he is free to roam around, Faluka skirts the issue and tells Qindil that he will find all means of entertainment in the inn. Interestingly, Qindil feels that the focus on entertainment as distraction in Aman is not different from Halba, a comment that is possibly targeting the similarities between superpowers of our time, whose focus on media as means of distraction and brainwashing serve similar purposes regardless of the details of how they are presented (Mahfouz 1997, p. 121). The most strikingly different of all is the old teacher Qindil meets in Ghuroub. He is a singer. After trying in vain to speak to anyone in Ghuroub and being ignored by everyone, Qindil finally hears singing and music, and, following the sounds, he sees an old man encircled by a group of people repeating a song after him in soft voices. He is the first one to talk to Qindil. He tells him he is “the instructor of those who are perplexed” and informs him that there are no rulers of the land of Ghuroub (Mahfouz 1997, p. 138). Perhaps of all the masters Qindil has, the old master comes closest to successfully teaching Qindil. Toward the end of his stay, he feels rather than hears that his master has called him. He goes to see him. The master asks Qindil what brings him and the latter says, “a call that emanated from you.” Pleased that Qindil has finally reached a level of spiritual connectedness to nature and to his surroundings that he can hear a call that has not been sounded verbally across distances, the master smiles and proclaims that this is “the first step to success,” adding that “a downpour of rain starts with a few drops” (Mahfouz 1997, p. 143). The old master in Ghuroub summarizes a key notion in the novel, where the entire narrative might be seen as only a drop compared to what comes after, what we are never told. As Qindil progresses to Gebel, and we receive no account of his adventure there, we know of no teachers at the final destination. It is possible to consider all those that Qindil has met during his journey are facets of the same learning power, are all catalysts that facilitate the creation of something out of the lone traveler. Symbolic Names in The Façade If allegorical narrative is the backbone of Ibn Fattouma’s journey, it similarly plays a pivotal role in Eassa’s novel, The Façade. With a literary career spanning from the 1930s to the late 1980s, Youssef Ezeddin Eassa is a significant pioneer of Arabic speculative fiction, writing novels, short stories, as well as radio and television drama in Egypt. In The Façade, Eassa constructs an intricate web of discovery around the protagonist, who is called mīm nūn, initials using two Arabic letters. In the translation I am using for discussion in this book, his name is translated as M N, since mīm and nūn correspond mostly to the English letters m and n both in pronunciation and, therefore, in the spelling of many words. Like Mahfouz’s

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  37 Qindil, Eassa’s M N increasingly unpacks more details about a life he does not fully grasp as he tries to at understand. There are some noteworthy distinctions between both characters, however, that set their searches apart. Qindil is searching for a destination at the end of his journey. He is motivated by seeking the truth. Unlike Qindil, M N is seeking a person at the end of his search. He is motivated by survival. For both of them, the search leads to some form of knowledge. But, for Qindil, his salvation is spiritual. For M N, it is, indeed, more than metaphorical. His life depends on this knowledge. Another significant difference is their past. Qindil is the product of his complex past, whether his family’s lineage or the teachings of his teacher/​step-​father, and the family drama he is embroiled in without much choice. M N has no past. He remembers nothing. His memory in the beginning of the novel is a clean slate. In his search, Qindil travels from one land to another. M N does not travel to other lands, but his adventures from one place of the city to another are as fraught with adventures and risks no less threatening and mysterious than a journey from the lands of sunrise to the lands of sunset. But Qindil and M N share the thirst for the search, and the courage to seek the truth, and both of them ask the difficult spiritual questions of existence. Furthermore, both protagonists, in spite of such crucial differences, learn of new lifestyles, new ideologies, and new belief systems on their path to knowledge. The naming symbolism is simpler in The Façade. M N’s name in Arabic can spell two interrogatives, mina, which means from, or man, which means who. Both are an exact fit of the questions that protagonist asks at the onset of the narrative (Eassa 2014, p. 12). He does not know who he is or where he has come from, but only knows he is in a city that has no name. He asks and finds out only a place referred to as an Information Office can supply such existential answers after submitting official queries. The answers M N receive from an automated slot machine set the tone for the search before it beings, • One: The name of the City means nothing. Call it whatever you like. • Two: The mission you have come for in this City is: To search for the truth. • Three: Where have you come from: You have come from an unknown place. • Four: The grave secret, which everybody is keeping from you, is: All people of this city, with no exceptions at all, are sentenced to execution. • Five: The time you shall be staying in this city: All your life, until it is time for your execution sentence to be carried out. (Eassa 2014, p. 58) As M N resumes his search for answers, bearing the weight of mortality, his endeavor turns into a ceaseless race against the owner of the City,

38  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction who controls the lives and deaths of its citizens. Gradually, his very search becomes a statement of rebellion. Such resistance is shunned by none other than the citizens themselves. The communal rejection of M N includes government employees. For instance, when he insists on more questions, the streets shake and rumble and the Information Center clerk blames M N, “Look what you’ve done!” she said to M, shaking. “I’ve done nothing!” cried out M. “You have made the owner of the city angry.”

(Eassa 2014, p. 63)

The shaking streets result in accidents and deaths, as well as rounding up by the police of innocent passersby. Nothing happens to M N, however. In a sense, his punishment is to become the cause of suffering for others when he challenges the hegemony of the City Owner and asks tabooed questions or seeks forbidden knowledge. More responses occur from community members in other incidents, such as one character, called D, who invites M N over for dinner. M N gets comfortable and curious and brings up the prohibited topic of executions, encouraging D’s two sisters to start answering him, only for one of them to be suddenly struck dead, resulting in D vehemently blaming M N for incurring the wrath of the City Owner on D’s family (Eassa 2014, p. 35). The Quest as a Narrative Structure Eassa structures The Façade as a maze, a non-​linear trajectory or sharp turns and surprising hiccups. Unpredictability is the name of the game here. If this novel was a contemporary work, it’d have been one of the early Arabic novels that can be somewhat close to cyberpunk, or, to some degree, to gaming narratives, with movements from one dangerous zone to another. Places that M N stops at are all locations in the City. Each one of them may function as an allegorical representation of some of the notions of survival and the quest that M N is thrust into throughout his existence. The narrative starts with M N as an adult with no memory trying to survive a doomed existence in a game-​ like city owned by an unfathomable power that decides the fate of the citizens with little explanation. He is initially greeted by a server at a restaurant who treats him well. Her welcoming approach promises M N, and the readers, of a safe haven where everything is free and available to citizens. It is as soon as M N seeks answers to his questions that the attitude changes. We learn of the first taboo in this façade of a city: questions. Submission is expected and enforced. Questioning authority only brings pain and punishment.

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  39 M N, however, does not give up his quest for understanding. His search for the City Owner takes him to places that are seemingly unrelated to each other. Early on, he realized the only way to get by is to have money, which may be earned daily by agreeing to rotate a wheel while being whipped by the wheel keeper for a period of time. The longer he endures the pain and the more visits he makes, the more money he earns. The labor allegory is hard to miss, metaphorically depicting M N as the citizen trapped by a capitalist machine that feeds on his labor. To make things worse, he is almost always watched by gloating onlookers whenever he visits the labor wheel, and he has to endure not only the physical pain but the taunting laughs and looks of random strangers. While M N succumbs to the necessity of the torturing wheel, he does resume his search. This quest takes him to a mysterious house, which is more like a presidential mansion where presumably the City Owner lives. He is forced to write a formal complaint and leave the house, especially as an earthquake hits the City, yet another sign that his actions bring dire consequences beyond his power (Eassa 2014, p. 90). He never meets the elusive City Owner, and learns from the servants of the mansion that nobody probably has either. The best M N can hope for is meeting the servants and staff only. If we consider an interpretation based on symbolic spirituality, then the house might represent houses of worship, and the servants and staff would be religious figures, ranging from mythological characters to angels and prophets, who seem in the novel to stand in the way to the ultimate City Owner rather than connect seekers to him. This can be taken as a critique of mediation, the role of preachers, priests, sheikhs, and other religious authorities that separate rather than unite individuals and their search for the deity they seek to know. More places appear in M N’s path for survival. He accumulates mostly dark experiences that range from physical pain to psychological torment, usually with a surrealistic, often nightmarish, palette. Perhaps one of the darkest places Eassa paints for M N is the alternate city, which exists on a parallel plane as the other, distorted side of the main City. It is referred to as the back city. M N tries to settle down, get married, and move into a house. There he suspects his wife is having an affair. Following her, he discovers a door in their home that turns out to be a portal to a distorted replica of the supposedly ideal urban perfection of the City. The back city, as an alternate existence, is a science fiction trope of alternate universes and portal crossings, and Eassa uses it brilliantly to offer a critique of the social and cultural underbelly of modern idealism, as the moral codes and seemingly picture-​perfect image of the City becomes distorted. The depiction of the back city reverses the main City, as M N’s first impressions of this version is an assault on his sensory perception, overwhelmed by a “stinking smell,” “twisted streets,” as well as “mud and dirt,” presenting

40  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction the alternate city as a place of squalor (Eassa 2014, p. 251). The shy and modest restaurant girl in the neat, clean restaurant, who earlier in the novel, in the main City, reported M N just because he dared ask her out was now dancing brazenly “almost naked in a pub filled with lust and sin” and, what is more, she goes as far as try to seduce M N in a total reversal of characters and places (Eassa 2014, p. 256). The back city maybe allegorical of the unconscious mind, with its dark taverns and suppressed desires, or an allegory of a Dantean hellish existence of tormented souls, or, in more realistic terms, the machinations of society that the political machine hides and that model citizens turn their faces away from to preserve the façade of civilization. The ultimate space that consumes M N’s search is the tower. M N’s fortunes change and he earns a position in a tower that gives him access to privileges in the City. Soon, M N becomes such an powerful figure in the City that anything he demands is fulfilled. At one point, he simply complains that climbing the stairs to his luxurious office is exhausting, and his servant says, with “panic still in his eyes: ‘You are the most important in this tower’ ” (Eassa 2014, p. 363). He adds that everyone in the tower is present to serve M N’s every whim, for “searching for the truth is no easy matter” (Eassa 2014, p. 363). The problem is, though, M N finds nothing. The tower and its entire mission is, like the City and its title, another façade. M N’s significance is to maintain the façade, just like ordinary people are important to keep the system, any system whether social, political, or religious, with its institutions, its dark back alleys, and its false promises, functioning and relevant. We can argue what would the façade be, whether it is the City, its claim of perfection, its system, the search for truth, or truth itself. In a way, it is possible to say that M N himself is the façade. His presence allows the machine to churn on, whether politicians who pretend to serve him and govern his life, or preachers who pretend to nurture his soul, or a myriad of elements in a structure of the human condition that Eassa interrogates. Dystopian Spaces With dystopia as the antithesis of utopia, in the sense that it bears within it the concept of utopia to define it through absence of contradiction, both novels offer just that: spaces that are initially presented or sought as utopian but are at some point revealed to be dystopian. Moreover, the definition of distress in the analysis refers to repeated and accumulated frustration with an overwhelming reality, specifically due to inability to cope, or as a form of maladaptation, accompanied sometimes by fear of threats (APA). Distress in this context is associated with the repeated failure of the protagonists in both novels to feel safe in the different stages

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  41 of their journey, or to fulfill their desired aspirations, especially as they feel constantly estranged in the different cultural and societal contexts they encounter. The dystopian construction in the two novels is derived from the stops that the two protagonists make, and the Pandora’s box effect of the constant distress their discoveries cause. Each land Qindil visits has a claim to a Gebel-​like perfection. Each land presents itself as the ultimate system of spirituality, social justice, and political stability. At the end of his stay in each land, however, Qindil faces what is ultimately revealed as an authoritarian regime, or is at least defeated by one, revealing a defect, a darkness, a shortcoming, that compromises such claims, whether the rejection of any potential change in Mashriq, the despotic ultranationalism of Haira, the forced equality that does not acknowledge individual differences in Aman, the obsessive competitiveness of Halba, or the absence of self-​defense in Ghuroub. Together, the societies of Qindil’s journey constitute a series of dystopian communities that lead to his distress as he witnesses the eminent collapse of his utopian mirage. Similarly, M N is thrown into an authoritarian nightmare, ruled by the invisible City Owner, controlled by labor, sudden executions, and lulled by a dark underground life. M N encounters mistrust as a recurrent pattern of distress, which becomes a built-​up response to paranoid fear induced by the constant threat of execution, and the traumatic experiences he constantly faces, from the unexpected rejection of the server at the restaurant, to the guilt thrown at him when he seeks information resulting in public deaths, to the whippings at the labor wheel, to the horrific experiences of the back city, and finally the stifling expectations of the tower. M N’s collective experiences, like Qindil’s, rapidly form a stifling dystopian world around him that closes in wherever he turns around. Qindil’s name, as Ibn Fattouma, is in itself an indication of mistrust, as it reveals the conflict he has with his step-​brothers who refuse to acknowledge him (Beard 2003, p. 26). M N’s mistrust is a nightmarish inescapable maze of communal pressure (Elmeligi 2021, p. 40). The people he meets, although they also suffer from the fate he is afraid of and although he is even trying to warn them, still do not accept his questioning, turning his search for answers in a futile survival as escape from the City Owner and the members of the community is impossible. Communal Distress An interesting similarity between both novels is how distress develops into a communal affective reaction. Not only do the central characters Qindil and M N suffer from it during their adventures or misadventures, but the communities they grapple with eventually suffer from them as well. In

42  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction every land visited by Qindil, the guide he meets is satisfied and proud of his land, and by the end of each visit, something happens to the land, whether war, occupation, or at least a lifechanging event to other characters in those lands, such is Arousa’s plight as a captive and refugee. Such negative impact is spelled out in M N’s case, as his inquisitiveness literally shakes things up, with earthquakes and police attacks on citizens of the City, and the death of one of D’s sisters, all following his tabooed questions. Both characters attempt to settle in, even marry and start families, and both eventually fail to do so, and both try to fit in their new communities and succeed briefly only to end up being rejected by their communities or horrified by truths they discover about those societies. Such failed attempts to adjust are enhanced by the constant mistrust in authoritarian contexts, intensifying their distress as a foundational element of character portrayal in both novels. The endings are quite different, though. In The Journey of Ibn Fattouma, Qindil prepares himself to go to Gebel alone, as the caravan master indicates that entering Gebel must be an individual endeavor. In The Façade, M N reaches the tower, which is perceived by everyone as the pinnacle of the utopian experience, their Gebel in a sense. M N, however, dies at the end, crushed by his inability to change a reality he sought to improve. Perhaps, however, his death is the salvation he needs. Is it possible to see his death as the individual journey to Gebel? It is also not possible to know what happens to Qindil, as the narrative clearly states that Qindil’s travelogue ends before he enters Gebel. The mystery of the final stage of their journeys, M N’s with a straightforward death while Qindil’s with a hint at Gebel being the afterlife, does not promise any relief, but only reinforces the theme that humanity is doomed to turn utopian dreams into dystopian nightmares. The only emotive response to the journeys in search for utopia is distress and the only rescue from distress is an endless escape that might even end in death or a venture into an unchartered realm. References Abrams, M. H. (1999). A Dictionary of Literary Terms. 7th edition. Heinle & Heinle. Beard, Michael. (2003). Master narrative and necessity in Ibn Fattûma. Edebiyat: Journal of M.E. Literatures, 14(1–​ 2), 21–​ 28. DOI: 10.1080/​ 0364650032000173316. Childs, Peter and Roger Fowler. (2006). The Routledge Dictionary of Literary Terms. Routledge. Eassa, Youssef Ezzedin. (2014). The Façade (Faten Eassa, trans.). Authorhouse. (Original work published in 1983.) Elmeligi, Wessam. (2021) Islands, rooms, and queues: Three tropes in Arabic science fiction. MOSF Journal of Science Fiction, 4(2), 36–​49.

Mistrust in Quest Dystopia  43 Mahfouz, Naguib. (1997). The Journey of Ibn Fattouma (Denys Johns on-​Davies, trans.). The American University in Cairo Press. (Original work published in 1983.) Ouyang, Wen-​Chin. (2003). The dialectic of past and present in Riḥlat ibn fatūma by najīb maḥfūz. Edebiyat: Journal of M.E. Literatures, 14(1–​2), 81–​107. DOI:10.1080/​0364650032000173352. Qur’an. (2008). M. A. S. Abdel Haleem, trans. Oxford University Press. Sinding, Michael. (Fall 2002). Assembling spaces: The conceptual structure of allegory. Style, 36(3), Cognitive Approaches to Figurative Language, 503–​522. Turner, Mark. (1996). The Literary Mind. Oxford University Press.

2 Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia Ahmed Khaled Towfik’s Utopia and Nihād Shārīf’s Residents of the Second World

Introduction In looking at dystopias as the opposite of utopias, the definition of the concept itself relies on absence, on what a place is not rather than at what it is. In that respect, a dystopian place is inherently linked to another place, a utopian space for that matter. As a result, the comparativeness of perspective is a primary lens for observing and analyzing a dystopian place. This chapter examines two novels that push the parameters of the relationship between dystopia and utopia. The narratives here experiment with the overlapping of worlds, of mutual influence, rather than mere juxtaposition. Reading those two novels can raise the question of whether a dystopia is contagious, soling a utopia, destructively maiming an ideal space and condemning it to the same dark pit where the dystopia lurks. It also experiments with expanding the comparative urge of dystopia and utopia, investigating the potential of whether the comparison between the two worlds can in fact be between two dystopias. In other words, this chapter wonders whether one dystopia can unravel the negative elements in another dystopia, especially if that other place presents itself as utopian. The parallelism, this chapter argues, can be between two dystopias, or a dystopia and a utopia. What is more, the aftermath of the encounter of two worlds in the context of dystopian existence is more complex than a simple influence, it can be an unmasking of hidden dystopia, or a revealing of the weakness and impracticality of a utopian society. This parallelism of the two worlds is portrayed in each novel as a mark of inflexibility, leading to considerable distress accompanying the collision of the two worlds. Among novels that rely on contrasting and comparing dystopian and utopian elements, two stand out and are the examples discussed in this chapter. One is Sukkān al-​‘ālam al-​thānī (Residents of the Second World) by one of the most renowned pioneers of twentieth century Arabic science fiction, Nihād Shārīf. Published in 1977, the novel discusses the world of 2099, and the ramifications of a failed utopia. Shārīf (1932–​2011), was DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-5

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  45 born in Egypt and studied history (Al-​Mahdi 2022, p. 38). His novel, Qāhir al-​zaman, The Conqueror of Time (1972), is one of the few Arabic language science fiction novels to be turned into a major feature film with the same title, directed by Kamāl al-​Shaykh and starring Nūr al-​Shārīf in 1987 (Kasem 2021, pp. 57–​58). The second novel is by another significant author of speculative fiction, Ahmed Khaled Towfik (1962–​2018), also born in Egypt. He is known for experimenting with different genres ranging from science fiction to horror, and the supernatural, including for young adults as well, and is perhaps best known for his series of novellas titled Mā warāʾ al-​ṭabīʿa, Tales of the Metaphysical, or literally beyond nature, which were recently produced by Netflix Inc. as Paranormal, which is one of the first television shows in Arabic to be produced by the streaming company. This chapter discusses his novel, titled Utopia, published in book form in 2008, after it was serialized in 2006 in al-​Dustour newspaper. The novel hits closer to home, taking place in 2023. Shārīf’s novel has not been translated in English. Towfik’s has been translated in English by Chip Rossetti in 2011. Utopian Projects Gone Wrong The two narratives share certain elements but differ clearly on others. The most significant common aspect between them is the corruptibility of the utopian project as a human endeavor doomed to failure for none other the inability of societies to co-​exist and because of the relentless, seething urge to control others, flaws that destroy any potential to build new communities that maybe shielded from a rapidly deteriorating world. The main difference between the two novels in that, in Residents of the Second World, such shielded community did have a chance to succeed if it were not for the hostility and greed of the rest of the world that finds out this utopian second world not only exists but also has advanced technology and intact natural resources that the rest of the world decides to usurp, whereas in Utopia, the shielded community is inherently evil, surrounded by the rest of the world that was left to rot by the elitist utopia, only for it to eventually implode as the now barbaric outside world attacks it. Interestingly, both novels can have claims on each other’s title. Shārīf’s The Residents of the Second World is, indeed, a depiction of utopian endeavor. The premise of the novel is that a number of scientists from different countries decided that the world was heading toward a disaster, whether ecologically as a logical outcome of increasing pollution or militarily due to the feverish arms race of the 1950s and 1960s, the period that led to this early 1970s novel. The scientists brought their collective skills to build a second world, underwater. Using the as yet unchartered

46  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction and, therefore, relatively less polluted abundant resources of the seas and oceans of the planet, they not only develop new technologies, but also a new sociopolitical system that they hope would minimize conflict, hold learning in high esteem, and foster co-​existence with values such as peace, equality, and hard work. Alarmed by the increasing pollution of the seas and oceans, and the irresponsible acceleration of nuclear weapons, the leaders of the secret second world decide to send anonymous messages that warn the collapsing world as we know it. They request representatives of some countries to sail to a specific location and secretively take those representatives underwater to the new world, to show them what they have accomplished and send them back to convince the rest of world to redeem itself before the entire planet is destroyed. The result is that power-​ hungry world leaders deceive the second world and attack it to seize its resources and technology. The novel can be seen as an indictment of the cold war, colonialism, the atomic bomb, and the inefficiency of the United Nations. It reflects Shārīf’s concern “that humanity, in its scientific arrogance, would blow itself up in a thermo-​nuclear war” (Aysha 2020, p. 12). The utopia in Towfik’s title is an adequate description of the second world in Shārīf’s novel. Similarly, Towfik’s novel is, indeed, about a second world, only much less utopian. As a matter of fact, it is as dystopian as the initial world it leaves behind. The novel is a thinly disguised critique of brazen capitalism, focusing specifically on the Egyptian bourgeois class that quickly rises to replace the aristocracy it presumably overthrew, aided now by American-​ led globalization. The setting is divided into a large gated community, not unlike gated communities of summer resorts and expensive suburbs in Cairo in the early 2023. The setting is aimed at a realistic social relevance within the near future (Khayrutdinov 2014, p. 191). The new community is inhabited by vicious businessmen who hired American security apparel to protect them, and who live walled in away from the rest of the world that is populated by hungry, sick, and dehumanized communities ruled by street gangs. We learn of atrocities committed by some of the youths of the gated communities who secretly go out on hunting expeditions, coming back with severed arms or body parts of an inhabitant of the outer world. The novel ends with the ferocious wild-​like populations around the gated community preparing for a massive attack that would breach the gate and wreak havoc on everyone. Again, Towfik’s novel is also a novel about a second world, albeit a vicious one. Parallelism as a Narrative Strategy The two novels employ parallelism as a narrative strategy from the start. They follow similar patterns, as each starts with relatively more familiar

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  47 backgrounds then progresses rapidly to what would strike readers as unusual territories. Both entice readers gradually with hints at another world, then thrust them into the parallel world we have been expecting and dreading. The details of those second worlds unfold rapidly in descriptive details that are punctuated by narration of the fictitious history of those brave new worlds, with contrasting imagery that accentuate the difference between the worlds. In The Residents of the Second World, the navy of a number of countries receive mysterious communication, followed by well-​placed explosives that eventually convince world leaders of the seriousness of those threats, and attract attention to the unknown sender’s demands that select representatives meet at a specified location in the sea. The description of navy captains and their crews, the responses of the various governments, the radio signals, while set in the future, seem quite recognizable to a contemporary reader. Gradually, however, the third-​person narrator explains some dynamics that are clearly not current, mainly focusing on an increased role of today’s Middle East, emphasizing how oil and other resources have given this region an increasingly indispensable role in world politics, making Egypt the fourth oil producing country by the time of the narrative, in 2099 (Shārīf 2016, p. 7). The mysterious messages are sent to what the novel presents as the major powers of the turn of the 21st century, the United States, the Soviet Union, and China, joined by Egypt, Japan, and France. The familiarity of a world dominated by military and economic world powers eases readers into the backdrop of a planet similar to the 1970s planet of competing superpowers. The portrayal of a tense world inflated with conflict and fear of nuclear war is reiterated in how each of the United States, the Soviet Union, and China are wary of holding the other responsible for the threats and start arguing that perhaps a mysterious fourth power is trying to drive a wedge between them to start a disastrous nuclear conflict (Shārīf 2016, p. 41). Shārīf inserts Egypt in an interesting satirical gesture at British colonial involvement in Egypt, as a British Egyptologist suggests that the messages are signs of an ancient Egyptian curse (Shārīf 2016, p. 45). The mysterious threat made by the leaders of the second world who challenge the corrupt world as we know it is partly reminiscent of the motif of the rogue scientist. One example of this development of this motif is Captain Nemo in Jules Verne’s Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea or Robur in his Master of the World, both novels that introduce inventors who turn against society and, like the leaders of the second world, do not shy from using violence to scare the world into paying attention. Shārīf’s second world, however, is not portrayed as vengeful as Captain Nemo, but is arguably as critical of imperialism and world politics as he is in Verne’s novel and just as victimized by it. The technological details of

48  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction communication and the world order of superpowers in Residents of the Second World begins with familiarity and, therefore, paves the way for a more realistic future based on the predictability of the development of the world in the 1970s. In Utopia, the world presented to readers first is the gated community. Initially, it is more like typical affluent residence, then readers would probably place it closer to the stereotype of wealthy people with significant clout. In a sense, the rich compound is “a miniature of a global city” reflecting a “metanarrative of capitalism,” providing a Medieval sense of equality in a modern context, where equality is restricted to the rich and the foreigners (Resheq and Majdoubeh 2019, p. 182). Indeed, it is possible to place Towfik’s novel within the “the kind of critical dystopic reflections on late capitalism that have been endemic to world literature for over a century, from Huxley’s Brave New World (1931), to Orwell’s 1984 (1949), or Gibson’s Neuromancer (1984)” (Greenberg 2019, p. 170). The spoilt youth, the expensive cars, the cruel pastime, the absent parents, the decadent lifestyles, are all cliches of wealth and power. This is even emphasized when the contrast with the working staff, servants, and laborers, is introduced, with the expected bullying and bored interest of the younger characters. This gradually moves away from familiarity as more details crop up, showing that American soldiers are hired as mercenaries to guard the elite residents of the gated compound. It is possibly a tweaked reference to the presence of U.S. military bases in oil-​rich Arab countries, but with a twist that renders it metaphorical, even if not implausible. It then turns into a nightmarish world with details ranging from strange fads such as white contact lenses (Towfik 2011, p. 5), LSD and other drugs, including new types (Towfik 2011, p. 8), psychedelic and sexual experiences of the rich youth, and shady deals of their parents. This spirals into a much darker place, however, when we learn of the secret hunting expeditions of the Others that some of the young residents of the compound go on, returning with “souvenirs,” usually a severed body part of the human prey from the other side (Towfik 2011, p. 10). The corrupt, unjust, well-​guarded community that lurks in decadent luxury at the expense of a larger community that eventually revolts and brings chaos to everyone is also a motif in science fiction. One example is H. G. Wells’ The Island of Doctor Moreau, where the subjects of experiments of the evil genius are brutalized by him and the few guards who protect him. When the animal/​ humans attack Moreau, they are neither animals nor humans, but a distorted product of his work. In a sense, the Others are a result of the merciless social Darwinism inflicted by the rich compound on the communities around it. They have become so dehumanized that their savagery brings them closer to the degrading images that their rich oppressors use to describe them.

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  49 Characters Between Parallel Worlds The link between the two worlds in each novel is the central character. In Residents of the Second World, the main character, Shādī, is an Egyptian who is chosen by Egypt’s government as a member of the selected representatives tasked with meeting the residents of the underwater community. The significance of the protagonist is partly due to his profession. He is a physician who studies literature, and works as a journalist until he becomes an award-​winning writer (Shārīf 2016, p. 61). Interestingly, there is a similarity between Shādī and the author Shārīf, who wanted to study medicine but for health reasons could not join the school of medicine in Egypt and ended up studying history at the University of Cairo (Al-​shīmī 2015). He combines scientific medical knowledge with literary talent and reporting skills, both contribute to his passionate curiosity, making him an ideal observer of the second world. His role picks momentum not only when he is selected to join the team of the encounter between the two worlds, but when he gets romantically involved with one of the residents of the second world. The emotional nature of his role personalizes the second world, gives us a glimpse of the psychology of its residents, and makes it easier for readers to empathize with them. In Utopia, the protagonist, the son of the one of the most influential residents of the compound, is somewhat an anomaly as he is still fertile in a community plagued by infertility due to pollution, although this results, in his case, in many unwanted pregnancies and abortions for his many girlfriends. The rapid unraveling of decadence reaches new heights when conversations mention the al-​aghyār, or “Others,” referring to the residents in the slums around the gated compound. A turning point here is when the narrator decides to go hunting like his friends did. What Shādī in Residents of the Second World displays of curiosity, the protagonist of Utopia replaces with boredom. He refers to Utopia as a game and to himself and the residents of his rich compound as Utopians, melting in boredom (Towfik 2011, p. 7). Narrators and Subjectivity The narratorial voice in both novels is presented by first-​person narrators. The protagonists narrate their accounts of the friction between their worlds and the parallel ones. The use of first-​person narrators inherently limits the perspective of narration, as readers are only allowed to see the parallelism through the eyes of the character/​narrator in each novel. In the two novels studied in this chapter, this means that the readers are spatially and temporally restricted to the reality of the protagonist/​narrator’s physical presence, let alone that the entire narrative is impacted by that

50  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction protagonist/​narrator’s personality, ideology, motivations, and sociocultural background. The active role of the narrator as a character varies, typically picking up speed as the character becomes more involved in the event. It is possible in this context to consider the character/​narrator as a joint entity of dual aspects. When the character aspect of the joint entity is still relatively dormant, or is contributing less to the plot, the narrator aspect’s observant part is more active, providing us with descriptive information, usually pertaining more to setting, other characters, historical background of place and people. When the plot picks up speed, the character aspect of the duality starts contributing more profoundly to the events of the narrative, thus activating a narratorial focus on action as opposed to description, providing us with information that is more active rather than descriptive. It is worth mentioning here that in Residents of the Second World, Shādī is not even introduced as a character at the onset of the novel, let alone as a narrator. He is only introduced when the governments of the world decide to choose three representatives to meet with the second world residents and he is one of them. In Part I of the novel, which consists of the first four chapters, the narrative is delivered through a traditional third-​ person omniscient narrator. Shādī is introduced only after the first three chapters, which end with the demands placed by the mysterious messenger that representatives of three countries be selected to meet with the messenger. The three countries are chosen due to their political neutrality and are described as representing “the new 17 non-​allied countries.” Those three countries are Egypt, India, and Yugoslavia (Shārīf 2016, p. 50). In Chapter 4, Shādī is introduced, still in third-​person narration. We follow him as the president of Egypt summons him, where he is assigned that crucial task. We learn about him as the president reads aloud parts of his resume, stating that Shādī combines studies of science and medicine with a literary and journalistic career, which makes him ideal for the job of reporting on a potentially more advanced people. When Shādī officially starts his role as representative in Part II, the narrative method changes. The first chapter of the second part begins in diary format with dates, starting Tuesday, June 15 2099 (Shārīf 2016, p. 51). The narrative perspective shifts to Shādī, whose role as a representative of the known world to the second world relies on recording his account of the encounter. This role provides a smooth transition from the omniscient and omnipresent third-​person narrator to the traditionally limited first-​person narrator since Shādī as the character/​narrator is required to provide a detailed descriptive account, which retains a good portion of the descriptive portion of the third-​person narration, since Shādī asks several questions of his guests and is offered extensive knowledge about the second world as part of his task. The choice of the first-​person narrator as a protagonist who is required to

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  51 record the events of the narrative, therefore, significantly helps the lucidity of the narration. The challenge, however, in the case of a reporting first-​person narrator assuming the neutrality of a scientific and journalistic reporting would be in the personal details in the event of personal involvement. This happens when Shādī becomes romantically involved with Māhītāb, a scientist and one of the members of the orientation team from the second world assigned to give a tour to Shādī’s team. This is explained to an extent as the account becomes more of a diary. Indeed, Part II has the descriptive title, “The Deepsea City,” offering no opinion about the city (Shārīf 2016, p. 51). Part III moves closer to a personalized account, which is indicated by the title “With Humanity, Not Against It,” with a value judgment clearly defending the Deepsea City added to the title of the part where Shādī feels emotionally and intellectually connected not only to Māhītāb but to her community as well (Shārīf 2016, p. 67). The narration is then interrupted as the team of representatives leaves the second world and the treacherous attacks of our world are hurled at the inhabitants of the underwater world. The diary format is replaced by letters exchanged by Shādī and Māhītāb as their worlds go to war. The letters start in Part IV, titled “Five Letters, Some of Which are Scented” (Shārīf 2016, p. 275). In this part, each letter is a complete chapter. The letters’ format initiates another narrative shift. There are three letters by Shādī and two letters by Māhītāb. The ones by Shādī are addressed to Māhītāb, not to an assumed official committee or even to readers of a journalistic account. This changes the intent of the narrative, focusing primarily on details that concern the relationship between Shādī and Māhītāb. What is more, the letters by Māhītāb introduce yet another narrator altogether, as the first-​person narrator now is not the protagonist of the previous two parts, but another central character who is now given a voice through her letters. Her tone changes dramatically from hope in her first letter to despair in her second letter as she moves from hope to fear. The five letters together repackage the crisis of the human condition to its basic human story: a relationship between two people in love aspiring to start a family in peace. The formality of reporting, the scientific jargon, the historical background, and political complexities that frame the first three parts of the narrative all fade and dissolve against the necessity of life, brutally denied by forces of greed justified by the unnecessary pretexts of power-​hungry world governments. The letters change tone rapidly as the narration becomes more plot-​ driven rather than descriptive. We learn in the first letter that the world moves to agree on signing a peace treaty with the Deep City and the Australian prime minister announces the Australian government’s approval of the Deep City’s request to allocate part of its uninhabited lands for the inhabitants of the City (Shārīf 2016, p. 298). The same hopeful tone that

52  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Shādī displays in his letter is echoed by an idealistic letter from Māhītāb where she describes the cause of the Deep City that she and Shādī support as the cause of peace and human survival (Shārīf 2016, p. 311). The rhythm of hope increases, painting a utopian future that extends beyond the Deep City and seems set to finally include the familiar part of our world as well, when in the third letter Shādī discusses the future relationship between the people of land and the people of the seas, and writes to Māhītāb a message of hope that Egypt, together with France, Japan, and Norway, have agreed to allocate lands from their countries for the innovative ideas of the Deep City (Shārīf 2016, p. 331). The last two letters, which are also the last two chapters of the novel, sharply spiral down into a dystopian whirlwind that takes with it not only the hopeful utopian dream of a unified land and sea worlds, but destroys the second world of the Deep City as well. In the fourth letter, Māhītāb responds to Shādī’s hopeful message with a terrified and distressed account of the betrayal that the people of the land have committed by bombing the locations of inhabitants of the Deep City who were deceived into relocating to Australia. She describes the horror of seeing the infamous mushroom cloud, signaling an atomic attack, “The Senior Sage uttered in horror: ‘The mushroom’ ” (Shārīf 2016, p. 343). The last letter is sent by Shādī, with a painful open-​ended finale to the narrative. He writes a prayer for Māhītāb and a distant future that might or might not include him and her, as he no longer knows whether they will ever meet again after the attack (Shārīf 2016, p. 350). The character/​narrators in Towfik’s Utopia are protagonists from the start. Part I of the novel is titled “Predator” (Towfik 2011, p. 1). It takes place in the rich gated compound referred to as Utopia. The central character in this part is the first-​person narrator. I will refer to him as the predator/​narrator. His narration is impacted as his role in the events change. Initially, his focus is descriptive. Like Residents of the Second World, the novel begins with familiar grounds, as the narrator describes a film poster for Platoon with William Dafoe kneeling on the ground (Towfik 2011, p. 3). The poster is hanging on the protagonist/​narrator’s bedroom wall. He compares the submissive posture of Dafoe’s character to the victims of the hunting game in the Others’ slums around the compound. He even describes how one of those preys looks like as he is hunted by retired U.S. marines now working as security for the wealthy compound owners (Towfik 2011, p. 6). This opening scene sets the tone for the first part of the novel. Descriptive narration is interspersed with information about the origin of the compound and how things have deteriorated into the social Darwinism of the time of the novel, with details that gradually introduce new and unfamiliar additions to the world of the novel, such as new drugs, new fashions, and new relationships.

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  53 They are introduced more as the results of predictable decadence and corruption of the widening socioeconomic chasm that would probably be familiar to the readers. Towfik clearly relies on a stereotypical portrayal of body piercing and tattoos as sexualized indicators of social delinquency as the 16-​ year-​ old predator/​narrator narrates how he looks like devil worshippers but, in reality, he believes in nothing (Towfik 2011, p. 5). Perhaps the most interesting twist in the portrayal of the central character is that he is an avid reader, admitting to reading every book he finds. Although he admits that the reason that he started reading initially was to challenge his parents who are averse to reading, he has grown to love reading as it introduces him to magical worlds (Towfik 2011, p. 7). He is educated through his frequent visits to the library of Salem, a neighbor and the editor-​in-​chief of the local newspaper. Salem shrugs off the adolescent’s interest in reading and amusingly asserts that books are useless and are to be kept books for show. In a sense, then, both protagonist/​narrators are well-​read, intelligent, with a knack for journalism, perhaps thus explaining their reporting skills as narrators. Apart from that, they are widely different as far as their moral positions are concerned, with Shādī in Residents of the Second World a pacifist seeking world peace, whereas the narrator of Utopia is a proud psychopath who hunts human beings. Violence The justification for the violence in Residents of the Second World is greed. In Utopia, it is the utopia itself. The predator/​narrator tells us that the utopian world of the gated community induces nothing but boredom. It is “a utopia where looking for a way to push every minute of your life consumes you” (Towfik 2011, p. 10). Time is an underlying motivation for both novels, but in Residents of the Second World, its passage is dangerous as the world teeters on nuclear and ecological disasters, whereas in Utopia, the lack of significance of the passage of time has made it just as lethal. The predator/​narrator condenses time in one lengthy paragraph describing one hour of a typical day in his life, with fast-​paced repulsive details ranging from waking up, going to the restroom, making breakfast only to throw it away, having sex with the maid, puking on his mother’s bedroom carpet, and taking drugs (Towfik 2011, p. 16). He remarks that in one hour he has done everything and that there is nothing left in his life that he genuinely wants (Towfik 2011, p. 17). It is at this moment that he declares his decision to try the hunting of human prey. Death for him should be dramatic. He detests suicide as an act of poverty and, since death makes us all equal, then he should not die, but should watch others die. The principle of survival that the predator/​narrator explains here leads to the same results of

54  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction killing the Others, a result not that different from the war waged on the Deep City in Residents of the Second World. The initial description of the other world is reversed in both novels. In Residents of the Second World, it is an attempt at a utopian existence, or at least at an ideal rescue plan, an alternate underwater world trying to survive on the margin of the giant blundering and self-​destructive world on the land, which resembles the world we know it today and which is given the dystopian features of corruption and war. In Utopia, the world of the Other, al-aghyār, is dystopian from the beginning, as the narrator embarking on his hunt sneaks into this world he is greeted by foul smells and repulsive sights. Interestingly, this dystopian world is originally a familiar world to the readers. The predator/​narrator arrives with his girlfriend Germinal, disguised as Others, at a neighborhood called Shubrā, which is a real neighborhood in Cairo. He even describes the world of the Others as “the old world we left behind” (Towfik 2011, p. 49). In both novels, then, the world resembling our current reality is deemed dystopian. Soon after walking around Shubrā, the predator/​narrator declares “now I know why we isolated ourselves in the Utopia” (Towfik 2011, p. 51). If the utopian compound has its predator/​narrator, so do the dystopian slums of the Others have their narrators. Both worlds display their share of evil, presenting a double monstrosity (Hassan 2019). The second part of the novel Utopia is titled “The Prey” (Towfik 2011, p. 59). Its central character, Gaber, is the narrator. The one-​eyed young man is not as tough as the other thugs in the neighborhood street gangs, but he is a survivor relying on his wits and his ability to get drugs or provide what the stronger thugs need to spare him and the one person he holds dear in life, his one redeeming quality perhaps, his sister Safiya. A dreamer, he believes that one can live without anything, be it a home, food, or sex, but no one can live without dreams (Towfik 2011, p. 68). Gaber has something else that sets him apart from everyone else: he is an avid reader. He considers reading his cheap drugs that takes him away from everything (Towfik 2011, p. 73). This makes both the prey and the predator true foils, connected by their distinction from the herds they live among, by their intellectual ability in a world that looks at knowledge and culture with disdain, and reading has not made either of them a better person, for they both retain their flaws and crimes. What reading has done to them is increase their awareness, sharpen their consciousness, which, perhaps, in the fake rich Utopia and the abject poverty of the neighboring dystopia, awareness can bring more harm than good. In two worlds then, the locked-​in utopia and the locked-​out dystopia, reality is distressing enough, but the mindless, feverish consumerism of the former and the frantic brutal survival instinct of the latter seem to be escapist mechanisms that alleviate

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  55 the pain, whereas the eye-​opening experiences of reading prove to be much more dangerous to the two protagonists/​narrators, predator and prey, on both sides of the fence. After Part II, the novel alternates narrators, with the parts titled either Predator or Prey respectively. When the predator is in the parts narrated by Gaber, he becomes a character only and is referred to as Alaa, which is, probably as Gaber guesses, not the predator’s real name. The relationship between both rivals unravels when Alaa and Germinal are caught by a local gang. They are rescued by Gaber who claims that the couple can bring the expensive fictional drug from Utopia. He even accompanies them to the borders to make sure both that they leave safely and that they do not hunt anyone. He does not know that Alaa secretly rapes Safiya, and at the borders he even kills Gaber, thus completing the hunt that he never loses sight of throughout the novel. He severs Gaber’s hand and takes it as a souvenir. Women in the Parallel Worlds The relationship between Gaber and Safiya and that between Alaa and Germinal portrays the two women as objectified. Alaa could not care less about Germinal whom he considers as one of many women in his promiscuity. For Gaber, Safiya is his sister, and their relationship is based on Gaber’s protection of her, specifically from working as a prostitute which is apparently one of the easier and more common professions that women in the Other’s world can perform. The twisted bond between them is perhaps an allusion to the Islamic version of Cain and Abel, the Abrahamic first murder in human history. Both are often portrayed as two brothers, Cain is evil, Abel is kind. They correspond to the Biblical story of Cain and Abel. Even when Cain seeks to attack Abel, the latter refuses to fight back (Qur’an 5:28). Nevertheless, Cain does kill Abel after all in spite of Abel’s peaceful response (Qur’an 5: 30). The allusion is reinforced when Alaa, while escaping with Germinal and carrying Gaber’s hand, asks himself “there is no crow,” and wonders, “why did I remember that now?” This is a clear reference to the details of the story of Abel’s murder at the hands of his brother. In the same Quranic chapter, after killing Abel, Cain sees a crow burying another, and is inspired to imitate the crow and bury Abel, thus the first murder in human history is followed by the first burial in human history. In addition, according to some non-​Quranic traditions, Cain and Abel were both married to two women, and Cain desired Abel’s wife (Ibn Kathīr 2009, p. 31). What is more, since Cain and Abel were Adam and Eve’s sons, there were no other human beings around by then. As the story goes, each one of the two men was a twin to a sister. The decision was that each non-​twin brother and sister would get married initially,

56  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction thus, Abel would marry Cain’s twin and Cain would marry Abel’s twin. Cain’s lust over Abel’s wife is symbolized by Alaa’s rape of Gaber’s sister, Safiya. The portrayal of women as objects is evident in Utopia, whether Germinal and the other women that Alaa sleeps with, or even Safiya, whose significance increases due to how her brother protects her from sex work. In Residents of the Second World, Shādī is close to two women, but both are scientists, thus presented as intellectuals rather than sex objects. Nevertheless, they are presented in their capacity as love interests for Shādī. Before meeting Māhītāb, Shādī is approached by another woman in the underwater Deep City, but he avoids her advances. It is interesting that the woman who attempts to get close to Shādī is not Arab, described as a blonde, while the woman he eventually loves has an Arab and Muslim name, Māhītāb. She is initially introduced as Number 205, following the privacy that the Deep City leadership carefully shielded from their three inland visitors. After several encounters with Shādī, however, touring the Deep City and exchanging conversations, she asks him whether he is married, and introduced herself more personally, saying her name is Māryān and that she is Belgian (Shārīf 2016, p. 218). The narrator frequently refers to her physical beauty, until he recounts a fervent kiss that Māryān unexpectedly gives him, to which he responds briefly then gently pulls away from, causing Māryān to tearfully apologize for not controlling her emotions (Shārīf 2016, p. 220). When Shādī meets Māhītāb, however, his reaction is different. Initially knowing her only as Number 285, it is Shādī who asks her about her nationality when he hears her Arabic accent and finds out she is half Libyan half Turkish. Interestingly, she fondly describes her father as a rebellious Bedouin while her Turkish mother as neurotic, giving another example of how persistently Shārīf presents Arab women more favorably than non-​Arabs. Māhītāb is described also as more reserved than Māryān, perhaps supporting an image of a more conservative Arab woman. The women presented in both novels are also distinct in key aspects. The most significant representational difference is the intellectual versus the sexual that is evident in both. The two women, Germinal and Safiya, in Utopia are far from intellectual or cultural depth, and both are sexualized in the sense that their existence in the narrative largely revolves around sex, whether in the rich sex-​and-​drugs portrayal of Germinal or the virginal savage depiction of Safiya. In Residents of the Second World, the two women, Māryān and Māhītāb, are scientists, although they are also presented as physically attractive with an unmistakable male gaze as Shādī describes their good looks. Despite the broad differences among these characters, they share one important role: they reflect the progress of distress more vividly than their male counterparts. The deterioration of the

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  57 state of the dystopian worlds in both novels results in accelerated collapse that is marked by helplessness, a feature that characterizes their distress. Such distress is presented through the four women physically, and even graphically. In Utopia, Germinal is a deeply flawed character from the start, led by drug abuse and excessive sexual promiscuity. She reflects a relatively more covert aspect of dystopia, that of decadence, which inflicts the gated compound, the so-​called Utopia. Safiya, especially her suffering from respiratory disease and her final violent rape, reflects the irrevocable spiraling down of dystopian hell. Similarly, in Residents of the Second World, Māryān’s temporary weakness when she kisses Shādī reveals the loneliness that engulfs the inhabitants of the supposedly utopian Deep City, highlighting one crack in the picture-​perfect alternate world. Māhītāb then offers the violent dystopian collapse when she describes the atomic attacks by the land countries on her people. In other words, the two women who are initially involved with a main male character reflect an aspect of deterioration through a display of weakness, drugs in Germinal’s case and loneliness in Māryān’s, while the women who are central to the final development of the male protagonists reveal a blatant image of the violence of dystopian disasters: rape in Saifya’s case and the military attack in Māhītāb’s. Negated Utopias Examining the portrayal of dystopian worlds in Residents of the Second World and Utopia highlights how Shārīf and Towfik used parallelism to show us what a dystopia is not, rather than just what a dystopia is, by placing the world they depict in a space next to a utopian project. Such parallelism is more complex than it sounds. The world compared to the dystopian one is gradually impacted by its proximity to the dystopian alternative, and is eventually dragged into a destructive contagion. In a sense, the two worlds in each novel are like the Abrahamic siblings, one evil and one good, where the evil wins at the end and destroys the good. The dystopian world in each novel is a pariah that feeds on the other worlds, and on itself. In this sense, in Utopia it is clearly intended by Towfik to present the utopian compound as a dystopia. The compound name is ironically utopia, which is a cynical reversal of the true dystopian evil of its very fabric, and the older world of the Others as nothing but the initial stage of the dystopia. Both worlds are more similar than they seem, “their separateness, the two worlds are connected by one commonality: violence, a symbol of their dehumanization” (Pagès-​El Karoui 2013, p. 3). In Residents of the Second World, the land countries are also presented as dystopian, to the extent that they warranted the existence of a second world, the Deep City, built by scientists who escaped secretly in self-​exile. The second world in

58  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction that sense is like the utopian gated community of Utopia, a failed project, but the main distinction is that it is not evil like the rich compound, but is driven by ecological and medical health as well as social justice. Inflexibility Regardless of that, both alternate worlds are the artificial escape from the world as we know it, be it the Shubrā of Utopia or the land countries in Residents of the Second World. The inflexibility displayed by the inability of the original dysfunctional worlds and the new escapist parallel world is the byproduct, the consequence, of failing to face the deterioration of the original world. Leaving it on its downward spiral and building an alternate parallel society is unsustainable, as the collapse of the original will bring with it that of the new world, as in the case of The Residents of the Second World, not to mention that even the second world is likely to be as vicious as the original, as seen in Utopia. Ultimately, the inflexibility and inability to change brings everything tumbling down as both parallel worlds are devoured by the original dystopian world they tried to escape, as if the corruption of the human condition has reached a point where it would not allow anyone to move out. References Al-​Mahdi, Ahmed Salah. (2022). The survival guide to Egyptian dystopia and apocalypse: Post-​Arab Spring and sci-​fi comes of age. In Hossam Ibrahim Elzembely and Emad El-​Din Aysha (Eds.). Arab and Muslim Science Fiction: Critical Essays (pp. 47–​55). McFarland. Al-​shīmī, Hudā. (2015). Nihād Shārīf. Masrawy.com. https://​rb.gy/​oed​bjg Aysha, Emad El-​Din. (2020). Science fiction by, about and for Arabs: Case studies in de-​orientalizing the Western imagination. ReOrient 6(1), 4–​19. Greenberg, Nathaniel. (2019). Ahmed Khaled Towfik: Days of rage and horror in Arabic science fiction. Critique: Studies in Contemporary Fiction 60(2), 169–​ 178. DOI:10.1080/​00111619.2018.1494130. Hassan, Ghada Saad. (2019). Fearful manifestations: A comparative study of the monstrous double in Ahmed Khaled Towfik’s Utopia. In Pedro Querido and María Ibáñez-​Rodríguez (Eds.). Fear, Horror, and Terror: Giving Utterance to the Unutterable (pp. 28–​43). Brill. DOI: https://​doi.org/​10.1163/​978900​4397​ 996_​004. Ibn Kathīr. (2009). Tafthīr al-​qurʾān al-​‘aẓīm. [The Interpretation of the Holy Qur’an]. Dār ibn ḥazm. (Original published in c. 1360.) Kasem, Diana. (2021). Arabic SF film and TV in the twentieth century. MOSF Journal of Science Fiction, 4(2), 50–​64. Khayrutdinov, Dinar Rafisovich. (2014). Ahmad Khaled Tawfik’s novel Utopia as an important example of the new wave of science fiction in Arabic literature. World Applied Sciences Journal, 31(2), 190–​192.

Inflexibility in Parallel Dystopia  59 Pagès-​El Karoui, Delphine. (2013). Utopia or the anti-​Tahrir: The worst of all worlds in the fiction of A. K. Towfik. The Middle East: Spaces and Facilitators of Change. EchoGéo, 25, 1–​7. (Original published in French in 2013.) Qur’an. (2008). (M. A. S. Abdel Haleem, trans). Oxford University Press. Resheq, Reem and Ahmad Y. Majdoubeh. (2019). Critical dystopia: Local narrative in the threshold in Ahmed Khaled Towfik’s Utopia. International Journal of Arabic-​English Studies 19(1), 175–​194. https://​doi.org/​10.33806/​ijeas.19.1.10. Shārīf, Nihād. (2016). Sukkān al-​‘ālam al-​thānī. [Residents of the Second World]. Cairo: al-​Hayʾa al-​‘āmma al-​sūriyya li-​l-​kitāb. (Original work published in 1977.) Towfik, Ahmed Khalid. (2011). Utopia. (Chip Rossetti, trans.). Bloomsbury Qatar Foundation. (Original published in 2011.)

Section 2

Self-​Estrangement and the Dystopia of Time Just like spatial dystopias feed isolation, temporal dystopias enhance self-​ estrangement in the characters of the novels in this section. By temporal dystopias I mean the detrimental impact of time on communities. This is seen in how concern about an unstable future leads characters to descend into a vicious cycle of mistrust, as the novels of Othman and Islim, where a futuristic void of decay and mistrust is presented in what might be considered Arabic cyberpunk dystopias. The crushing effect of time is also visible in the conflict between past and present, a theme that is prominent in narratives of non-​Western heritage facing modern Western, and Westernized, hegemony in the works of Thābit and Kīlānī.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-6

3 Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia Aḥmad Wild Islim’s The Outsider and Mahmoud Othman’s Revolution 2053: The Beginning

Introduction It’s not easy to date with precision when science fiction started, let alone speculative fiction. It might be a relatively easier task to at least trace the term cyberpunk science fiction to a specific novel, or at least a specific writer. This is due to the use of the word cyber in connection to a literary trend. While the prefix cyber-​existed before the word cyberspace, such as in cybernetics, it was coined by Bruce Bethke as the title of a short science fiction story in 1983, with the prefix cyber, and was also used, also in science fiction, as part of the word cyberspace (Bethke 1983). The iconic word cyberspace has been introduced in literary culture and then moved to a much broader use when Canadian novelist William Gibson coined it in his novel The Neuromancer in 1984, which might be seen as the quintessential cyberpunk novel (Gibson 1984). It is possible, of course, to see the irony in a novel heralding a new phase of speculative fiction with a dystopia in the same year that Orwell’s seminal dystopian work 1984 seems to have been branded as the year that symbolized dystopian worlds. Arguments about whether films such as The Blade Runner (Scott 1982), which came out in 1982 and predates Neuromancer, might classify as cyberpunk or a precursor to it can only enrich discussions of the origins of cyberpunk and are outside the scope of this chapter. Cyberpunk pioneers such as William Gibson, Rudy Rucker, and Bruce Sterling set the tone for the subgenre in the 1990s and early 2000s. An anthology edited by Victoria Blake, titled simply Cyberpunk, in 2013, sums up some of the core interests of cyberpunk fiction on the cover, “stories of software, hardware, wetware, revolution, and evolution” (Blake 2013, cover). Speaking of evolution, it is possible to view cyberpunk as an evolution or an offshoot of speculative fiction in general and science fiction in particular. The inclusion of technology in human functionality, however, is seen in Shelly’s Frankenstein, and imaginary worlds built around strange inventions are at the core of steampunk and are not too far from seminal science fiction DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-7

62  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction works by Jules Verne, such as Captain Nemo’s submarine. What seems to distinguish cyberpunk as a development of these veins of speculative fiction is a reliance on contemporary technology, with the specificity of internet and the world of computers as invasive forces with the potential to shape human lives. It is possible to see cyberpunk as the literature of technological connectivity. Arabic Cyberpunk As Arabic speculative fiction develops, is it possible to see it incorporating a cyberpunk phase in its own right? With the undeniable role of social media, especially Facebook and Twitter, in the popular uprisings referred to as the Arab Spring after the first decade of this century, cyberspace can be seen as more realistically than most other aspects of speculative fiction to have been instrumental in real-​life Arab dystopias, given the repercussions of the protests in the region. Considering some cyberpunk motifs such as the sharp contrast between technological progress and decaying communities, ruthless state and corporate control and injustice, lone protagonists who unexpectedly brush against the state, invasive technology that limits freedom, feeding the already rising paranoia, and a general noir feel of mystery merged with potential protests against those in power, then Arabic cyberpunk may seem like a plausible development of contemporary Arabic speculative fiction. This chapter examines elements of cyberpunk literature in two novels, both have not been translated, yet. Al-​Barrānī or The Outsider is by Mauritanian novelist, Aḥmad Wild Islim. Published in 2021, it is among the most recent novels discussed in this book. Thawrat 2053: al-​bidāya or Revolution 2053: The Beginning was written by Egyptian novelist Mahamoud Othman in 2007. Othman says that at the end of the first edition of his novel, he included an email address, stating that it is the main character’s email, ibelieveinu@gmail. He says he included it to test whether his ideas would reach readers. He received hundreds of emails (Othman, Summer 2011). This encouraged him to write another novel, Thawrat 2053: al-​bidāya marra ukhrā, or Revolution 2053: The Beginning Again which was published in 2017. This chapter studies the first novel only, as the sequel, published eight years later, is a response to the Arab Spring protests in a more immediate sense, while the first novel incorporates more cyberpunk elements in its depiction of a dystopian world. Both novels share some key aspects of cyberpunk, to varying degrees. Both highlight the spread of wide-​ranging surveillance using cellphone and internet connections. They portray advanced technology that fails to address the deteriorating conditions of the majority of people. Both depict the rise of revolutionary movements, fueled by radical websites or electronic

Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia  63 messages threatening state hegemony. Both have for protagonists seemingly harmless, introverted engineers who decide to secretly adopt activist or nihilist tendencies. Both take place in the near future, showcasing the insidious reliance on technology in daily life ranging from autopilot vehicles, advanced surveillance, to robots and humanoids. What distinguishes those two novels from other novels examined in this book and places them closer to cyberpunk is the familiarity with technology that the characters in the two narratives display, as opposed to the surprised reaction we see among characters in other novels that belong to other subgenres of speculative fiction when those characters deal with new inventions or discoveries. Of the two novels discussed in this chapter, it is possible to say that The Outsider is closer to a more conservative definition of cyberpunk. This is evident in including humanoids and robots as functional characters. It also introduces a new fictional technological dependency among the average citizen that enables large corporate governments to control them. In Revolution 2053, the most outstanding cyberpunk feature is the contrast between technological progress and the impoverished masses, as well as pervasive remote surveillance. The tone usually associated with cyberpunk, of noirish sensibility, a seemingly roaming plot, the cool lone protagonist, are visible in both narratives. The central character in 2053 Revolution is Maḥmūd Nassār. An engineer and software developer, he designs software, installs security systems, and surrounds himself by hi-​ tec gadgets. An affluent professional, he designed his smart villa, complete with robotic assistance. We learn that he is one of the pioneers of smart villa designers in Egypt. His design includes the ability to voice control heat, light, solar panels, kitchen equipment, and entertainment (Othman 2007, p. 20). What is more, Nassār’s design is made in Egypt, and provides a competitive local alternative to imported smart home designs, focusing on adaptability to local tastes and other features such as using Arabic for voice commands (Othman 2007, p. 21). Nassār lives in a villa close to his rich parents. His father, a ruthless business tycoon who underpays his employees, is critical of Nassār’s business practices, including a deal Nassār has with an Israeli company. Nassār, however, does not adopt any political stance for most of the novel. On the contrary, he strikes us as a typical bourgeoise. One day on his way home, crossing the famous Pyramids Avenue, he meets a man lying on the ground. He stops his car, helps the man, and takes the man home. The man stays at Nassār’s home for a few days to regain his strength. During that time, Nassār does not refrain from flaunting the luxury of his smart home, trying to impress his guest. As the narrative progresses, Nassār, the apolitical overachiever, gradually develops from the rich intelligent professional to a supporter of activists. His growth marks the darkening or the narrative, bringing it closer to the noirish aspect

64  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction of cyberpunk. Nevertheless, it is the man he meets, Gharīb Sālih, who seems closer to a cyberpunk character. He develops an unusual affinity to photography that starts at a young age, while printing photos he took. He could see clearly prophetic photos of his family dying in an accident, which happens soon afterwards (Othman 2007, p. 183). When he grows up and becomes a professional photographer, Sālih invents a device that uses the human eye to take photos of the individual’s impressions, effectively turning customers briefly into cyborgs, merging machine with human (Othman 2007, p. 176). Sālih’s lonely, solemn, and heightened connectivity to technology are elements of noir in cyberpunk. The Outsider is invested in including a noir aspect in the cyberpunk context, as well. It starts fairly consistently with cyberpunk features. The protagonist, Makhtūr, is a Mauritanian engineer and inventor who designed algorithms for an innovative economic system called Buy Your Time (it is called so in English in the Arabic original). In the new system people are paid in cybercurrency equivalent to the time they put in work. Time, in other words, becomes a currency. Makhtūr is depicted as calm, aloof, detached, and cynical. Like Nassār, he was born into money. Also, like Nassār, Makhtūr and his father, a successful businessman, do not see eye to eye. As a final act of rebellion against his father, Makhtūr decides to squander his inheritance after the father’s death by traveling around the globe. He has a past he does not share, however. Traveling in Moscow, he is attacked, robbed, and left for dead. The blow to his head makes him lose his memory. He is nursed at a missionary hospital where he regains his memory. With the memory, he gains superior mathematical abilities that enable him to become a programming genius. Years later, in addition to his accomplished career as the innovator of the algorithmic economic pattern responsible for Buy Your Time, he buys a farm in Mauritania, as his reclusive hideout. There he invents a humanoid called Mā Yukharras, to run his farm in his absence, which is, in some ways, similar to the concept of Nassār’s self-​designed smart villa. A meticulously designed cyberattack stops all clocks and renders the Buy Your Time system useless. We later find out it is Makhtūr, in an anarchist move, who broke the system he knows best, realizing it is being used to manipulate people, thus sharing the pattern of departing from a supporter of the system to a protester like Nassār does. The attack on the system in The Outsider starts early in the novel, plunging it into a mystery narrative, which is one of the features of cyberpunk. The unraveling of the protagonists of the two novels, as they melt into unexpected resistance figures, takes place against a backdrop of the trademark cyberpunk combination of hi-​tec and decay. In Revolution 2053, the novel opens with a drive on the Pyramids Avenue, leading to an exclusive residential compound where Nassār and his parents have their smart villas.

Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia  65 He later meets a client, Kamāl Khūrshīd, a former aristocrat with ties to Egyptian nobility during the monarchy before King Farouk was overthrown by Abdel Nasser in the 1952 revolution. Khūrshīd has a PhD from Yale and his parents left Egypt for France when the monarchy collapsed. Khūrshīd asks Nassār to install a security system in Khūrshīd’s villa. The luxury in the residences of Nassār and Khūrshīd are shockingly contrasted to scenes of poverty from a slum where Nassār attends a wedding with his guest later in the novel. Perhaps it is this contrast that is the closest element to cyberpunk fiction in Revolution 2053. In The Outsider, Makhtūr’s life is divided between the hypermodern glass and steel building of his job and the natural, scenic farm he has in Mauritania. The novel has a unique element here which is the island and the city where the megacorporate power that runs Buy Your Time is situated. We learn that the island appeared decades ago during an earthquake between European and North Western African shores (Islim 2021, p. 35). A boat carrying a group of refugees embarking on one of the infamous Mediterranean crossings is shipwrecked on the island. This incident starts a combined global effort to get rid of refugees by placing them on that island. Soon, however, the refugees prove to be quite adept and construct a utopian society based on equality and justice, especially in a new city they call Futucity—​again the name of the city is in English in the original (Islim 2021, p. 38). Makhtūr joins the island after his return from Russia and his brilliant system initiates the Buy Your Time concept, which is soon adopted by major world powers, turning Futucity into a new target for capitalist powers. The novel starts at a world-​class news agency called 360 News Network, a stereotypical megacorporation. The sophistication of Futucity and the 360 News Network company are contrasted with the Mauritanian farm that Makhtūr builds as his refuge from modernity. Another major contrast is evident when laborers in the supposedly utopian Futucity gather by the thousands to protest against the city after the Buy Your Time system is hacked and messages inciting rebellion are forcibly posted on all screens. Surveillance One of the significant motifs of cyberpunk novels is surveillance. This motif resonates with Arabic novels that set out to critique despotic regimes in the region. In Revolution 2053, surveillance runs through the entire novel. Nassār’s main client, the former aristocrat Khūrshīd, hires Nassār to install an exclusive security system for Khūrshīd’s house. Issues arise, however, as the Khūrshīds’ dogs set off the alarm every time they walk out of the door. Nassār implant microchips in the dogs that disable the alarms whenever they pass by and reassures Khūrshīd and his wife, Cynthia, that the implants are

66  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction harmless as he himself has them on his arms. Surveillance takes a darker sense, with the man whom Nassār saves and who becomes his friend. His name is Gharīb Sālih, which in Arabic means “good stranger.” Sālih seems to be the true noirish character in the novel, especially with his mysterious background as he hardly explains his story to Nassār, apart from telling him that he is a professional photographer. We find out later that Sālih is a revolutionary activist and that his website is watched by the state. Nassār is implicated because of his relationship with Sālih. After Nassār finds out he is targeted by the secret police, he returns to his parents to find them kidnapped by state security. Nassār runs away and is followed closely by the police, until he realizes that a tracking device implanted under his skin is leading the police to him. He cuts the implant out of his arm. The prevalence of surveillance, from smart villas to Sālih’s website to Nassār’s body, intensifies an eerie paranoia that is present in many cyberpunk narratives. In The Outsider, surveillance has a scandalous impact on the entire world. After the Buy Your Time system is hacked, the worldwide internet is also intercepted, and the accounts of millions of users are compromised, with intimate secrets intentionally exposed and made available to the world. The results range from respectable public figures chastised by their spouses after their marital infidelity is uncovered, to incriminating secret deals and bribes ending careers. The end of privacy effectively turns the world upside down as much as the damaged economic system of Buy Your Time unleashes protests among laborers. A key difference between the two novels here is that while the surveillance in Revolution 2053 is clearly by the state, the surveillance and the global privacy breach in The Outsider is committed by the Outsider, a robotic invented by Makhtūr’s humanoid Mā Yukharras. It named the robot al-​Barrānī, Arabic for outsider, in reference to a note in Mauritanian folk music, which Mā Yukharras learned from Makhtūr (Islim 2021, p. 107). While Mā Yukharras is made in the image of Makhtūr and is loyal to him and humanity, al-​Barrānī is devoid of empathy but superior in intelligence to Makhtūr and Mā Yukharras. It makes use of Makhtūr’s act of rebellion when he stopped the Buy Your Time system and managed to hack entire servers and accounts connected to it. Both novels highlight the failure of progress, but one novel goes through the corruption of the state, while the other goes through the corruption of the corporate world. The Lone Cyberpunk Protagonist The events leading the protagonists in both novels directly impact their immediate community, with other characters actively interacting with the meltdown of state and corporate hegemony. The characters surrounding the two protagonists are pivotal in accentuating the development of the

Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia  67 personalities of the lone cyberpunk protagonists, unpacking their complex psychological makeup and enhancing their social contribution to the crumbling world around them. In Revolution 2053, Nassār’s acquaintances are initially presented as mainly his circle of elitist clientele. These are primarily represented by the former aristocrat Khūrshīd and his Lebanese wife, as well as Nassār’s rich parents. Gharīb Sālih, the mysterious man, unfolds gradually from a professional photographer to the admin of revolutionary website. He accompanies Nassār during a visit to the Khūrshīd villa and to Nassār’s home. His interaction with both families highlights the intersectionality of his role as a political activist with those who constitute the backbone of the corrupt system. Sālih’s photography holds the mirror to the society he is trying to revolutionize. During his visit to the Khūrshīds, he takes photos of the villa. When he shows them to the Khūrshīds, the wife tells him they remind her of photos she has seen on a website called Enlightenment. This is the website inciting revolt that leads to the arrest of Sālih and Nassār later. In another incident, Sālih has a probing discussion with Nassār’s father, revealing the father’s unfair treatment of his employees. While leaving their house, Sālih sends a photo to Nassār’s father. It is a photo he took of Nassār’s mother without her paying attention during dinner. She looks sad. He gives it to her husband, telling him to check why his wife is sad. Sālih’s magnetism is apparent from the start, his leftist ideas, his perception, his talent for photography and web design, make him a heroic figure in an age of antiheroes. His activism makes him a foil to Nassār’s complacency and acceptance of corruption in the initial parts of the novel. His impact is seen on Nassār when Sālih asks to go to a wedding of one of the laborers working for Nassār’s father. The impoverished neighborhood where the wedding is held becomes an eye opener for the privileged Nassār. Sālih’s influence goes beyond Nassār as well, and he tries to volunteer to help the bride and groom to drive them in his fancy car, which further reveals the economic gap between them when they didn’t know the car door closes automatically and kept asking about the function of many buttons inside it (Othman 2007, p. 341). Toward the end of novel, when Nassār is arrested and interrogated, the secret police reveal to him that his sister, Farah, is in love with Sālih and has become an activist as well. In The Outsider the characters visibly paint an image of societal decadence. Characters in the novel are divided into three settings. The first group is in Futucity. These include Kafrnūtī, an Egyptian, and another Mauritanian, who are senior staff members at the 360 New Network. In addition, state officials, such as the minster of the interior and the prime minister, are the ones mismanaging the crisis, leading to exacerbated public anger. They represent hypocrisy and materialism throughout the novel. The second group is in the Russian missionary hospital. Alexi, the priest,

68  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction and Olga, the nurse, take care of Makhtūr after he was assaulted and lost his memory. It is Alexi who encourages Makhtūr to use his newfound programming abilities to work in the corporate world. The last group is in the Mauritanian ranch that Makhtūr builds for himself. The characters there are the humanoid Mā Yakharras, who is increasingly turning into a human, and the demonic robot al-​Barrānī, invented by Mā Yukharras, and single-​handedly blowing open global cyberprivacy. Women throughout the novel seem rather objectified. Olga in the missionary hospital is attracted to her patient Makhtūr and punishes herself for her sexual thoughts when she bathes him and shaves him during his coma. The marketing director, Mislin, at 360 News Network has a tattoo on her neck and walks seductively (Islim 2021, p. 12). Even the special forces security member, who turns out to be another Russian woman who met Makhtūr in Russia and has been infatuated by him ever since, is described as physically attractive. All three women have in common their interest in Makhtūr. While the sexual appeal of the cool, secretive protagonist is rather typical of noir novels and is, therefore, possible to expect in cyberpunk if it leans on the noir aspect more and make Makhtūr attractive to female characters, it is still noticeable that the women in the novel are depicted with a considerable male gaze lens. Political Undertones The two novels have unmistakable political innuendos, with implications touching on despotism, imperialism, protest, injustice, and human rights violations. In Revolution 2053, Nassār, his parents, and the Khūrshīds are the different types of wealthy elite in Egypt and many other Arab countries, with former aristocrat Khūrshīd representing old money, Nassār’s father representing the business class that profited from capitalist free market policies and petrodollars of the 1970s, and Nassār himself representing the newer elite benefiting from deals with Western capitalist countries including what could have once been considered controversial such as his deal with an Israeli company. Their presence in luxurious residential compounds is symbolic of the Arab world’s growing socioeconomic divide leading up to the outburst of protests in the Arab Spring. With their three sources of wealth, they complete the structure of economic oppression. The introduction of Nassār’s new friend, Gharīb Sālih, is a reference to the underground movements, especially of leftist activists. Interestingly, the novel seems to foreshadow the 2011 protests in Egypt and the neighboring Arab countries, especially in their reliance on the internet, for just like Sālih’s website Enlightenment was used to propagate resistance, protesters used social media, mainly Facebook and Twitter to spread their calls for protests. The involvement of Nassār’s sister with Sālih also reflects an aspect of the Arab

Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia  69 Spring that involved young middle class and even affluent and educated professionals rather than the expected grass roots protests of laborers and working class. Driving to the wedding of one of the laborers working for Nassār’s father, a large sign congratulates the current president, who has recently succeeded his father the former president, and has just survived an assassination attempt. This could be a thinly disguised reference to the controversies in Arab countries at the time of sons of presidents succeeding their fathers. The political references in the novel are focused on contemporary or recent situations in Arab countries and social stratifications of the twentieth century to the early 2000s. Indeed, the very title itself is a tongue-​in-​cheek reference to the 1952 revolution in Egypt that ended the monarchy by ousting Farouk and turned Egypt into a republic, initiating Nasserism and profoundly impacting the entire region. In a further discussion of the contemporary post-​colonial dilemma, Sālih argues that in the past the enemy was recognizable as a colonialist country. Now colonialism is replaced by multinational companies that control the job market worldwide, control governments in poorer countries, and distort their educational systems (Othman 2007, p. 283). In The Outsider, political associations are less subtle but also less detailed and less complex than Revolution 2053. The main Arab characters are Mauritanians and an Egyptian. Apart from the protagonist, Makhtūr, the remaining Arab characters are depicted satirically, as hypocrites, womanizers, or corrupt. Although they are immigrants to the new island and Futucity, their reactions betray how tainted their personalities are by their countries of origin, especially fear of authority and readiness to lie to the public. At one occasion, when the protests start, some of them commented, saying “this is not an Arab country,” meaning that Futucity is not a police state where people can be oppressed if they protest. While the critique of Arab sociopolitical stereotypes tends to be satirical in the novel, lashing at world powers is not. The island represents many of the questionable moral choices made by rich Western countries and the international community. This starts with Western countries encouraging migrants to go to the then new island to avoid hosting them in their countries. However, when the new island succeeds, those same world powers rush to interfere and claim shares of the new Buy Your Time system, turning Futucity into a global economic powerhouse. There are obvious references here to oil-​ producing countries that have earned the unsolicited attention of world powers after the increasing significance of oil. Futucity is not too far from ultramodern cities built in some gulf countries to serve the interests of Western economies. In addition, 360 News Network serves as an example of post-​truth media, as it claims honest reporting but is not above imposing a blackout on any information regarding the hacking of clocks and the privacy breach when these disasters threaten the interests of the network.

70  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction It is possible to see 360 News Network as representative of any major network, potentially in Arab countries but also worldwide. The intertwining of political corruption in Futucity and professional opportunism in 360 News Network is linked to economic hegemony by Western world powers. The victims are the people of Futucity, then people of the entire world, as the collapse of the system and the compromised internet privacy wreak havoc everywhere. The political and economic references in this novel go beyond Arab countries and bring in the neo-​imperialist practices of multinational corporations, with potential representation of the post-​gulf war world and its impact on the region. Violence Both novels take a darker side as violence is introduced, but takes a different shape in each novel. In Revolution 2053, the violence is focused mostly on the torture that Nassār is subjected to in prison. Before his arrest, another type of violence occurs: an explosion at the building of the ministry of agriculture. Right before the explosion, Sālih pleaded with his friend Nassār not to go. When the explosion happens, Nassār suspects Sālih might have something to do with it. When Nassār return to his parents’ villa, he finds masked individuals who attack him. In prison, he is tortured to give up any information on resistance. He has no information. They show him pictures of her with Sālih and at this point he realizes she is part of the rebellion. To increase pressure on him, they show him a video a huge man walking toward his sister, implying that he is about to sexually assault her. The scene described is reminiscent of Karnak, an iconic 1975 Egyptian film about torture, based on a novel with the same title by Naguib Mahfouz. Arrested by mistake, a young man and woman are tortured and the woman is assaulted by a big man in front of her helpless lover. The character of the rapist, called Farag, has become a known symbol of torture. The scene in the novel could be a reference to this foreboding image derived from Egyptian film culture. In The Outsider, violence is depicted on both a personal level, in the attack on Makhtūr that cost him his memory, and on a larger scale, as people started protesting when their accounts of the time currency start getting depleted after clocks are stopped. Early on, descriptions of police and security personnel rounding up protesters, violent clashes of the masses against riot police, with cats and establishments set on fire, all reproduce familiar scenes from chaotic events of the Arab Spring. The violence escalates to global levels as protests are accompanied by the repercussions of the internet privacy breach when al-​Barrānī leaked everyone’s accounts. When Makhtūr takes a small aircraft to another hideout in the island, and then later to his farm in Mauritania, we see frequent description of fires

Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia  71 consuming entire cities, including Nouakchott. While the violence in The Outsider takes a more public and global perspective, we can see references to potentially different types of violence on a smaller scale, when we learn that some of the staff members of 360 News Network fled their countries after they were persecuted for uncovering corruption. Narrative Strategy Narration in each novel is a good fit for the progress of the plot and the characterization of the protagonist. The narrative strategy enhances the mood that each novel is establishing, and echoes the role of the central character in the world they are shaping and being shaped with throughout the narrative. Both novels move across time narratively, from the protagonists’ past to the present time. The time movement facilitates the reasoning for how the characters have developed and how their communities have changed, and also predict what they might become. Revolution 2053 is the more experimental of the two novels as far as narrative strategy is concerned. The first-​person narrator is Nassār. The novel is written in the form of a diary. It begins on May 2053, and moves backward to the events of the novel in 2026. He ends the narrative by concluding in 2053. Nassār opens the novel apologizing to readers that he is not a good writer and explains that he is writing his diaries only to leave a testimony for future generations. He ends the novel in 2053 addressing the readers, “with these lines I end my diary leaving the matter in your hands to decide what you want to do” (Othman 2007, p. 419). As a matter of fact, Nassār as narrator does tell readers what he hopes they will do with his diaries early on, in his opening section. He asks readers who find his diary worth spreading to distribute it using secret methods among those they know, without specifying its source of the identity of its writer Othman 2007, p. 10). He also makes it clear, in a remark that fits the cyberpunk tradition of pitting the world of technology against practices of a pre-​digital age, that electronic dissemination of documents is no longer safe as it can be monitored and that printing is still safer (Othman 2007, p. 10). Nassār as narrator, then, establishes his narrative as introspective, as the focus is on how he changes, but also a witness narrative, as he recounts what happens to Gharīb Sālih. Nassār weaves the tragedy that takes him, his family, and Sālih by storm into a reflection of the time he lives in, not just the place. By choosing a diary as the method of narration, and a futuristic title, Othman emphasizes the temporal significance of the intersectionality between the personal lives of his characters, and the people they represent, and the structure of power imposed on them. In a complex narrative of a divided place, psychological damage, and sociopolitical deterioration, time reigns as the one element capable of offering a sliver of hope.

72  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction In The Outsider, the third person narrator roams freely with focal points revealing the thoughts and motivations of some characters, while simply narrating the actions of others. The narrator is fluid, moving from broad perspective, recounting events in the streets or in the newsroom in 360 News Network, then to the innermost thoughts of Olga feeling ashamed of her sexual attraction to her patient in coma. The camera lens in the male gaze scenes that focus on a female body can swiftly move to describe the fear and confusion a younger Makhtūr experienced when he was recovering from memory loss. This narration works well with the fast-​paced plot development of the novel. It also allows the writer to portray Makhtūr as the mysterious noir character by withholding details and personal thoughts, especially from the portrayal of the contemporary Makhtūr, enhancing his image as a dark, secretive, and sarcastic character. Cyberpunk Dystopias The two novels paint their dystopian worlds differently, but have the similarity of their dystopias unravel as we read them, from the initial deceptively utopian fortitude of order and luxury to a deeper look that reveals horrific chaos and injustice. We witness the characters as they realize the dystopian reality and see it curling at the edges, which is a variation of dystopian novels that are already depicted as dysfunctional, with characters attempting to survive it or change it. In Revolution 2053, the utopian world of the rich compound is oblivious of the poorer neighborhoods where the wedding of one of the laborers takes place. The dystopian depiction is laid out early on with the characters’ obsession with security. Details of the decaying city intensify in contrast to the luxury of the few rich characters. Inside his fancy soundproof and insulated smart car, Nassār comments how he feels pity for the masses in the noisy crowded streets who have to inhale the polluted black clouds of Cairo (Othman 2007, p. 116). He wonders “what might force them to tolerate their reality in spite of their daily suffering” (Othman 2007, p. 117). Enjoying the freedom of having an autopilot in his car, Nassār looks closely at the crammed buses and is noticed by some of the passengers, who look at him with disdain and anger (Othman 2007, p. 117). He would imagine them talking to him with their eyes, telling him, “What are you looking at, you scoundrel? You will never feel our suffering in your fancy air-​conditioned car. What do you do to earn all this? You must be one of the thieves robbing us from the beginning of time, or maybe you are the son of a thief and you haven’t even made the effort to steal” (Othman 2007, p. 118). The dystopian world that Othman constructs is built on the layers of socioeconomic gaps and injustices, which are manifested by the luxurious use of technology by the

Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia  73 privileged classes, but at the same time are resisted also by the politicized use of technology by the downtrodden classes. The dystopian world in The Outsider is built in the pseudo-​utopian world of Futucity. The vulnerability of the Buy Your Time system is exposed rapidly as the entire economic structure is ripped at the seams once clocks are stopped. The domino effect of the riots at Futucity results in another cyberattack on a much deeper level when the privacy of internet users worldwide is compromised, again throwing the utopian existence of the global word order tumbling down. What accentuates the dystopian crises is the identity of those that are orchestrated them: the innovator of Buy Your Time is the one who stops it and a robotic genius in his farm is the one who breaches privacy worldwide. Both the programmer and the robot are supposed to epitomize the pinnacle of futuristic success, but it is those very symbols of accomplishment that uncover the hidden dystopia that state-​of-​the-​art system have been hiding. The implosion of the world order is an indication of its rotten core, which is a feature of dystopian systems, carrying the seed of their destruction within them. Perhaps the most distinct feature of both novels is the highlighting of local culture within the intricacies of cyberpunk dystopias. Cyberpunk itself is considered cultural in focus, and it is interesting that both novels inserted Arabic cultural items in their construction of cyberpunk narratives. In Revolution 2053, the iconic Egyptian pyramids are at the heart of the cultural identity of the country. Gharīb Sālih integrates his hi-​tech photography with the pyramids and during a presentation of his photos of the pyramids area, he uses holograms and unprecedented depth of not only the pyramids, but the people around it (Othman 2007, p. 158). Sālih uses his uncanny ability to connect his mind to his visual devices and cameras to achieve rare insight into the truth of the places and people he is trying to photograph. This visuality of truth is performed by Sālih’s cyborg/​psychic abilities. The centrality of the pyramid as the cultural bedrock of the country expressed through the advanced technology of Sālih enhances the contrast, and perhaps the continuity, of Egyptian culture from ancient times to the age of cyberspace. In The Outsider, Mauritanian culture is pivotal to the cyberpunk aspect of the narrative. Islim, the writer, chooses Mauritanian music as the key connector between the traditional North African country and the futuristic technologies he envisions in the novel. When Makhtūr was recovering from his memory loss, the last words he remembers are “lā ilāha illā Allāh” (there is no God but the One God), but it is not from a Muslim prayer. Rather it is from a song by the famous Mauritanian singer, Dimi bint Abba. It was the last thing Makhtūr was listening to in his earphones when he was hit on the head by those who mugged him (Islim 2021, p. 28). The most interesting merge of culture and technology is the Buy

74  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Your Time system itself. Makhtūr designed the program by inventing a new programming language based entirely on Mauritanian music, which makes it inaccessible to anyone but him. Makhtūr, wary of the dangers of digitality although he himself is a programmer, carries an old-​fashioned cellphone for which he designed the operating system himself, also relying on Mauritanian music (Islim 2021, p. 101). Mistrust Distress is glaring in both as mistrust takes full control of all characters are entangled in secrets, exposed by surveillance, and chased by the authorities of the dystopian worlds of the novels. One manifestation of distress in novels is close to what can be found in cyberpunk novels: the motif of chase and captivity. Feeding off the motif of paranoia that is a common element of dystopian fiction, chasing and prosecution add powerful anxiety to the pattern of mistrust. Captivity intensifies a stifling sense of fear and helplessness as well. In Revolution 2053, Nassār is imprisoned for suspicion of joining a terrorist group, based on his friendship with Gharīb Sālih. The torture he receives includes psychological torture. He communicates with prisoners but never sees them. They exchange prayers across walls of their cells. The interrogation with Nassār takes place through speaking only, as he is not allowed to see his interrogators. This paints a Kafkaesque scene, where Nassār is alone and utterly helpless against a committee of ruthless individuals bent on breaking him. Sālih’s fate is not better. We learn from Nassār as narrator that he heard that Sālih was taken to a mental institute and died there some time after that (Othman 2007, p. 418). Nassār’s family escape into self-​exile while he is in prison. After he is finally released, he manages to bring them and he is taken off the list of those forbidden from traveling. Nevertheless, he never travels. He takes over the website of his friend Gharīb Sālih and ends the novel by sharing with us the website’s email and encourages us to email him, indicating his full adoption now of the cause that Sālih died to uphold (Othman 2007, p. 419). In The Outsider, the chase takes place on an even wider scale. Makhtūr, two leaders of Futucity and 360 News Network, and a Russian secret agent, escape on a network-​owned chopper. They hide in a cottage that Makhtūr camouflaged, but their cover is blown eventually. The scene where those powerful figures are reduced from positions of control to cowering on the floor as they hear choppers searching for them communicates their distress as they collapse together with their accomplishments. The novel has a sarcastic plot twist, however. The rogue robot, Al-​Barrānī, is destroyed. What is more, he is destroyed in the most unexpected and banal method. The owner of a neighboring farm next to Makhtūr’s comes looking for him. When he is startled by Al-​Barrānī, the robot attempts to electrocute him, but

Mistrust in Cyberpunk Dystopia  75 the farmer hits the small robot before he falls. That’s it. The undefeatable brain of the AI is housed in a weak, small body that is destroyed instantly by Makhtūr’s neighbor. The height of human achievement dies with a single kick, after unraveling the weaknesses and corruption of the future dystopia of the global order. References Badrakhan, Ali (Director). (1975). Al-​Karnak. [Film]. al-​Līthi. Bethke, Bruce. (November, 1983). Cyberpunk (George H. Scithers, Ed.). Amazing Science Fiction Stories, 57(4), 94–​105. Blake, Victoria (Ed.). (2013). Cyberpunk: Stories of Hardware, Software, Wetware, Evolution, and Revolution. Underland Press. Gibson, William. (1984). Neuromancer. ACE. Islim, aḥmad wild. (2021). al-​Barrānī. [The Outsider]. Beirut: dār al-​ʿadab. Othman, Mahmoud. (2007). Thawrat 2053: al-​bidāya. [2053 Revolution: The Beginning]. New York: Bidoun. Othman, Mahmoud. (Summer 2011). The revolution will not be fictionalized. Bidoun. 25. http://​new.bid​oun.org/​artic​les/​the-​rev​olut​ion-​will-​not-​be-​fictio​nali​zed. Scott, Ridley (Director). (1982). Blade Runner. [Film]. The Ladd Company, Shaw Brothers, & Warner Bros.

4 Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia al-​Hādī Thābit’s What If Hannibal Returns and Līna Kīlānī’s The Seeds of the Devil

Introduction An interesting aspect of Arabic speculative fiction is cultural awareness, or more accurately, self-​consciousness, if it is possible to use such a term with culture. This might be due to the critical and even popular perspective that has for decades claimed that Arabic literature does not have science fiction, and went as far as to add that this is due to technological backwardness, lack of industrial progress, and similar arguments propagating negative stereotypes of the culture. Other justifications, for a problem that might not even exist or should not have to be a problem in the first place, are that science fiction is a Western product and is not suitable for the more conservative and more religious cultural fabric of Arabic literature. While it is not easy to document proper academic studies that made such justifications, these opinions certainly have circulated among critics and in interviews with writers, film makers, and other figures in the art, literature, and the cultural scene in general. With orientalist depiction of Arabic culture deeply entrenched in many literary and artistic works in Europe and the United States and with the very real and tragic history of colonialism in Arab countries, one motif in Arabic speculative fiction seems to have taken it upon itself to respond by culturalizing, or Arabizing science fiction, especially in speculative fiction novels that also deal with imperialism or neo-​ imperialism and its impact on Arab countries. It is noticeable in this type of speculative fiction that a strong response to Western hegemony is weaved through a packaging of favorable aspects of the Arabic culture, and possibly religious and specifically Islamic values as well. Such writing is in contrast, for instance, to speculative fiction novels that are strongly critical of the politics and socioeconomic problems of Arab countries, as evident in Islim’s The Outsider and Mahmoud Othmans’s Revolution 2053, which do not shy from critiquing Western hegemony but at the same time are determinedly invested in critiquing shortcomings they perceive in Arab societies. DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-8

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  77 In this chapter, I examine two novels that engage with the concept of cultural conflict, directly responding within a structure of post-​colonial representation of Arab culture against a backdrop of contemporary American and European military and economic hegemony and its impact on the region. The first novel is Tunisian author al-​Hādī Thābit’s Law ‘ad Haniba’l, which in English is If Hannibal Returns. Published in 2004, it has also not been translated to English, yet. A professor of French, Thābit is a significant Tunisian novelist and while he writes novels on different themes, in French and Arabic, that are not related to speculative fiction, he is known for his contribution to this genre, including, in addition to If Hannibal Returns, a trilogy about human encounter with extra-​terrestrials. The first novel of this trilogy, Ghār al-​jin (1999), was awarded the Nihād Shārīf Award for Science Fiction in Cairo. Thābit explains that he writes speculative fiction envisioning “a project for a future society whereby humans have managed to get rid of the impediments of their humanity” (al-​Rīyāhī 2012). The second novel is Syrian novelist Līna Kīlānī’s Budhūr al-​shayṭān, which in English is The Seeds of the Devil. Published in 2007, the novel has not been translated to date. Kīlānī is an established Syrian writer of children and young adult fiction. She has written a few science fiction novels not intended for young adult or children and The Seeds of the Devil is one of them. Her science fiction novels focus on scientific facts that she relies on to extrapolate potential ramifications of science that impact human life. Her work has placed her among a steadily increasing number of Arab female authors of science fiction. Cultural Dystopia One premise for the type of cultural dystopia as it is used in this chapter underlines a defensive approach to Arabic culture as a target of neo-​ imperialist hegemony. Both novels, therefore, engage in a positive representational narrative that pits non-​ Western cultures against Western interference and control. Each novel revolves around a specific incident that unpacks this cultural standoff. The Return of Hannibal is centered on Hannibal, the Phoenician leader, who is cloned in contemporary, or possibly near future, Tunisia. He tries to save Tunisia from cultural deterioration caused by neo-​imperialism that distorts its identity. Hannibal, a national hero in Tunisian books, does not do well when he is cloned two thousand years after his death. In The Seeds of the Devil, the narrative is about an American, Frank, who travels to Afghanistan as part of his uncle’s company to work on an agricultural project with the United States government. He finds out that the American company is planting genetically engineered seeds that can cause damages to DNA. He tries to stop the project. Eventually, he decides to stay in Afghanistan and marry an

78  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Afghani woman, who has been helping him throughout the novel. The two novels might not seem to have comparable trajectories, but the strong anti-​colonialist core they have shapes them along similar features as two examples of speculative fiction novels addressing cultural dystopia and motivated by a reaction to cultural neo-​imperialism. Both, for instance, are written by Arab novelists but choose non-​Arab cultural origins as sources of pride and resilience in the face of Westernization in the region, making a powerful statement about the non-​Western, the global south, the Eastern, acknowledging the non-​Arab in those spaces and embracing the importance of empowering them in their novels. In The Return of Hannibal, culture is defined based on the ancient roots that sprouted Tunisian heritage. Those include Phoenician and Berber as much as, and preceding, Arab heritage. The choice of Hannibal is significant as he represents a pre-​Arab and pre-​Abrahamic Carthage. Hannibal is cloned as part of an experiment by scientists from another planet, whose residents have been closely monitoring planet Earth for a long time. Hannibal is cloned from remains of his DNA that the extra-​ terrestrial scientific team managed to collect after arduous excavations and archeological searches for his remains. The result is an adult Hannibal who finds himself in contemporary Tunisia. He is revived with the personality of the historical figure Hannibal intact. His memories are historical. He remembers his great accomplishments as a resistance fighter leading the Phoenician army against the Roman invaders. He is not aware, however, that he is a clone. Indeed, since he is not aware of any influences and changes that took place after the age that he is familiar with and remembers, Hannibal epitomizes the historical origins of Tunisian culture as a North African country with classical origins, next to other ancient civilizations such as ancient Egypt or Mesopotamian Iraq. His identity, still intact many centuries after his time, is deeply entrenched in the locality of the land of present-​day Tunisia, and is shaped by his role as an anti-​colonialist, long before the term was used. In The Seeds of the Devil, culture is defined within the context of a communal and familial network of shared values. These include families, tribes, and friends, and include traits that are traditionally ascribed to Eastern and Southern communities, such as hospitality, mutual support, and close-​knit and bonded families. These values are experienced by Frank, the American agricultural genetic engineer who accepts a job offer by his uncle to live in Afghanistan for five years and facilitate a project of land reclamation by an American company there. During his visit, he is awed by the hospitality and genuineness of the Afghani people, and when he discovers that the experimentation in their land is dangerous, takes the side of the people. He becomes so enthralled by their culture that he adopts it and settles down permanently in Afghanistan. In that sense, he too exemplifies the powerful

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  79 impact of non-​Western culture that inspires an American to embrace it and change his life. Protagonist as Savior The anti-​colonialist stance that both novels adopt is enhanced by the concept of the protagonist as savior. In both novels, the central character, and those who support him, take it upon themselves to save the country they are in from foreign hegemony and influence. The rescue plans differ, and the character of the savior differs, but there is clear similarity in the purpose and determination. In addition, there is also a noticeable similarity in how both characters are depicted as innocent. Initially, they are not aware of their surroundings, the danger they are facing, and are not even bent on saving the communities that they find themselves in because they did not feel they belonged to them. This is where the cultural element comes in. Once the two characters, after feeling lost and disadvantaged, open themselves up to the culture and allow themselves to interact with members of those communities on a deeper level, they change from characters with an identity crisis to heroic saviors with leadership qualities. In If Hannibal Returns, the cloned Hannibal is at first lost and incapable of understanding his surroundings. The motif of revived character or a time traveler from the past is given some attention in the narrative. In addition to the central functionality of this motif, it also is used perhaps as a type of comic relief, with incidents where Hannibal does not know how to answer the phone, and is startled at hearing a voice coming out of the receiver (Thābit 2004, p. 20). His clothes, while expensive, are so outrageous for the time of the narrative, that Asmāʾ has to tell a warrior like him, as gently as possible, that his embroidered gown is more suitable for women now than men (Thābit 2004, p. 27). He does not know how to use a credit card. He is uncomfortable in cars and is worried when they speed up (Thābit 2004, p. 29). Such details construct a Hannibal out of his world, although he recognizes the Mediterranean and the shores of his countries, even after all those centuries. This highlights that the change is temporal not spatial. The changes that occur are changes to the people and their lifestyles, and values, and priorities, and these have been altered by the passage of time and the events that his country went through over the centuries. Meeting a receptionist in the hotel where he finds himself when he is cloned, Hannibal regains the connection to Tunisia. The extra-​ terrestrial scientist who cloned him explains to him that her sole purpose is to observe him behave naturally so she can record the reactions of a clone. This leaves Hannibal with no purpose and no motivation beyond survival. It is the developed relationship with the hotel receptionist as she invites him to her family, and drives him across the city, that revives his sense of

80  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction belonging. Watching the city turn into something closer to the European influence he has fought all his life, pushes him to change his self-​centered need to survive and decide to save the people of Carthage again. It is contact with the people that dictates his mission as a savior, a very different image from that of a guinea pig as the extra-​terrestrial scientist sees him. In The Seeds of the Devil, Frank starts as self-​centered as Hannibal starts in If Hannibal Returns. An intelligent young graduate, living with his rich uncle, Frank seeks career growth and is not interested in anything, including the attention of his uncle’s daughter. This changes after he moves to Afghanistan. The warmth he receives, and the interaction with the people of the town where he lives change his outlook to life. He discovers the dangers of the genetic engineering experiment carried out on them disguised as agricultural aid by the American company. Exposing the secret plot and the interaction with the Afghani people redirect his role from a professional task in a less advanced country to a mission as a savior, and eventually, a member of that country. It is an interesting variation that the savior in this novel is not an Afghani nor Muslim, but American. While this might sound counterproductive as it replicates the white man as savior theme, the writer adds two details that problematize this notion. Frank is the child of immigrants. This puts him in a unique position to question cultural integration and hegemony, especially as United States is one of the largest receivers of immigrants in the modern world. Moreover, Frank is Asian-​American. His parents moved from India to the United States. His life in Afghanistan reintroduces him to Asia, and while he is not in India, he starts to feel a longing for life away from a Western-​centric culture. This is emphasized early on when we learn that his parents died when he was young and he was raised by their neighbor. Like Hannibal who is not Arab, Frank is not Afghani. The issues of race, ethnicity and origin are compounded with the tricky motif of the savior. Perhaps the message here is the need for a wider definition for cultural identity, an understanding that might form a cultural front against imperialism which is seen in both novels as Western, whether in recent European and American control as seen in both novels to varying degree, or as early as the Roman empire in the case of Hannibal. Both novels then have for their protagonist as a savior, a champion of the culture, and as someone who is neither an Arab nor an Afghani, and is, therefore, not immediately related to the current makeup of the country he is trying to help. The two novels, as a result, are not displaying a call against outsiders, or against the current nationalistic outlook of the countries they are depicting. On the contrary, the communities in the two novels seem to be enlisting support from outside the present parameters, whether by calling up distant origins, as seen in the Phoenician Hannibal, or other cultures, as in the case of the Asian-​American Frank.

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  81 The protagonist is not introduced as a heroic savior. They develop this role as the narrative progresses. Their decision to help is based on three factors. The first is their origin. As individuals of specific experiences, they are inclined to empathize with the people they interact with in the novels. The second fact is the people themselves. The third is the romantic relationships each of them develops that impact their lives. The origin of each character paves the road for their susceptibility to accept the influences of other cultures. Hannibal is depicted as a man of the world, of Carthaginian exposure to Mediterranean and North African world views that made him rise above locality. His history as a former leader puts him in a position where he is readily available to assume a position of leadership. Frank’s origin as multi-​ethnic immigrant and a scientist prepares him for the humanitarian position he adopts, his critical thinking enabling him to see through the deception of the genetic engineering company, and his identity as the son of Asian-​American immigrants making him understand issues of cultural and societal pressure. Community and Cultural Outlook The communities that embrace the two central characters, specifically the families that meet them, host them, and share with them the conditions of their countries, are instrumental in shaping their new outlook and their understanding of the social and cultural crises growing around them. In If Hannibal Returns, Hannibal meets with Asmāʾ, the Tunisian hotel receptionist, who recognizes in him a similarity to the historical hero she admires, and invites him to meet with her family. Asmāʾ’s father meets him at the hotel lobby and drives him to the family home. Joining the family for dinner, Hannibal experiences the warmth and hospitality of a Tunisian people, but also their problems and their need for revival (Thābit 2004, pp. 30–​32). Upon learning the secret of Hannibal’s cloning, Asmāʾ and her family provide him with an understanding of their age and its challenge. Initially portrayed as hedonistic, proud, and prone to violence, Hannibal changes after his interactions with people, and realizes that his power is more in spreading cultural awareness and historical truths, and in meeting political challenges as opposed to leading armies to battle. It is important that the Tunisian characters introduced are not all supportive. At the hotel, local authorities and security suspect Hannibal when they do not see a proper identification with him, which is echoed later in the novel when there is surveillance by American authorities as well. Along similar lines, in The Seeds of the Devil Frank changes his outlook entirely after his life among the Afghanis. Frank faces eminent danger from some of the Afghanis introduced in the novel, whether due to their adoption of violence, terrorism, and drug trade, through their affiliation with local

82  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction governments, or, conversely, spying by others due to their close affinities to the United States government or the remnants of the former Soviet forces. Nevertheless, Frank is also protected and supported by an Afghani tribe of nomads living in a camp behind his residence, declaring no commitment or allegiance to anyone, and who are keen on mutual understanding and on bringing goodwill to their country. They represent the average community that has no affiliations with any parties. Frank has never been aware of the slightest information about that country he is working in or its people. He even does not recognize the movements of Islamic prayers at first. Initially depicted as brilliant scientist with little interest in other cultures, Frank’s eye-​opening experience is with the Afghani tribe, especially the family of Aychā, who volunteered to help Frank when he first arrived, thinking that he is in their country to help them reclaim their lands and produce more crops. Like with Hannibal and Asmāʾ’s family, Frank’s proximity to Aychā’s family resulted in his warming up to Afghani culture, until he ended up protecting them then joining them. The interaction between Frank and the Afghanis focuses on dispelling stereotypes that have accumulated against Muslims and a profound searching in the meaning of Asian identity, and whether his country of origin, India, and the country he signed a contract to live in for five years, Afghanistan, have in common what makes them Asian, and can they be united through their history of colonial victimization. Stereotype of Female Support Love is central to both protagonists. In addition to the communal support both of them receive, each develops an intimate relationship with one woman from the community they join. The love interest in both novels share a fairly stereotypical portrayal of the supportive female character, with some difference in each novel. It is interesting that both women are emphatically described as reserved, rather modest, and supportive, and at the same time as well-​read, educated, and knowledgeable, and to varying degrees, more independent, especially intellectually, than they initially appear to be. Both relationships end up in marriage, asserting a traditional view of relationships and allowing the protagonists to blend even more smoothly with their new communities. In If Hannibal Returns, Asmāʾ is portrayed from a noticeable male perspective. She is fascinated by the heroism of the historical figure Hannibal and is drawn to his charm. Nevertheless, she restrains his sexual advances until they are married. Her reservations are gone after marriage, and we see frequent descriptions of kissing and embracing, and references to the married couple making love. Part of the stereotypical portrayal of Asmāʾ is her occasional display of jealousy when Hannibal meets the female extra-​terrestrial researcher

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  83 who cloned him, and her coyness when he shows sexual interest in her. Asmāʾ plays a major role in taming Hannibal’s urges as an ancient warrior. She helps him develop his political and social refinement to better fit the age of his cloned reemergence, an age she is more familiar with than he is. While her role is quite active throughout the novel, she remains the supportive force behind his success, alternating from the dutiful wife to the empowering partner. The physical aspects of Asmāʾ’s portrayal, however, are only one aspect of the characterization. She is throughout the novel depicted as a researcher. She has complied historical research about Hannibal as a historical figure, and discusses his heritage as a warrior critically as much as with admiration. She also shares her knowledge and experience of the current age with him repeatedly, not only of Tunisia, but also of the United States when the couple visit New York. Aychā, in The Seeds of the Devil, is notably more subdued in how she is presented. She appears regularly to bring Frank food and help with chores around the house. Her first appearance in the novel is also an example of sexualization, in a voyeuristic scene where Frank comes across a young woman with her legs uncovered washing up, then covering herself again to make movements he does not recognize at first then realizes they must be Islamic prayer. He watches her secretly days after that doing the same thing until she notices him and covers herself (Kīlānī 2007, p. 48). Soon the Afghani tribe in the village where Frank works send him someone to assist him. When he opens the door it is also Aychā. We again see Frank’s interest in Aychā sexually as he notices her body while she is tidying up and cleaning his room (Kīlānī 2007, p. 49). This, however, is described as quick glances, for Aychā is emphatically described as wearing her black abaya over her dress when she is done with housework (Kīlānī 2007, p. 49). The subtlety of Aychā’s sexuality is in contrast to that of Asmāʾ, who is clearly more assertive both in her reservations and her engagement in physical interactions with Hannibal. Nevertheless, Aychā is also depicted as an avid reader who speaks French, English, and Russian. Like Asmāʾ’s father, Aychā’s father is also an open-​minded person who encourages his daughter’s education. The differences between the two women are based on the differences between their circumstances as Asmāʾ is in an urban, more developed, and peaceful setting, while Aychā is in a tribal, war-​torn setting. Yet, both women share the cultural resilience and knowledge that defy some of the stereotypical portrayal of women from their part of the world. Western Hegemony To complete the societal and communal intersectionality in the two novels, the American presence is significant. Both novels offer alternating interactions between the protagonist with American characters, expressing

84  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction mutual influence, and offering both positive and negative results. In If Hannibal Returns, Hannibal travels to New York with Asmāʾ. He is invited as a speaker and lectures on history, politics, and culture. His success as a public speaker is to a great extent due to his prior experiences as Hannibal, which no one is aware of and no one would believe. He carves new opportunities for intellectual meeting points with his American audiences. This accomplishment sheds light on the new potentials for peaceful interaction and co-​existence afforded by education and culture, as opposed to warfare and espionage. Hannibal’s actions do not go unnoticed, however, and he receives a warning from the extra-​terrestrial team monitoring him and protecting him that secret government agencies have taken note of his fiery speeches and are becoming uncomfortable with is increasing impact. Like with their Tunisian counterpart, American authorities are presented differently from American people, who are eager to listen to Hannibal when he delivers his public talks. This emphasizes the divide between authorities and the public whether Tunisian or American. In The Seeds of the Devil, American presence is more encroaching. The company that Frank works for is increasingly depicted as the typical sinister corporation common as a science fiction motif, secretly carrying destructive experiments on humans, with their guinea pigs being the poor and the powerless. Their experiments on the people is represented by the natural symbolism of the seeds, which is a motif in the author’s works, using nature to represent people (al-​Sirāj 2020, p. 174). Frank’s ability to ruin their plans would not have been possible if he had not received the education and support of his father’s friend, Joe, who also assigns him the task to monitor the work of the company. More significantly, Joe’s daughter, Miriam, who is infatuated by Frank, tries to warn him before he travels that she is not comfortable with his task. Toward the end of the novel, he writes to her to let her know he is not returning and asks her to inform Joe. Miriam’s care for Frank serves a similar purpose to the attention of Hannibal’s audience, showing that the average American, like the average Tunisian or Afghani, are genuinely good people when left untainted by the thirst for power and riches of their governments and corporations. Incorporation of Fantasy One feature that is common in both novels is the inclusion of motifs that might be deemed more common in fantasy narratives. The fantasy aspects are not present separately but are interweaved with elements that are traditionally considered pertinent to science fiction. The intersectionality seems to provide a culture-​specific tone to the narrative. In If Hannibal Returns, the major science fiction element is the cloning of Hannibal. This cloning

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  85 is performed as part of an experiment conducted by human-​like extra-​ terrestrials who live nearby earth and mingle with humans unnoticed. The person who leads the research team is a female scientist. She visits Hannibal early in the novel in his hotel bedroom. He does not understand his situation, yet. The scientist enters the bedroom through the window. She is naked. Hannibal is torn between feeling drawn to her and afraid of her (Thābit 2004, p. 15). His feelings lately become even more ambiguous, including anger because she caused his dilemma by cloning him, and gratitude for helping him in various situations. The extra-​terrestrial and the cloning are traditional science fiction tropes. What distinguishes them in this novel is that a scientist uses a flying carpet to travel in and out of the bedroom, and throughout the novel. The nakedness and the flying carpet stand on a different plane from cloning and an extra-​terrestrial race of geniuses studying inhabitants of planet Earth. What is more, she provides Hannibal with a credit card with an open expense account that allows him to buy a house for him and Asmāʾ later on and to live comfortably. She assigns him invisible robotic guards to watch over him wherever he goes, protect him, and get him out of trouble. The mixing of subgenres of imaginary worlds here brings together references to The Arabian Nights, and throws in the argument that science fiction has deep roots in Arabic culture, with The Arabian Nights often cited as one of the early examples of speculative fiction. In The Seeds of the Devil, the fantastical element takes a psychological turn. After Frank arrives at Afghanistan and starts his work for the agricultural company, he begins to have nightmares of a terrifying creature with horns. He does not understand the intentions of the creature and whether it is about to attack him or warn him. The dream is interpreted by an Afghani friend he meets called Mūhād as the devil visiting Frank in his sleep. Indeed, this subconsciously makes Frank uneasy, foreshadowing his discovery that the experiment conducted in the lands can be used for biowarfare, hence the title itself, Seeds of the Devil. The demonic dreams that Frank has are countered by Mūhād talking about a pendant he wears that has Quranic verses for protection. The mixture of spirituality and science, bringing together advanced DNA genetic engineering with demonic nightmares and Quranic protection threads together the duality of science and faith in a cultural context in the narrative. Identity Crisis The identity crisis that both protagonists suffer from defines their development and their need for an understanding of the cultural complexities of the countries they found themselves in and could not initially fathom. Both characters construct or reconstruct their identities from the world they are

86  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction thrust in and unpack. In If Hannibal Returns, Hannibal is cloned as an adult, finds himself in a hotel, and is met by an alien flying through the window naked on a flying carpet. The overwhelming disorientation adds to the fact the he has retained all the memories of the historical Hannibal but has no understanding of cloning and has no experience of a gap between his life as a normal human and as a clone. Even after the scientist explains to him, he is still lost as he is starting his journey as a clone. He cannot reconcile life as the original Hannibal with his life in modern Tunisia and he cannot comprehend the sudden transition to the unfamiliar place that is supposed to be built on a familiar place. Hannibal’s identity is challenged, but he begins to forge a new identity that is a synthesis between his old self and his clone self. What holds the disparate parts of his identity together is his values that have not changed, of standing up to injustice and fighting for freedom. In The Seeds of the Devil, Frank already has a hyphenated identity as an Asian-​American. During his stay at Afghanistan, he moves gradually away from his experience as a comfortable young man in an American farm with degrees in science and agriculture, and eventually adopts life in Afghanistan. Toward the end, when he decides to stay, Asmāʾ’s father notices Frank has a stubble beard and asks him jokingly, “This stubble will become a beard. What do you think?” Frank answers, “But a beard needs a turban and a gallabiyah to suit living with you in the camp tents” implying that he wants to stay with them (Kīlānī 2007, p. 147). Perhaps life in the non-​allied tribe is what brings together the shards of his identity, away from allegiance to Afghani or American governments or companies, in refuge to some idyllic nomadic existence. Spirituality Religion and spirituality are central to the thematic structure of the two novels. They are manifested through the development of Hannibal and Frank, thus placing them as integral to the changes in their cultural outlook. In If Hannibal Returns, Hannibal, as classical historical figure, is a polytheist adopting Phoenician and Punic religions. When he witnesses the advanced powers of the extra-​terrestrial scientist who cloned him, he considers a revelation of one of the deities from his religious context. He even calls her Tanit, the Punic female deity of war. He asks her if she approves that he calls her Tanit. She approves that he refers to her as he wishes but doesn’t approve that he worships her. This conversation brings together the conflicting practices of science and religion, as Hannibal, a powerful man himself, still finds it difficult to see science independently of religious interpretation. This can also be an indication of how he does not find it easy to see a female with the powers that the scientist has unless she

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  87 has supernatural powers. Toward the end of the novel, after Hannibal’s experiences in the modern world, including his marriage to Asmāʾ and his travels to New York, Hannibal starts to change his religious convictions. He tells Asmāʾ that he no longer considers Tanit a deity. Hannibal’s movement toward rational thinking marks his ability to embrace science and to see the power of the human endeavor, including his own work, from a different perspective. The significance of Tanit is extended beyond the novel If Hannibal Returns. In a later novel, Thābit revisits the story of Hannibal with a focus on Tanit. In his 2012 Mʿbad tānīt (The Temple of Tanit), Hannibal lives in Tanit’s planet, Qanmād, and benefits from the superior Qanmādian technology. He decides not to return to earth, and tells his extra-​terrestrial friends that he shall not appear to the people of the earth again, but instead will use the Qanmādian technology to excavate Carthaginian treasures to teach the people about their heritage (Thābit 2012, p. 7). When excavations are hindered, Hannibal, with the support of Qanmādians, decides to rebuild Tanit’s temple. In The Seeds of the Devil, Frank makes steady changes in his spiritual outlook. His lack of knowledge of Islam and the traditional practices of Muslims are shown in his early encounters with Aychā. He sees her washing up for ablution in preparation for prayers, then watches her pray. It takes him some time to realize that she must be practicing the movements of Islamic prayers. Frank is exposed more frequently to Islamic thought. On his way to his residence in Afghanistan, he meets a homeless man who offers to show him around. The man, Mūhād, settles down with the nomadic tribe led by Aychā’s father. He becomes Frank’s friend and they exchange ideas frequently, including the teaching of Islam, especially about values of tolerance and peace. Perhaps the most significant detail of Frank’s spiritual exposure is the Quran. He hears it recited and develops an appreciation of the recitation. When the he decides to stay with the tribe and abandon his life in the American farm, he tells Aychā’s father “a phrase that I have repeatedly read to memorize, and it was from the Quran” (Kīlānī 2007, p. 147). While the phrase itself is not mentioned explicitly, the implication is that it is the declaration of faith stating that there is no God but God and that Muhammad is His prophet, indicating that Frank is converting to Islam. Religion, then, becomes the culmination of Frank’s cultural acceptance. Narrative Strategy The character development for Hannibal and Frank is presented within a narrative frame that reflects the changes they undergo. While the narration in If Hannibal Returns uses a third person narrator, the narrative takes a

88  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction different shape through the love story of Asmāʾ and Hannibal. Hannibal needs Asmāʾ to recount his past to him from her readings to make him better understand what his legacy has become over the centuries, and she needs him to tell her his personal account of the events recorded in history to fulfil her curiosity and answer many questions history left unanswered. They start a nightly routine where Asmāʾ reads for him and asks him questions, ending the part she reads with comments such as “tomorrow we resume,” alluding to The Arabian Nights and how Shahrazad would end her storytelling to Shahrayar each night. A significant portion of the novel involves the recounting of Hannibal’s adventures, thus weaving history with fiction, and past with future. Together with the reference to Tanit’s flying carpet, the narrative style of story within a story contextualizes the narrative within an Arabic cultural structure. In his speculative fiction writing, Thābit uses temporality, by shifting from retrospective narration of history to futurist technologies, to enhance the dialogue between history and the imaginary (ʿAdil and Shāma 2019, p. 93) In The Seeds of the Devil, the narrative is recounted by Frank as the first-​person protagonist and narrator. He begins the novel saying “I am the one recounting the events of this novel, an American. Yes, American nationality and American civilization and capability. But I am of Asian descent, and my looks show that” (Kīlānī 2007, p. 9). The narrator’s confrontational opening directs the reader to feel surprised that the novel has a protagonist and narrator who is not Arab, a response which might intensify when the readers notice the events take place in Afghanistan. We are presented by an Arab novel written by an Arab writer in Arabic, so it is interesting to show a writer representing non-​Arab Eastern and Muslim culture, and even incorporating American and Asian-​American identity, all within the context of Western hegemony. Cultural Dystopia and Inflexibility The dystopian worlds of the two novels are based on a cultural crisis as one of the cornerstones of standing up to imperialism in all its shapes. The cultural dystopia in these narratives is a critique of the weakening of native cultural values in the face of dominant powers encroaching on colonized countries, and aided by local authorities. The dystopias are reinforced by stretching them to include different stages across time. The temporality of deterioration is seen not only in measurable passage of time, but in the technological gaps as well, and in cultural values distorted over time. Such decay is challenged by the persistence of the main characters on upholding values that stand the test of time. Therefore, the timelessness of culture can be seen in these narratives as the guardian against the mortality and vulnerability of imperialist cultural hegemony.

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  89 In If Hannibal Returns, the main storyline relies on Hannibal’s memory as he relives and revives his legacy, together with the written historical accord of his life as read and retold by Asmāʾ. His centuries old cultural memory as a Phoenician and Punic melts with the modern cultural sensibilities of current Arab Tunisia represented by Asmāʾ, and see no barriers when they reach out to Western cultures represented by the American audiences of New York. They are even protected and respected by the extra-​terrestrial scientific team. The resilience of culture in the narrative stems from its ability to transcend time, and in so doing transcend space as well. The dystopia of his world, therefore, is actualized through the assault on culture, the destruction of identity and the distortion of history. The sense of cultural deletion is already clear in the novel, as Hannibal’s compromised memory reflects the loss of heritage. The same motif becomes a central theme in Thābit’s 2012 The Temple of Tanit. In reference to Carthage, the diversity and depth of heritage that is central to the narrative of If Hannibal Returns is referred to in the 2012 novel, as we are told the layers of hegemony imposed on the city, from the Carthaginians, to the Romans, Byzantians, Arabs, the French colonialists, until the main character in that novel, an average Tunisian man called Umar al-​Ḥalfāwī, lives where centuries of history are buried (Thābit 2012, p. 21). Initially, when Hannibal tells al-​Ḥalfāwī and his wife ʿAliyya that their house rests on top of precious Carthaginian artifcats and monuments and that they should leave the house to allow Hannibal to excavate, both modern Tunisians refuse vehemently. Their inflexibility is the result of years of conditioning that leads contemporary residents of previously colonized countries to no longer care for their heritage and history. This leads to a conflict between the Tunisian characters and their iconic historical figure, whose power is lost in the details of daily life. While al-​Ḥalfāwī eventually understands the significance of the Carthaginian heritage for present-​ day Tunisia and decides to actively help the excavation, Hannibal’s project to rebuild Tanit’s temple does not succeed. It is met with resistance from Western hegemony, personified by John Wallace, a CIA agent stationed in Tunisia who threatens to destroy the “cursed temple” as he refers to it (Thābit 2012, p. 141). The tenacious resistance that Hannibal’s dream of resurrecting Carthaginian heritage leads to his final despair, as he declares that “the experiment must be stopped” and that the temple must be destroyed to avoid further attacks, but he ends with the hope that “the day will come when humanity will learn the true history of Carthage and discover a pioneering human experience” which he believes can transform human history (Thābit 2012, p. 187). In The Seeds of the Devil, the plot develops as Frank’s awareness opens up to the realization of his potential complicity in a criminal experiment. His success in going beyond his successful career and privileged position

90  Authoritarianism and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction to honor his multicultural heritage by accepting other cultures is his redeeming quality. The dystopia in Frank’s world is that of profit and a demonic obsession to succeed and prevail at any cost, exemplified by the genetically modified seed and those who try to plant them and risk innocent lives, only because the entire culture of those who were to be subjected to those seeds is deemed inferior to that of the company and its imperialist supporters. The movement from inflexibility to flexibility in Frank’s case is a movement of cultural understanding. As he gains better knowledge of the Afhgani tribe, he develops more empathy for their case. He also makes a connection to his heritage as an Asian-​American. Metaphorically, Frank’s journey represents his growth, with the train as his initiation through the narrowness of perception (Abdu al-​ʿalmī 2022). The process of change, the need to adapt, and the identity issues that Hannibal and Frank undergo cause intense distress for the two characters. The inflexibility they encounter in the centers of power that control them, whether Tunisian, Afghani, or American, shape the psychological response to the dystopian societies the two protagonists try to change. The people they live with and try to help suffer the same distress as a result of the inflexibility of the authorities that impose cultural deterioration on them, causing them to feel inferior in their own lands. The role of Hannibal is to bring back cultural pride by reviving the legacy of Phoenician civilization and, just as importantly, making it adapt to the modern age of a Tunisia dwarfed by global control. Frank’s own distress at abandoning the life he has always known to belong to a new culture is the only way he can save the people of Afghanistan and preserve his moral code. The failure of several groups in Afghanistan to uphold their culture has turned them into pawns in wars among superpowers. Only those who managed to hold on to their origins like the nomadic tribe have survived intact as a cultural entity. References ʿAdil, Būlbutīna and Būjrīyū Shāma. (2019). al-​ ʿgā ʾibīyya fi riwāyat mʿbad tānīt li al-​ ʿgā ʾal-​ibal-​īyya fi riwal-​āyat mʿal-​bad tānītal-​ li al-​hādī thābit. [The wonderous in al-​Hādī Thābit’s novel The Temple of Tanit]. [Unpublished master’s dissertation]. University of Muḥammad al-​Ṣiddīq bin Yaḥyā. al-​ʿalmī, ʿabdu al-​jabbār. (October 4, 2022). Qirāʾa fī riwāyat budhūr al-​shayṭān lī al-​kātiba al-​sūrīyya Līna Kīlānī. al-​Unṭūlūjya. [A reading of the novel The Seeds of the Devil by Syrian author Līna Kīlānī]. Retrieved December 4, 2022 from https://​alan​tolo​gia.com/​blogs/​61738/​ al-​Rīyāhī, Kamāl. (September 7, 2012). Al-​Tūnisī al-​Hādī Thābit wa kitābat al-​ khayāl al-​ʿilmī. [The Tunisian al-​Hādī Thābit and science fiction writings]. Al-​ Jazeera. Retrieved October 12, 2022 from https://​urlzs.com/​Sxw4c

Inflexibility in Cultural Dystopia  91 al-​Sirāj, Rāi da ʿabbas. (February 2020). Madhāhir al-​ṭabīʿa wa tagalīyātuhā fī al-​ majmūʿa al-​qaṣaṣīya al-​ḥulm wa al-​mustaqbal li Līna Kīlānī. [Features of nature and its manifestations in the short story collection the Dream and the Future by Līna Kīlānī]. Majallat wāsiṭ 38(1), 161–​174. Kīlānī, Līna. (2007). Budhūr al-​shayṭān. [The Seeds of the Devil]. Cairo: Dār al-​hilāl. Thābit, al-​Hādī. (2004). Law ʿād hānībāl. [If Hannibal Returns]. Tunis: Maṭbaʿat al-​tasfīr al-​fannī. Thābit, al-​Hādī. (2012). Mʿbad tānīt. [The Temple of Tanit]. Tunis: JMS Plus.

Part II

Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction In this part, the novels shift focus, narrating dystopian decay from the lens of perpetrators and aggressors. Meaning and order are distorted, as values are lost, destabilizing many concepts. This is when aggressors and victims alike are impacted. This part attempts to look at novels that unpack dystopias from above, revealing the insides of failing systems, where survival unleashes meaninglessness and normlessness, blurring the distinctions between those on both ends of injustice.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-9

Section 1

Meaninglessness and the Dystopia of the Mind The psychological impact of dystopian structures is destructive to all involved. This section is about the erosion of meaning in dystopian worlds, a far-​reaching effect. Even those who initially seem to gain enhanced abilities in a dystopian context, as in the novels by al-​ʾIbrāhīm and Ḥāziq, they still have to pay the price of emotional and social detachment in their newfound powerful but increasingly meaningless status. Those who brush with the rigid intellectual core of despotism cannot handle the elimination of meaning, which is what happens to the government employees in the novels by Rabie and Al-​Essa.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-10

5 Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia Ṭība ʾaḥmad al-​ ʾIbrāhīm’s The Pale Human and ʿumar Ḥāziq’s The First Novelist of the City

Introduction Dystopia depicts a world steeped in anxiety, with forced existence as among its core characteristics. Such insurmountable stress is naturally expected to have dire psychological effects, as the role of distress in the analysis of the novels examined in this book would highlight. In that sense, all dystopias are in one or another psychological to a certain degree. This chapter, however, zooms on an interesting take on the psychological impact of dystopia: enhanced abilities. I am not referring to the better-​ known trope of superhuman powers gained after strenuous circumstances as prevalent in superhero narratives, but the abilities discussed in the novels of this chapter do, indeed, come close to superior capacities gained after unusually difficult situations that trigger mental and psychological changes in the protagonists of the novels. Those abilities, however, while enhanced, do not mirror an improvement in society, but are rather seen as anomalies that reflect the deterioration of the communities where the protagonists develop those capabilities, and even end up being detrimental to the characters that develop them. The two novels studied in this chapter offer a perspective on more than one motif of speculative fiction. Disappearance through death or freezing, return or revival, otherworldly detachment or connection, changed consciousness, and enhanced abilities all come together in the two works depicting experiences that repackage their protagonists as different individuals. The first novel is al-​ʾinsan al-​bāhit (The Pale Human) by Kuwaiti novelist Ṭība ʾaḥmad al-​ ʾIbrāhīm. She is considered among the earliest women writing science fiction novels in Arabic. She has two novels, al-​Insān al-​ mutaʿddid (The Multiple Human) and Inqirāḍ al-​rajul (The Extinction of Men) that are sometimes read in conjunction with The Pale Human as they deal with experimentation on humans and their results (Campbell 2018, p. 267). After being serialized in 1977, it was first published in 1986 in Arabic. The novel has not been translated to date. The second novel DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-11

96  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction analyzed in this chapter is Riwāʾī al-​madīna al-​ʾawwal (The First Novelist of the City) by Egyptian novelist ʿumar Ḥāziq. Published in 2014, the novel has also not been translated to English to date. The Motif of Revival Both novels deal with an otherworldly experience, but with different circumstances, and different narrative styles. The Pale Human tells the story of a wealthy man, Mr. Muwā, who spends a fortune on a new service that allows him to be frozen for 200 years and be unfrozen in the future. The First Novelist of the City is about the protagonist who dies and finds himself among a group of people in a twilight state between life and death in an entire city that exists underground. Both novels seem to share very little. One is focused on advanced futuristic technology, while the other tackles spiritual and even superstitious convictions that are very from technology. Nevertheless, a closer reading reveals how both unpack the desire to live and the motif of the revival of consciousness. Most interestingly, both offer characters whose slumber or death brought radical changes in their minds and their psychological construction. Both gain enhanced abilities. This chapter examines how the human mind and its abilities are presented as a platform for the critique of social norms and, sometimes, as a dark satire of the psychological fragility of humanity that is often masked as knowledge, talent, and mental prowess. Mental Enhancement Mr. Muwā in The Pale Human starts from scratch mentally. When revived, he wakes up with the mental capacities of a child. He then grows mentally at an accelerated speed to reach an adult mental age. What is more, his abilities exceed those of even intelligent humans. He displays encyclopedic knowledge and enhanced rational and original thinking. In other words, the man with the supposedly old-​fashioned experiences of 200 years before his revival becomes a scientific and intellectual genius. His intelligence defies scientific expectations just like his freezing was groundbreaking when he daringly pioneered the experiment to freeze himself. He was expected to regain his prior memories and abilities and return to a world of the future with the experiences of the past, then learn how to cope with the new world, assisted by a team of scientists assigned by the company that froze him. Nevertheless, in a rather satirical twist, he no longer needs the company that apparently made a fortune out of him, thus marking the first tongue-​in-​cheek sarcasm that the novel offers as the company officials scramble to keep their most important client who has outgrown them. Part of the satire is that the newfound encyclopedic knowledge that Mr. Muwā

Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia  97 accomplishes surprises his grandchildren, the company, and the scientists who have records of his life before the freezing, indicating that he was never seen as remarkably intelligent, which, in itself, is a comment on his lackluster mental prowess as a businessman compared to his newfound abilities that rival those of a Renaissance individual. Indeed, his knowledge seems to outdo that of the scientists and seems on the verge of expanding beyond any known boundaries. In The First Novelist of the City, the main character collects stories and words that seem to physically hang around in the air during conversations in this underground city of the dead that he finds himself in after his death, sharing it with others who died over various periods of time. Gradually, he develops an interest in words and stories and becomes a storyteller himself, narrating what happens in the underworld city and, thus, becoming its first novelist. Like Mr. Muwā, the city’s new and only novelist is surprised by his newfound literary talents. In his life among the living, he was a butcher. He did not finish his education and was far removed from learning, let alone writing and literary abilities. It is possible to see his talents a statement against the suppressiveness of society that prevents individuals like him from being in touch with their potential talents. Both characters, then, develop mental abilities that were not expected from them and that they apparently acquired after their awakening or revival. In addition, those abilities, and their lack in previous conditions, may be seen as the beginning of critique of social constructs and norms that both novels deliver, initiated by establishing that knowledge and talent are not typical in the societies depicted in the novel nor by the business and profit-​oriented protagonists. Accompanying the mental enhancement of the protagonist in each novel, physical changes also appear. In The Pale Human, the scientists and company representatives who oversee the unboxing or Mr. Muwā from his tomb-​like device are surprised to see a 20-​year-​old man (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 22). The physical change is that first unplanned alteration noticed, for Mr. Muwā was an octogenarian when he paid to be frozen at the age of 85 two hundred years before the events of the novel (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 6). As a matter of fact, the whole point behind his decision was his old age, and in an attempt to evade the expected approach of death, he decided to freeze himself, seeking another chance. His rejuvenation returned Mr. Muwā physically to his youth but cognitively to early infancy (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, pp. 26–​27). He had to relearn all skills that an infant has to learn, from sitting up to walking, and from drinking liquids to eating solid food, and the rest of basic skills human beings need to learn at very early stages of their lives (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 33). Similarly, but with different details, while characters in The First Novelist of the City are revived in the age they died, neither aging nor regaining youth, the protagonist notices significant changes in his physiology, though

98  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction these changes are not uniquely his but are shared by all the residents of the underworld city. Apart from those on his face (nose, ears, and mouth), he does not have any body orifices. This is because in this underworld status, there is no sex nor urination or defecation, as the protagonist finds out when one of the residents of the city, upon learning that the protagonist was a butcher, sarcastically dares him to slaughter him, explaining to the bewildered newcomer that the residents have no orifices except those on their faces (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 17). The physical peculiarities of both novels focus on the development of the mind rather than any other aspect. Even Mr. Muwā’s physical growth is constantly linked to his mental growth as he learns the skills of the various phases of an individual at a significantly more accelerated pace, growing into an adult in very little time due to the superiority of his mind and not just his body. The protagonist in Ḥāziq’s novel has no physical outlets, literally, but his mind, which pushes him to become a novelist. Lack of Empathy The acquired abilities of the main characters function within a critical perspective of their personalities that can reveal a darker side to their moral outlook. In The Pale Human, Mr. Muwā displays personality changes as he develops intellectually and mentally. The most serious change is his lack of empathy. As he becomes immensely intelligent, he also becomes more detached and calculated. For instance, his definition of love is purely rational and clinical. Listening to one definition of love as a form of needing another individual, he comes to the conclusion that sometimes he loves and sometimes he does not because sometimes he needs others and at other times he does not, thus explaining love from a strictly need-​ based perspective (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 48). He seems devoid of human emotions in the traditional sense. He recognizes that he is self-​sufficient and, therefore, cannot be in love, but he does not mean that in an arrogant or malicious sense. He goes on to define shyness. He sees it as a response to performing an act rejected by a group of people, and argues he has not done that. When asked whether he feels shy when he takes off his clothes for the doctors to examine him, he replies he does not feel shy because it was them who requested that and, therefore, he was not going against what the group wants (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, pp. 50–​51). In The First Novelist of the City, the revived protagonist is soon revealed as a vindictive person with a burning desire seeking revenge. He recounts how he was murdered in his butcher shop by the family of a young woman he had harassed while waiting in a queue at a government agency to renew his ID card (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 21). He asks one of the residents of the underworld who has access to the world of the living to find out information

Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia  99 about what happened to the family (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 20). He even wishes to become a ghost to haunt them. As his anger grows, his meanness unravels, and he repeatedly refers to the woman whose family killed him with derogatory slurs, ridiculing her pointed chin, and accusing her of flirting with him and other men. Later on, his jealousy moves him against other residents, especially two newcomers who attract a wider audience than he does, making him feel that his coveted position as the only talented person in the city threatened. Social Structure As the changes in the central characters take the forefront of the two novels, the societal backdrop of their personalities and their actions grows more pronounced, providing a critical insight into the social fabric that might have brought forth the horrific protagonists with superior qualities yet intimidating stances. In The Pale Human, the events take place in an imaginary country referred to as Syral, which is depicted as a technologically advanced country (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 6). Mr. Muwā’s prominence as a businessman and his significance as a living experiment are a direct criticism of the marriage of science and profit. He pays a fortune to retain his biological existence through state-​of-​the-​art scientific progress. The novel does not attempt to discuss the benefits of the new invention for humanity as much as it delves immediately into the personal benefits of the freezing technology for Mr. Muwā, its financial benefits for the company that offers the service, and, perhaps just as interestingly, the various entities around the experiment that benefit from it such as reporters and staff members. The corporatization of science is as much at the heart of the thematic structure of the novel as the dehumanization of the central character. Perhaps they are even connected, as his revival turns him into a calculating unsympathetic individual, reflecting the age that enabled him to freeze himself. He is hardly to blame for he is a product of the society, indeed the world, that made it possible for him to turn into what he has become. In The First Novelist of the City, society is replicated in the underworld city, with parallelisms to the society the residents left on top among the living. This is especially relevant in this novel as Ḥāziq wrote his novel while serving a present sentence after his arrest during street protests in 2013 (Saʿd 2014). In a letter to the press, he writes that the dedication he wrote for the novel was left out due to a printing error, and that the intended dedication was for another protester who died (Saʿd 2014). This places the connection of imprisonment and death at the heart of the narrative. The underworld status in the city is presented as a grey area that is not for everyone. Once a person dies and is lowered underground in their grave, residents of the underworld city call upon the deceased, asking

100  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction them to tear open their shroud. If the deceased responds and successfully opens the shroud and digs across the layers of their grave, they will be met with a welcoming group from the city. There are different types of statuses for the deceased, however. Some residents of the city seem to have the ability to communicate with the living, which is the novel’s tongue-​in-​ cheek explanation of encounters with the dead. Others become ethereal beings, another reference to more familiar supernatural creatures in the novel, most probably ghosts. An interesting notion in the novel is s second death. The residents of the city may die an even deeper or more final death. Those who venture up to the world of the living must be careful that they are not seen by a living being, whether human or animal. If a resident of the city is seen, they will die a second death and be cast out of the city as ghostly figures or as silent dead bodies. In addition, some people do not respond to the call of the residents, either because they panic, or simply do not hear them. Those remain unresponsive till, presumably, the day of judgment. An additional layer of horror in the novel makes use of the second death. Residents of the city hear of a crime, when one resident kills his brother fighting over a belly dancer who has recently joined the city. The murdering brother carries his brother in his sleep up to the world of the living and makes sure he is seen, and, therefore, condemned to the second, deeper death, in a thinly disguised reiteration of the Abrahamic Cane and Abel first murder. Humanity seems incapable of escaping its capacity for violence. This becomes even more aggressively clear as the residents decide to hold their first execution, by taking the convicted resident up to forced exposure and eminent second death. As the underworld city unravels, the social ills of the living are gradually echoed in the underworld of the dead. A more intimate look at social relationships in both novels examines familial tensions, exposing families as no more than microcosms of the deteriorating dystopias of the societies. In The Pale Human, Mr. Muwā’s family is in sync with the capitalist hegemony of society. His family’s primary concern is the inheritance. When Mr. Muwā decides to further renew his freezing for another period of time, planning to continue the revival experiment to stretch his life span as far as science can take it, his heirs attempt to legally fight the procedure that will deny them access to their great grandfather’s fortune. The oldest surviving family member, Mr. Gaʿūd, initially suffers from conflicting feelings about his ancestor’s scientific adventure. On the one hand, he craves the fortune that is now controlled as an asset by the company that froze Mr. Muwā. On the other hand, his scientific curiosity leads him to want to know what happens when Mr. Muwā is revived, a trait that is inherent in the fictious Syralian people (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 8). He is at first rather secure that his octogenarian great grandfather will not live long after his revival (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 9). The complexity of the relationship between Muwā and Gaʿūd

Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia  101 intensifies when Gaʿūd legally obtains custody over his ancestor, but at the same time he cannot take away Muwā’s fortune. Gaʿūd benefits from the sensationalism around Muwā’s case, but also is spending money supporting him. This dilemma lasts until Muwā himself decides with indifferent simplicity to give up his fortune to Gaʿūd, recognizing no attachment neither to Gaʿūd as a family member nor to money (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 68). In fact, he wishes to apply for jobs and work to support himself as a functional member of the community (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 69). Muwā’s pragmatic relationship with his family, whose members are equally practical about their interests, reaches a critical point when Muwā says that his great grandchild Gaʿūd is holding him as a hostage and negotiates that he is willing to give his fortune to Gaʿūd is the latter “releases him” (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 69). Otherwise, he argues, Gaʿūd will remain legally responsible for Muwā’s expenses. Muwā, therefore, becomes a commodified human, for his presence can bring money to Gaʿūd and the family as he attracts interest from the scientific community and the freezing company. His position is not far removed from the status of child celebrities whose presence brings considerable fortunes to their families. The role of family in The First Novelist of the City shares the aspect of economic opportunism. The protagonist’s family relies on his success as a butcher. After his death, when he sends Būsī to spy on his family and bring back news of their response to his death, he finds them fighting over inheriting his business (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 20). What is more, his uncle strikes a deal with his murderers, who own the butcher shop that he rented, for better rental conditions, and the protagonist’s siblings agree (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 20). Like Muwā in The Pale Human, we find in The First Novelist of the City that the protagonist’s life, and death for that matter, are at once problematic and profitable for family members. A key difference here is that, while Muwā does not seek to impact his family’s lives at all with his mental prowess, the underworld novelist seeks the opposite. Indeed, he remembers how he has been a disappointment, along with his siblings, to his father, who has always wanted one of his offspring to become educated and famous (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 24). What is more, the novelist plans how his family members will treat him when their time comes to die and join him in the city, including his mother, whom he knows is weeping and mourning his death, and who would be impressed by his success as the first novelist in the underworld city (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 24). Other characters in both novels reinforce the impact of the role of the central characters, whether as unexpected gifted individuals or as they unfavorable personalities that fall from grace to varying degrees. In The Pale Human, Tūdā, the daughter of his great grandchild Gaʿūd, is initially proud of her ancestor. She tries to connect with him desperately and incessantly. Her feelings for him, however, dramatically deteriorate as she

102  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction experiences his calculating pragmatism. Toward the end of the narrative, Tūdā, the biggest supporter of Muwā, angrily refers to him as a “monstrosity” (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 58). She emphasizes his lack of humanity compared to her, as she describes herself as passionate (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 58). The dissociation of Muwā from human norms reaches its height when he proposes to his Tūdā. From his perspective, she is not a relation. They are separated by three generations. They have no emotional bond as grandparent and child. He seeks her marriage as a companion who is interested in him and is capable of serving his interests while, simultaneously, he is capable of satisfying her curiosity (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 601). Tūdā’s anger at Muwā marks his downfall from a human being with superior abilities and a potential for the human race into an anomaly that serves more as a warning than a promise for the future of human science. Just like Muwā’s superior capabilities are received first with suspicion and ambivalence, then curiosity, and finally with anxiety and even disdain, so do the literary abilities that suddenly descend on the protagonist of the underworld city initially incite the sarcasm of the other residents, then respect, and finally animosity. When he claims he is collecting stories from other residents to write the first novel, the protagonist in The First Novelist of the City is met with laughter (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 23). This develops into admiration as he becomes the “first and last novelist” as he knows that the residents have no artistic or literary inclination, which makes him uniquely talented (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 33). This gradually changes, however, as new residents start acquiring different artistic talents. Two, in particular, compete with the novelist for the limelight of fame. The first is Ṣāmūla, whose name means nut in Arabic, a pimp who earned that nickname due to his knowledge of the nuts and bolts of sex work in the neighborhood in the world of the living (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 34). Ṣāmūla is revived with an unexpected musical talent. His new ability is matched by another resident, Asmāʾ, who, in the world of the living, was one of the wives of a “brother,” referring to religious ultraconservatives (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 37). She liked to dance and when she danced for him, he suspected her of being immoral and beat her (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 37). In the underworld, she becomes a belly dancer, and is soon accompanied by Ṣāmūla’s music. The pair form a street band and become a major attraction that overshadows the novelist’s fame. Although there is no sex in the underworld city, due to lack of orifices and reproductive organs, residents of the city become increasingly infatuated by Asmāʾ. Indeed, the first murder takes place because of rivalry between brothers over her attention. The first suicide takes place because of a young resident’s unrequited love of Asmāʾ (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 43). As a matter of fact, Asmāʾ acts like a siren of nostalgia. Men “discovered their masculinity” and more of them trained to go up to the world of the living to steal from the living and give to Asmāʾ (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 41). The unfulfilled

Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia  103 infatuation with Asmāʾ becomes the link between humanity and its absence for the residents of the city, just like the failed proposal by Muwā to his great granddaughter is his only link to humanity. The two mutated desires remain a distortion of the need for human survival. Spirituality The abilities that the two characters receive are intertwined with occasional religious concepts that range from symbolic references to critical discussions. In both novels, religion is acknowledged as a significant factor shaping how communities respond to the dystopian worlds that constitute their current realities. This does not go without critique in either novel, differing in the approach of each one. In The Pale Human, the concept of the freezing itself plays with notions of mortality. How far can a human being extend their life span? There are no limits in the narrative, pointing out the limitlessness of science. This, however, is contradicted by the side effects of the procedure, which is a staple response to science defying nature and bearing the unforeseen consequences, a motif in Frankenstein’s monster, Dr. Jekyll’s Mr. Hyde, Dr. Moreau’s animals, as well as other science fiction narratives. Furthermore, Muwā and the scientists engage in a dialectic argument that perhaps constitutes the heart of the critique the narrative aims at the current society. Muwā considers himself removed from the society he wakes up in, with his new regrowth as an ultrarational being. He argues that he read about religion as it is practiced by the community, and reaches the conclusion that it is “nothing but inconclusive laws used to order a chaotic society” (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 61). Muwā’s argument touches upon definitions of right and wrong. He questions whether society views wrongdoing, or from a religious perspective, sins, as entities that always retain their definition or as actions leading to guilt only if recognized (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 61). As a pragmatist who has little regard for emotive decisions, Muwā’s rather dismissive views of religion place it within the context of the lesser mental faculties of emotions as opposed to what he deems as the superior function of logic. Religion is more ritualistic and rhetorical than conceptual in The First Novelist of the City. The very premise of the novel relies on the notion of life after death. The different types of post-​death existence, however, skirt around Abrahamic concepts of life after death, and especially Islamic interpretation of life in the grave as a stage before resurrection, while the notion of an entire underworld of residents who know each other may also be inspired by Greco-​Roman myths of Hades. Even the dead cat revived in the undercity might be a sarcastic jibe at Cerberus, the three-​headed dog in Hades. The state of non-​life and non-​death also brushes with a Catholic limbo, which falls neither in heaven nor in hell. The structure of Ḥāziq’s

104  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction underworld, however, refuses to commit to any specific mythos of death. Perhaps the most articulate religious feature of the narrative is metaphorical. When he is revived in the underworld, the protagonist gains powerful eyesight, and describes it as “sight of steel,” which is a direct allusion to the Quranic Chapter 50: Qaf, which describes insight, or inward vision, as an unraveling and an uncovering of worldly distractions. The metaphor of eyesight of steel means sharp eyesight, you have been in “Thou wast heedless of this; now have We removed thy veil, and sharp is thy sight this Day” (Qur’an 50:22, trans. Abdullah Ali). The religiosity of the characters is non-​existent, which is quite interesting for a novel based on a belief system, or there wouldn’t have been an afterlife to begin with and the setting of the novel would not exist. Nevertheless, the characters are clearly buried in an Islamic tradition, with descriptions of the traditional white shroud, with Muslim names such as Asmāʾ, and references to her conservative husband. Yet, there is hardly mention of divine retribution, penance, or judgment. The residents of the underworld city thrive in their relationships, with several examples. The protagonist envious of the success of Ṣāmūla and Asmāʾ, who con people into cheering for them. Men desire Asmāʾ, siblings committing murder for her. A young man commits suicide because he feels shunned. A young, newly deceased man arrives and is endowed with the talents of a painter. Above the ground, he assisted a garbage collector. While collecting trash, he would keep colored plastic containers and line them in patterns, fascinated by their colors. Now he is a painter. None of these are motivated by spiritual reward or punishment. They are motivated by their gratification. Like Muwā, whose motivation is survival, these men and woman never mention religion. Even sex is denied. Their motivations are purely psychological. Their self-​worth and their need for attention are what feed their conflicts and dictate their decisions, from living alone to committing crimes. Religion in both novels is restricted, dismissed, or at the very least challenged as a motivator, and replaced by psychological needs that seem more powerful and capable of producing results ranging from joy to destruction just like religion. In that sense, it is possible to see both novels repackaging motivation as survival, with the impact of religion as nothing but another product of the human mind. This becomes clearer when the protagonist of The First Novelist of the City claims his revival as “a stage to leave life and enter into myself,” gaining what amounts to a spiritual experience, as he acquires strong hearing as well, and can even “hear the starts in the sky” (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 5). Part of the satirical impact of the novel is that the initial sublimation of the after-​death experience is soon tarnished by the return of base instinct of the living such jealousy and hatred. In The Pale Human, arguing against law just like he argues against religion, Muwā questions “the law protects you against what is visible,

Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia  105 what can it do about a person and their inner self, or a living being alone” (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 65). The chief scientist describes Muwā’s outlook as a “mechanical system … you see the world through yourself” (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 64). The self is the center for both deviant geniuses. It is how their minds develop into superior powers capable at once of regeneration and annihilation. The mind, therefore, is presented as the true source and the ultimate resort for both novels, even while acknowledging external powers such as death and aging. Circumstances and Surroundings The surroundings of either character empower the protagonists, providing them with material for their newly acquired abilities. In The Pale Human, Muwā’s intellectual ability is fed by reading. He reads and learns with accelerated speeds and deeper intelligence that put him ahead of his age and soon ahead of scientists studying his case. His power is sustained by the production of knowledge in the world around him. This becomes evident when he dismisses traditions, religious taboos, and even familial connections to his great grandchildren. The secret to his power is collected and document knowledge, however scattered it maybe. Without it, he is at a loss. That is why he fails to respond emotively to shyness or anger, but engages actively in discussions about social contracts, religion, and law. The environment around the novelist in The First Novelist of the City is more fantastical, and grotesque, since the underworld city is far removed from scientific knowledge. Nevertheless, both characters derive their powers from sources that share similar features: presence and production. In the underworld city, words float, physically taking shape, almost like comic book speech balloons. Indeed, when the protagonist speaks a lot, his words fill the air and almost stifle him. While a resident keeps talking, the words float then start collapsing randomly, stranded on the ground. This is how the novelist writes his first novel. He collects the fallen words scattered everywhere, and writes his fist novel. He stores the words in the hookah offered at the underworld coffeeshop. There is a satirical allusion in this situation to Naguib Mahfouz, who is famous for turning a celebrated coffeeshop into a literary saloon, and whose writing relied on narrating the streets of Cairo, just like the novelist of the underworld recounts the streets of the city of the dead by storing words in coffeeshop hookahs. The allusion to Mahfouz is emphasized when the protagonist criticizes the residents and their ingratitude, saying “our plague is forgetfulness,” repeating an iconic phrase written by Mahfouz in his novel Children of the Alley, “forgetfulness is the plague of our alley.” The underworld as a Mahfouzian Cairo, and the uneducated butcher turned novelist as the Nobel winning Mahfouz repurpose literary talent as a twisted underbelly

106  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction of a world of emotive chaos, just like Mr. Muwā’s rational pragmatism reframes scientific thinking as emotionless precision. The Minds Unleashed The fate of each protagonist fits their development within their communities. Muwā ends his insurmountable acquisition of knowledge with a disappointing decision. He decides to giving up his fortune to his grandchild Tūdā and seek work to become independent. Tūdā has to decide whether he finds keeping Muwā under his custody as a lab experiment is more profitable or claiming the inheritance and setting Muwā free into the world. We do not know the answer. Muwā’s decision indicates that this mentally superior intelligence decides to merge with the community that witnesses his revival. There is an alarming element of what he is capable of if he decides to change and even control the less intelligent people around him, on the one hand, and also of what might happen to him if he clashes with social norms publicly. Muwā’s fate reflects the tense restraint expressed throughout the novel. The novelist of the underworld suffers a fate that resonates with the explosive emotions that run amok in the novel. Ṣāmūla borrows the novelist’s pen, and the novelist agrees because Ṣāmūla flatters him, again highlighting the raging conflict of egos in the novel. Soon, however, it is discovered that someone has tried to draw a vagina between Asmāʾ’s legs, thus making the first body orifice in the city. Ṣāmūla and Asmāʾ accuse the novelist of trying to commit this crime. The truth is that Ṣāmūla, once a pimp always a pimp as the novel suggests, tried to open a vagina for Asmāʾ so he can profit from her and start a prostitution business (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 62). When they failed, they accused the novelist. It is also just as likely that they simply framed the novelist and borrowed his pen to set him up. Regardless of their intentions, the residents of the city turn against the novelist and a put him to trial. The verdict is execution. He is to be exposed to the living and will turn into a ghost. The novel ends as he is resigned to his fate, and, remorselessly, already starts planning how he will use his new status to haunt his enemies in the world of the living and how he will seek revenge on Ṣāmūla by trading a gift to Asmāʾ for Ṣāmūla’s life (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 64). Intellectual Dystopia and Meaninglessness The dystopian elements of both novels are on opposite sides of a scale of emotion and rationalism, highlighting the intellect as focal to the dystopian worlds depicted in the novels. It is possible to see The Pale Human as a dystopia of pragmatism. Muwā represents unfailing adherence to a

Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia  107 mechanical system. When Tūdā vehemently shames him for proposing to her, Muwā only notices her anger as an emotional energy that he believes is one of the defects of the human community, capable of bringing the downfall of the race. He talks to one of the scientists observing him about Tūdā saying “Look! She has such energy that can destroy the system. We all do, whether it is visible or inert. This is uncivilized, because it is unsystematic” (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 59). The complex relationship between Muwā and his community places him as the center of criticism, against the society that supposedly defends its traditions when he contradicts them in his conversations and decisions. Muwā’s arguments, however, deconstruct the legal, religious, and societal fabric of human society. In addition, Muwā himself is the product of that same society he is dissecting. In that sense, the dystopian society that produced the ultrarational Muwā essentially confronts itself in a process of self-​deconstruction. On the other end of the scale lies the novelist in The First Novelist of the City. The premise of The Pale Human is scientific while that of Ḥāziq’a novel is supernatural. Both, however, share the feature of speculative fiction that focuses on the concept of human evolution, accompanied by parallel human devolution, depending on how both are perceived. The novelist in The First Novelist of the City draws on people’s emotional and psychological conditions when they air their views to collect their stories and lace them together into his, and the underworld city’s, first novel, while Muwā collects people’s thoughts through books and discussions to form his, and his society’s, first ultrarational thesis of its kind. While Muwā responds with cold analysis to the indignation and emotional outbursts of Tūdā and the community members around him, the novelist in Ḥāziq’s novel responds emotionally with envy and anger to the slightest provocations he finds, including from a revived cat who scratches shrouds. The emotive dystopian of the revived dead human contrasts in that respect to the rational dystopia of the revived frozen human, echoing how death can be perceived ritualistically and spiritually as much as scientifically and rationally. The dialogue between meaning and meaninglessness is a central motif in both novels. In The Pale Human, Muwā’s superior intelligence transcends societal restrictions, including religious edicts and communal traditions. Nevertheless, he remains limited to literal meanings of ideological and social taboos. Lacking social and cultural experience, meaning for him becomes strictly pragmatic and rational. His ultra-​rationalism defines meaning for him. In contrast, the community representatives who grapple with his presence, including the scientific community which are expected to be the most intelligent of those around him, fail to appreciate the meaning of Muwā’s actions and arguments. Even the scientists cannot escape the social conditioning of generational exposure to societal and cultural contexts, and succumb to the pressures of religious and social

108  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction taboos like everyone else. As a result, even the most intelligent minds in the room fail to agree on the meaning of key concepts discussed in the novel, leaving meaninglessness as the lingering superior entity hovering over human intellect. In The First Novelist of the City, the notion of meaning is represented literally, and in that sense, perhaps, satirically as well. The protagonist collects speech from comic-​like balloons where people’s words take physical shape then dwindle to the ground and he subsequently gathers to form his novel. The physicality of words deprives them of meaning, as they are severed and scattered on the ground, not too different from bones, fur, and animal remains on the ground of the butcher shop where the protagonist used to work above, before his death. Meaning, therefore, is slaughtered as meaninglessness becomes packaged into objects, presentable for consumption. The narrative in that sense offers a critique of meaning, with all its supposedly rational connotations, when it is decontextualized and served as a mental dish devoid of the human experience, in a living-​death status. Narrators The two novels are narrated through different lenses. The narratorial perspective adequately reflects the purpose of the character portrayal of the central characters. In The Pale Human, the narrator is Khālid, a reporter. His name is pronounced Kālid by the Syralian people. We know he has studied there and has good working relationships with his employers, and with Gaʿūd, the greatgrandchild of Muwā. It is due to this personal acquaintance that he his hired as an entrusted member of the press to cover the megaevent of the revival of the patriarch of Gaʿūd’s family, Mr. Muwā. Khālid’s reporting remains clinical, episodic, and journalistic, while he uses the first-​person narration throughout. This last until the journalistic objective narration is shaken by a personal investment in the narrative as Khālid develops feelings for the Tūdā. The love relationship between the character/​narrator Khālid and Tūdā provides an emotive contrast to the rationalism of Muwā. This becomes especially clear when the two lovers listen to Muwā defining emotion and love specifically, by offhandedly describing Tūdā and Khālid as mentally beneath the ability to define complex concepts such as love (Al-​ʾIbrāhīm 1986, p. 49). Khālid and Tūdā struggle to control their emotions in the face of Muwā’s condescending description of their mental abilities, again portraying a conflict between emotions and reasoning. Khālid’s narration plays a significant role as it restricts the reader from having any privileged access to Muwā’s mind beyond family members and the select group assigned to report on him or study him. Muwā remains a mystery except for what Muwā decides to share with this group. We are never privy to the thought processes of the

Mistrust in Psychological Dystopia  109 superior rational being, thus placing us as readers with the recipients of this development. The detachment of the main character from the narrator and the readers underlines the distance between the acute rationalism represented by Muwā and everyone else, whether characters or readers. Similarly, the thematic focal point of the narrative is reflected by the narratorial choices in The First Novelist of the City. While the narration is also in the first person, the narrator is the central character. His emotional outbursts, violent imagery, and racing thoughts are communicated to the reader through him. Unlike in Muwā’s case, we are privy to the most intimate details of the protagonist’s thoughts, enhanced by expletives that he uses repeatedly. Interestingly, just like Khālid and Tūdā struggle to control their emotions, so does the protagonist/​narrator admit to trying to control his emotions and stop his thoughts, which in his underworld city become visible words when spoken. He describes the situation as follows, “I stopped myself from thinking and went to the coffeeshop. For with a hookah, my mouth is occupied, so I can think silently, which is safer than thinking with an unoccupied mouth that utters thoughts which keep accumulating until they stifle me” (Ḥāziq 2014, p. 13). The flow of words that engulfs the residents of the underworld city and the storminess of the narrator’s thoughts reflect the invasiveness of emotions that reach characters and readers, just like denying the innermost thoughts of Muwā impact characters and readers. Mistrust Mistrust is the dominant pattern of distress as betrayal is abundant in both novels, especially as the characters develop, and as the protagonists acquire more intelligence that overshadows their moral choices. The most stressful form of anxiety leading to distress in both novels is the necessity of controlling thoughts and emotions in a suppressive community, that is constantly being outgrown by Muwā and the novelist in their respective dystopias. Their mental capacities turn against them, while they witness their rise and fall in the eyes of the people around them, from awe at their abilities to disgust at their transgressions. They are catapulted into a world of rejection soon after they were revived to a world where they seemed superior. What exacerbates their dilemma is that they are products of their age and communities. On the other hand, the distress they undergo is also experienced by those communities in reaction to the presence of those superior figures, as their developed talents and abilities push against the flimsy yet comforting existence those communities have held tightly, resulting in their communities mistrusting those superior intellects, whose new talents and abilities go against those of the other characters. Whether rational or emotive, individual or communal, the distress caused by the

110  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction dystopian structures in both novels stems from the psychological conflicts between what is considered the norm and what is considered a challenge in a world that has too many challenges to accept that one of its own can change even if the change, perceived as an anomaly, is, in fact, the result of what is already there. References al-​ ʾIbrāhīm, ṭība ʾaḥmad. (1986). al-​ʾinsan al-​bāhit. [The Pale Human]. Cairo: al-​ mūʾassasa al-​ʿarabiyya al-​ḥadītha li-​l nashr wa al-​tawzī. Campbell, Ian. (2018). Arabic Science Fiction. Palgrave McMillan. Ḥāziq, ʿumar. (2014). Riwāʾī al-​madīna al-​ʾawwal. [The First Novelist of the City]. Cairo: Al-​Kotobkhan. Saʿd, Alāʾ. (September 5, 2014). Fi risālatihi al-​ jadīda min maḥbasihi, ʿumar ḥāziq: al-​ ḥayā jamīla yā aṣdiqāʾ. [From his prison cell, ʿumar ḥāziq: Life is Beautiful, Friends]. Shorouknews. Retrieved June 2, 2022 from https://​urlzs. com/​rfVf2

6 Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia Mohammad Rabie’s Planet Amber and Buthayna Al-​Essa’s The Guardian of the Surface of the World

Introduction One aspect of dystopia that seems inexorably linked to the deterioration of the collective human condition is intellectual decay, which I would define here as the slow loss of intellectual growth due to unexercised faculties such as critical thinking, inquisitiveness, and exposure to ideational diversity. In the context of Arab dystopian fiction, I would underscore that such deterioration would be the result of control of access. Such control can be exercised through state agencies, such as offices and agencies established by authorities to regulate publishing, education, and media. This type of control is politically motivated, intended to keep the masses on a tight leash, curtailing any potential for free and critical thinking in fear of where an in-​depth analytical and comparative public intellect can lead. Political control may be complemented by societal control, usually imposed through censorship, such as religious or ideological monitoring. Groups such as religious figures or patriarchal families are invested in maintaining intellectual control to nip in the bud any burgeoning independence or individualism. The cooperation between political and social authorities results in hegemony over cultural production and consumption as a means to limit intellectual growth. Themes of censorship have been tackled in landmarks of science fiction, with book burning as a central topic in Bradley’s Fahrenheit 451, book banning as an element of a despotic futuristic dystopia such as in Moore’s V for Vendetta, or even the power of literacy as a tool for hegemony in Orwell’s Animal Farm with the infamous Seven Commandments. In this chapter, the discussion revolves around the motif of intellectual decay through control, whether by controlling future cultural production or denying access to cultural heritage. The latter is significant in societies with a relatively long intellectual history such as Arab countries. With a focus on obliterating the rich depository of intellectualism, the authoritarian regimes in the novels studied here target libraries and bookstores as DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-12

112  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction potential danger zones, breeding grounds of free thinkers, and, therefore, must be eradicated or at the very least curbed and dominated. Two novels address the scrutiny and attack on bookstores and libraries: Mohammad Rabie’s Kawkab ʿanbar (Planet Amber) and Buthayna al-​Essa’s Ḥāris saṭh al-​ ʿālam (The Guardian of the Surface of the World). Both novels have not been translated in English, yet. Since both novels work with the motif of censorship as a tool of despotic hegemony, both portray the pervasiveness of intellectual surveillance in their constructed dystopia. As the primary focus of the two narratives, the intellect is also the primary victim of the dystopian brand of both novels. Intellectual dystopia in these novels is characterized by a relatively lower rate of violence. This is replaced by a serenity of tone that mirrors the silence of bookstores and libraries, but it is the serenity of somber search committees and state censors. The intrusive appearance of censors and inspectors, however, results in enough tension that portrays the stressful world of fear common to dystopian fiction where random searches and routine inspections are depicted as methods of intensifying the subtlety of imposed conformity. An interesting similarity between both novels is the role of the protagonist and the development of characterization. The central character in each novel is a government employee, a state representative assigned with evaluating books and reporting to the state. Each character, in other words, is initially a tool of the state machine of intellectual hegemony. As they are employed by the government on an official mission, they are, consequently, entrusted with the values and principles that govern the dystopian worlds of their narratives. They represent and act upon the structure of the dystopian society that prescribed the censorship, book banning, and intellectual control. That is why it is significant that in both novels those central characters change. In the middle of their task, and due to their in-​depth search with the intention of banning or destroying books, they encounter what those books are about, they witness the passion of secret book lovers, and they let the love of books get to them, in different ways, and that ultimately changes their perspectives. The novels discussed in this chapter, then, are not novels of direct physical threat or violence, caused by destructive weapons or social upheaval, or of technological advancement, or spiritual journeys. They tackle the subtlety of the human mind, and its surmounting powers of imagination and thought, and how curtailing such capabilities are perhaps among the darkest features of any dystopian existence. The narrative and the plot progress through the lens of characterization. The changes in the mindset and the conviction of a protagonist might not be on a global scale as world-​shattering events comparable to atomic weapons in Residents of the Second World or the imminent bloodthirsty war between the Others on

Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia  113 the Utopia compound, for instance. Even on a personal level, they might also not go through profound experiences addressing a crisis of faith and quest for knowledge as Mahfouz lays out in The Journey of Ibn Fattouma, or a feverish scramble for survival as in Eassa’s The Façade. Nevertheless, the subtlety of the changes the writers present to us in the character development of their characters is profound and life-​changing, more so because they are slow and discrete, brewing silently on a low fire, utterly changing the characters’ innermost and most valuable asset: their minds. The significance of intellectual change in those novels is due to the challenge of the uphill struggle against mind control exercised by despotic and totalitarian regimes. For an individual to combat collective intellectual hegemony in these narratives, they end up reconnecting with forbidden heritage, and meeting with secret groups of intellectual rebels, some simply book lovers in a society that fears books. What makes the change even more arduous and, in a way, heroic, is that those very characters set out as representatives of the regime, assigned to ban, censor, or destroy the very books that they end up reading, saving, or adopting. These novels, therefore, are about converting, not religiously, but intellectually, attempting to survive dystopias that thrive on the silent decay of the intellect. With implications of potential underground activism for book readers and preservers, the narratives represent the changes in their protagonists’ intellectual freedom as possibly a type of ripple effect that might eventually bring down the mind control of the totalitarian regimes in the projected dystopian worlds. The first novel discussed in this chapter, Planet Amber, is the first novel written by Egyptian novelist Mohammad Rabie, who has also written another novel examined in this book, titled Otared. With a degree in engineering from Cairo University, Rabie published three novels. Published in 2010, Planet Amber was awarded the Sawiris Cultural Award in 2012 (International Prize for Arabic Fiction 2012). It has been translated to French but not to English (Al-​Tarjama ilā al-​faransīya 2019). The second novel, The Guardian of the Surface of the World, by Kuwaiti novelist Buthayna al-​ Essa, was published in 2019. She has published several novels, and one of them, All I Want to Forget, was translated in English in 2019 (Banipal n.d.). Moreover, she is the founder of Takween, which she describes as a bookstore, library, writers’ workshop, and cultural platform. Perhaps al-​Essa’s words describing the goals of her institution Takween sum up the thematic construction of her novel, and in that sense Rabie’s as well, for she writes “we aim at contributing to a cultural movement through the soft power of questions” (Takween n.d.). The questions raised by the novels are, in many ways, the questions raised by the protagonists as they change from state representatives adhering to the regulations and laws of censorship and disdain for intellectuality to followers of ideas and intellectual curiosity.

114  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Central Characters as Censors In Planet Amber, the central character is Shāhir. He is the traditional clerk in a bureaucratic government unit bulging with overemployment as clerks sit and do little. He is assigned by his boss ʿabdu-l Raḥman to evaluate a bookstore and write a full report about. The government unit is trying to justify pulling down the large bookstore as it is located in an area targeted for planned urban development (Rabie 2010, pp. 7–​8). Shāhir finds out that the bookstore is an entire building. What is interesting in the structure of the building is that it is a traditional residential building. The bookstore is divided into regular, average-​looking apartments. Clients climb the stairs and enter a new apartment with more books on each floor (Rabie 2010, p. 10). In The Guardian of the Surface of the World, the central character is a censor, employed by a state censorship unit. His has received training as a censor and as a new hire he is initially responsible for evaluating books and recommending which parts to be censored if publishing a book is to be allowed in the first place. He visits the archives in the basement of the same government building where he works. There he meets the archivist, an older person, who introduces him to another library that has a floor dedicated to uncensored books. The main character here already knows he has always had difficulty with the training of censors, which focused not only on spotting objectionable material, but also on protecting censors from being influenced by books (al-​Easa 2019, p. 17). The two government employees, then, share the basic narrative trajectory of slow shifting of allegiance as a result of an enlightened awakening after their encounter with the intellectual riches they were assigned to ban. The methods by which their intellectual awakening takes shape have interesting similarities, as well. Both characters are first intrigued by readers, who mostly secretively engage in reading forbidden books as part of an underground activity. Each one of them is, then, impacted by reading a specific book. Enthralled by the power of the book he reads; the protagonist’s change accelerates. With the book as an eye-​opener, the character decides to take action by protecting books and defying the regime. The book and the secret book lovers are recurrent motifs in both narratives, functioning as catalysts that initiate a rite of conversion for the protagonist to depart from the intellectual dystopia. In the case of Planet Amber, Shāhir goes to the bookstore and sees clients going in and out of the bookstore. He gets to know the bookstore owner and clients. He learns that the bookstore was established by a man called Ibrāhīm al-​ʿesīly and a woman called Kawkab ʿanbar, which is literally translated as planet amber. This technique of choice of a title named after a character who has a name that also has a different meaning has

Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia  115 been used by Rabie both in this novel and in Otared, which means planet Mercury but is also the name of the central character of that novel. In a sense, Kawkab ʿanbar who established the library, named after her, before her death seems to have built a planet of amber, metaphorically referring, perhaps, to the uniqueness, self-​sufficiency, and isolation of a bookstore as a world in itself, with the scent of books and paper dominating the space, making it a scented planet, a planet of amber. Shāhir spends a month at the bookstore studying it closely to write his report. In an interview about the novel, Rabie says he looked for libraries that might look like the library in the novel, and even visited an old library in a monastery in Egypt, but eventually settled on an imaginary library (Al-​tarjama 2019). The Library as a Challenge to Inflexibility Unusual activities define Shāhir’s experience at the library. A significant detail about the bookstore is how book classification is strange and only clients know it. No Dewy or other classification systems here. The library’s seeming randomness stands in contrast to the pattern of inflexibility that shapes the government office that hires Shāhir, with all the distress that entails. A veteran librarian called Sayyīd explains to Shāhir that the bookstore might seem unclassified and random, but, if you notice, each book is preceded by a book and precedes another; we refer to them as the before and the next books. If you open any book, you’ll find the name of the before book written on the first page and the name of the next book is written on the last page. (Rabie 2010, p. 36) Every reader must return a book they read to the exact same spot on the shelf, between its before and next books. The worrisome detail here is that if someone misplaces a book, “it will be lost forever” as the manager says (Rabie 2010, p. 37). The placement of books with before and after sequence rather than any known author, title, or date system may symbolize the interconnection of knowledge, which is at a deeper level than details of names and dates or even subject matter. The order of books in the library reflects the eclectic nature of knowledge. Shāhir notices the care with which some library goers handle books, some even taking them away to protect them or copying them. Gradually getting to know the bookstore, he comes across someone copying books, called Ḥannā. The copying of books is another important activity that attracts Shāhir to the library, as the books are secretly copied, thus defying the surveillance of the government. Discussing his novel, Rabie says in an interview that Ḥannā could symbolize the obsession with preservation

116  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction that results from fear of loss of heritage (Nuṣ sāʿa 2012). The copying of books is a traditional motif in depictions of totalitarian regimes that ban or burn books, whether in speculative fiction or in real history as early as the burning of the library of Alexandria. Rescuing books, in cases like this, becomes an act of resistance, a heroic act of preserving knowledge as a precious human achievement that needs protection from humanity itself. Shāhir initially refers to Ḥannā as Ḥannā the Copier, then considers changing his nickname to Digital Ḥannā to better fit the age, which is an allusion, perhaps to how ancient the role of the copier of books has been (Rabie 2010, p. 77). As he goes through the books, Shāhir spends more time in the last floor which has strange books, that he later understands are mostly books put there to avoid censorship. He comes across some anomalies, such as finding a book that has a cover different from its content, perhaps signifying another aspect of knowledge as it grows in ways that can differ from its intended goals. Perhaps the turning point comes when Shāhir finds a strange book with illustrations that instantly piques his interest. The book is an Arabic translation, citing the author as Lūwayj al-​Ṣīyarfī. Initially Shāhir thought Lūwayj al-​Ṣīyarfī was a Medieval Arab writer. It takes Shāhir some time to move from Google suggestions of well-​known writers such as al-​Ṣīyarfī until he finds out a book online that matches the one he has. It is by Italian writer and artist, Luigi Sarfani. Born in 1949, his work produces imaginary concepts and surrealistic creatures. Shāhir even quotes Wikipedia (Rabie 2010, pp. 112–​114). Sarfani’s encyclopedia of an imaginary world, Codex Seraphinianus, uses realistic-​looking words and images that are at the same time unreal. It stretches the boundaries between what is realistic and what is real. The intriguing aspect here is that Luigi’s words do not belong to any language and are, therefore, untranslatable. The transference of ideas regardless of language boundaries is emphasized here in the context of the imaginary, the unreal, the speculative, which seem to free the human intellect from restraints of culture and language. Words, therefore, are depicted as symbols that can be devoid of specific reference, a commentary on intellectual emptiness, as censorship and cultural hegemony of the dystopian regime in the novel may fail to harness creativity when it seeks meaning beyond traditional vehicles. The absurdity of word and image constructs meaning that relies on individual interpretation just like Sarfani’s Codex evokes individual responses to the scribbled words and fantastical imagery. In Guardian of the Surface of the World, the protagonist views books through the lens of a government employee who works for a censorship government entity. The focus on censorship as government hegemony has been a political interest of al-​Essa, who joined a movement by Kuwaiti authors lobbying to change the laws of censorship in Kuwait (Abu Al-​Nasr

Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia  117 2022). He reads books at the government office to evaluate them. He is introduced to the space where banned books are kept, referred to as the Labyrinth, receiving a rather ominous warning from the guard of the place not to get lost in the maze-​like storage space (al-​Essa 2019, p. 178). Once again, the seemingly chaotic state of books in the Labyrinth challenges the inflexible rigidity of the censorship government office. The protagonist is infatuated by books and starts taking more and more of them home, filling his closet with them (al-​Essa 2019, p. 186). Like Shāhir in Planet Amber, he takes a liking to the books that are supposed to be banned. Moreover, like Shāhir in Planet Amber, interaction with other characters initiates his shift away from his task. The most important character in his journey is his daughter. She has recently enrolled at school and is already a nonconformist. Her nontraditional behavior is not easily tolerated, while in fact she is very imaginative and is capable of imagining concepts and images that the stifling conformist society is incapable of understanding. She is comfortable in her imagination that when her father listens to her saying that Red Riding Hood’s big bad wolf is hiding in her closet with the grandmother in his belly, he discovers that she is not that afraid. As a matter of fact, the suppression she suffered from in school caused her to “fear school more than she feared wolves” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 40) When she accompanies her father to the institution, she sees a man guarding the archives who turns out to be a member of a secret group copying and saving banned books. He tells her stories and she likes him. With a manager who is a hypocrite and gets promoted because of his blind conformity to the regime, the protagonist feels inadequate in spite of his training, as he cannot remove his interest in books from his mind. Eventually, he joins the secret group, brings books home and helps transfer books to a secret underground library. The concept of words taught to censors during their training in Guardian of the Surface of the World is similar to what we conclude from Luigi Sarfani’s encyclopedia in Planet Amber. The training emphasizes that “language is nothing but a surface” and that “if we preserve the superficiality of language, we shall be able to censor it” (al-​Essa 2019, pp. 11–​12). That is why the title of the novel indicates that the job of the censor is a guardian and what they guard is the surface of the world, in a society that glorifies the oversimplification and the superficiality of the intellect. When the protagonist gives up his quest for saving books toward the end, he acknowledges to himself that “you are empty and with no meaning. All that is for your own good” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 288). Both novels, then, underline the dumbing down of society as a dystopian feature, where the assault on heritage and culture through censorship and the promotion of meaninglessness serve the totalitarian regimes in the two narratives by making people easier to lead.

118  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Strange incidents seem to punctuate the progress of the protagonist’s development, which reflects his attempt to change, challenging the inflexibility of his society. At random moments in the government facility where he works, rabbits are spotted in the building. Everyone hates them except his daughter, who likes seeing him when she accompanies him at the office. The rabbits seem to symbolize a calling of the imagination, an inspiration of wild roaming ideas in the corners of the very establishment that fights freedom of thought. The space where the government uses to store censored books is compared to a maze, and with piles of books everywhere looking like pillars, it is compared to the towers of Babylon. The bookstore where the secret book activists meet looks like an old bookshop from the outside but is a secret alcove for anti-​regime book preservation. Places in this novel are not what they seem, following, perhaps, an Alice in Wonderland motif of spaces shifting to something else. The opening up of those spaces mirrors the opening up of the New Censor’s consciousness as he becomes more aware of his thirst for knowledge and his passion for books. Literary Allusions and Intellectual Dystopia It is interesting that both novels allude to other literary works, used to inspire further change in the central characters’ convictions to reject their dystopian worlds. In an interview, Al-​Essa describes how she experienced the Iraq-​Kuwait war, and refers to literature as an agent of change and personal growth (Alhinai 2022). This is reflected in the central character’s development after exposure to literary works in The Guardian of the Surface of the World. The rabbits in the novel are a reference to Alice in Wonderland, with the protagonist’s daughter trying to follow them a clear allusion to Alice following the white rabbit. As one of the novels that tackled the vividness of imagination and the limitless potential of human imagination, Alice in Wonderland is more of a lament for the restraints imposed on freedom of creativity in The Guardian of the Surface of the World. The novel, according to the First Censor, who is the manager of the censorship offices, was banned because it has “a talking cat, a rabbit carrying a pocket watch, and a worm asking existential questions and smoking hookah” (al-​Essa 2019, pp. 91–​92). Indeed, the second chapter of the novel is titled “To Wonderland” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 85). There are references to other works in the novel. For instance, during the training of censors, novels like Anna Karenina are banned for topics of infidelity. The novel Zorba the Greek is banned for its blasphemous mockery of religion. Censorship guides indicate clearly that references to words such as government, sex, or religion should be removed. The protagonist, referred to as the New Censor most of the time in the novel, starts reading books with

Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia  119 the pretext of censoring them. Then when he meets the secretary of the archives, he starts taking more books that have already been banned, such as Zorba the Greek and Alice in Wonderland (al-​Essa 2019, p. 89). Toward the end, the New Censor even compares his boss to Big Brother, alluding to George Orwell’s 1984, and acknowledging the Orwellian nature of the dystopian hegemony depicted in this novel (al-​Essa 2019, p. 299). As his curiosity feverishly increases, he starts to secretly take books home. His actions go against the process of denying people the opportunity, and the right, to question and think for themselves. In Planet Amber, reference to literary works also serves as allusion to their significance in the context of intellectual censorship. For instance, Shāhir talks about Hayy ibn Yaqzan, the classic narrative of philosophical, spiritual, and medical of Medieval Andalusia, one of the pinnacles of Islamic thought. He notes that the copy he finds is published in 1967, the year of naksā, when Egypt under Nasser’s rule faced a military defeat, after the state media has been propagating falsehoods about victory. Shāhir wonders whether people might have needed to read a novel like Hayy ibn Yaqzan to realize that they were deceived (Rabie 2010, p. 73). Rabie makes use of the role of his protagonist Shāhir as an evaluator to discuss how the perception of intellect has been oppressive across various historical periods and in many countries. He gives examples such as the fate of 16th-​century French translator Étienne Dolet who added the phrase “nothing at all” to his translation of Plato’s phrase “what lies after death?” which resulted in convicting him of heresy by the Inquisition and publicly executing him (Rabie 2010, p. 47). Rabie also uses the dialogue between Sayyīd and Shāhir about books to express his opinions about how intellectuals have themselves contributed to the process of dulling public culture, citing Tharwat Ukāsha, a well-​known Egyptian writer who also worked for the government, and accusing him of liberally translating and plagiarizing books (Rabie 2010, p. 50). The process of censorship, then, and of reducing the mental faculties of readers has been an established practice carried out by governments, their censors, employees, and their writers. Like The Guardian of the Surface of the World, intellectual growth in Planet Amber is stunted by offering oversimplified, plagiarized, or censored material. The notion of preservation of cultural heritage is crucial to both narratives. Copying becomes a lifesaving vocation, a calling of sorts, however banal it might seem. Following the distinct style of each novel, the role of the copier is portrayed differently. In The Guardian of the Surface of the World, copying is done by a woman who keeps forbidden books in a secret trove inside an old and forgotten bookstore. Her name is Warrāqa, which in Arabic means the paper copier. She is portrayed as a mystic, more like a sorceress empowered by the wisdom of book copying (al-​Essa 2019, p. 211). The more down-​to-​earth presentation of Rabie’s writing in Planet

120  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Amber, the copier is Ḥannā, who uses a cranky copying machine (Rabie 2010, p. 63). Individual Freedom and Public Inflexibility as Distress Both novels sharply contrast the private, mental experiences of their protagonists to the public, social actions of their governments. The fluid ability to change what the protagonists manage to muster is countered by the rigidity of their regimes, leading to the recognizable pattern of distress. In The Guardian of the Surface of the World, the government burns selected dolls annually in a public festival celebrating the unnamed revolution that the brought the current regime to power (al-​Essa 2019, pp. 291–​293). People wear costumes in a carnivalesque celebration, believing that the fire will purify them and glorify their revolution. While the symbolic burning of giant dolls takes place, another fire takes place a few miles away, near the government offices, but this fire is for burning books. After his gradual rejection of censorship and his secret adoption of books, the New Censor goes to the book burning, which is done silently, and is ignored by the masses, and thinks “this is the purifying fire, then; the real burning takes place here, in silence and secrecy” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 293). The ultimate destruction of books in Planet Amber highlights the contrast between the individual mind of the protagonist, Shāhir, and the undefeatable public actions of the government even more. While there are no major threats of violence, the inflexibility of society and its inability to change rises from the seemingly simple details of the narrative (Kawkab ʿanbar 2012). While we have a nightmarish fire of book burning in The Guardian of the Surface of the World, we have a literal nightmare in Planet Amber where Shāhir dreams of a rocking explosion and a building about to collapse, which Shāhir recognizes in his dream to be a bigger and cleaner version of his apartment, then he sees someone taking over the apartment, silently reading, who does not respond to Shāhir at all (Rabie 2010, pp. 160–​161). Soon after that, the decision by his boss is taken to demolish the library and scatter the books, using the fact that the library was established as a public charity endowment as an excuse to confiscate the books and redistribute them at the discretion of the government (Rabie 2010, p. 163). The hellish end of books in The Guardian of the Surface of the World that brings the dystopian oppression of heritage and culture to a consuming nihilation is further complicated by the tragic complicity of the protagonist. He witnesses the book burning and is incapable of fighting. He returns to the office and lies among piles of books he describes as “towers of Babel made of words” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 249), a metaphor foreshadowing the impending collapse of meaning. Indeed, the book burning festival is only

Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia  121 a culmination of the protagonist’s ultimate betrayal to books. The censors have been suspecting his leaning toward books. They find out that the secretary watching over the archives has been close to the New Censor’s daughter. They accuse the secretary of treason. They take away the New Censor’s daughter and place her in a rehabilitation center. Then they put the New Censor to trial. To save his daughter and himself, he leads the police to the Warrāqa. He openly decides to “let them all burn, the government and the opposition, and return his daughter” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 293). His betrayal of the books he has learned to love, and the book lovers he has learned to respect, marks another trait of the character development in both novels: guilt. The New Censor turns in the Warrāqa, calling her place “a resistance cell” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 282). Adding to his guilt, the Warrāqa tells him she has been expecting him. She refuses to give him up and does not reveal that he has been a collaborator and frequent visitor himself. He wonders why she does not expose him as she only “looks at him tenderly, with glistening eyes, as if weeping for him” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 283). Guilt The sense of guilt is even more intense in Planet Amber. Shāhir is the one responsible for writing a report that is meant from the start to justify pulling down the library. When he becomes attached to the books, his awakening is brushed off and dismissed by his boss, ʿabdu-l Raḥman. Shāhir admits to his new friends at the library that his report will be the reason to destroy the library and that he cannot stop this from happening. He expresses his guilt and they calm him down, but he can see their sadness as Ḥannā frantically tries to finish copying books before they are confiscated, while ʿalī Aḥmad says maybe it is for the best so he can start new translations since the available ones will be taken by the government and will disappear forever, while Dr. Sayyīd makes fun of everyone as he always does (Rabie 2010, pp. 161–​162). Like the New Censor in The Guardian of the Surface of the World, Shāhir’s complicity is more helplessness than participation. He is even incapable of writing the report and a colleague of his finishes it in one day at the office (Rabie 2010, p. 162). However, his sense of guilt is compounded as an inner struggle, echoed by his silent dream, a psychological materialization that projects on the question of meaning and interpretation raised in the novel. The consequences of his actions, however, are much less sinister than expected, but are also in sync with the subtle sociocultural malaise of the dystopia the Rabie portrays in the narrative. Shāhir is transferred to another job. His fate is surprisingly anti-​climactic, as he seems content to preserve the six books that he takes home without his boss finding out. He even ends by saying “it wasn’t too bad after all” (Rabie 2010, p. 164). The

122  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction understatement at the end deflates the rising tension of the nightmare and the reality of destroying a library. Rabie’s ending echoes the subtlety of intellectual decay. The destruction goes unnoticed by the public, or might be even cheered by them as the new train line will be launched in place of the library. The New Censor’s ending is a blurring of reality and imagination, a fitting ending for a narrative about the fight for the right to imagine against state condemnation of creativity. He believes that his immersive interest in the characters he has been reading has invoked them. He even talks to an imaginary Zorba, asking if Zorba has come from the novel because of him (al-​Essa 2019, p. 299). We see how “insane images were shoving each other in his mind” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 299). The surrealistic merger of reality and imagination reaches its height as he realizes he is probably a character in a fictitious account. Ironically, as he is becoming a reader, he is also becoming a character (al-​Essa 2019, p. 304). Although his mental state deteriorates, he is allowed to visit his daughter in the rehabilitation center. At this point, he argues that he does not mind “seeing his daughter again; even if on the pages of a book” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 306). It is there that we see the full scale of the horrific dystopian world of the novel. The young girl is strapped to a bed, her eyelids taped so they are forced to stay open and staring at brainwashing material on a screen in the ceiling: a photograph of the president (al-​Eaasa 2019, p. 307). He tries to ease her torment by reading Red Riding Hood to her, starting with the traditional once upon a time lines, and she responds by moving her lips but saying nothing as if she has forgotten words (al-​Eaasa 2019, p. 309). In what may be one of the most horrifying endings expected of the novel, it is not the protagonist who is physically harmed for his actions, but his offspring. The ending is a defeat of humanity, as the new generations are strapped and brainwashed, robbed of the saving potential of storytelling. Indoctrination is not subtle here, as all hopes for intellectual freedom are replaced by dictated visual stimuli. Narrative Strategy The narratives in the two novels are recounted through two distinct narratorial strategies. The narrator in The Guardian of the Surface of the World is a character-​focused third-​person narrator. The narrative voice offers information about the society we encounter, explaining the role of the Seven Censors, the censorship training, the medical condition of the New Censor’s daughter, the responses of employees when seeing rabbits in the building, the Warrāqa and her book haven, and other details pertinent to the narrative. Nevertheless, the narrative voice grants us deeper access only to the New Censor’s mind, his thoughts, motives, fears, and

Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia  123 private moments. The narration style comes close at certain points to the stream of consciousness as it touches upon the potential of exploring the New Censor’s confusion, especially at the end when he sees himself as a character in a narrative rather than a real person, with his mental state shaken by the interrogation, the constant pressure, the panic he feels when his daughter is taken to a rehabilitation center, and his guilt at turning in the Warrāqa and her bookstore. When the New Censor reaches the epiphanic realization that he is a character, the narrative structure of the novel folds upon itself. The interior monologue adopted in the narrative has been growing stronger as the inner conflict raging inside the mind of the New Censor shifts from a fresh trainee at a government facility to a rebellious book lover then a defeated and lost byproduct of a failed resistance and merciless dystopia. We read frequently passages that point out the inner voice, “he said to himself, and felt for this time that the voice coming from inside him resembles the voice of the First Censor, it is best to remain dead and feel nothing” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 288). When the Warrāqa is arrested and the books and documents she kept are confiscated, the New Censor finds a story that has the title, “The Guardian of the Surface of the World.” He laughs, realizing she wrote that about him, suspecting that maybe she has been in love with him as well, and bitterly resigns himself to accept that her fate is to burn in the dungeons of the national security police forever (al-​Essa 2019, p. 301). The last action in the narrative has the New Censor throw himself into the fire consuming the books. When the fire is put out, his body is never found, and the novel ends describing the disappearance of his body “as if he never existed. As if he was a character in a novel” (al-​Essa 2019, p. 313). His consumption in the fire blends him with the books he loved and betrayed, turning him into a narratorial voice silenced forever. The narrator at the end is finally distanced from the inner conflict of the character, as it is declared as non-​existent. In Planet Amber, the narrative strategy attempts to bring together a documentation of a collapsing world and a glimpse of an unreal world (Riwāya takshif 2010). The narrative revolves around Shāhir as the protagonist, but after Shāhir meets the other characters at the library, the narration is occasionally allowed from the perspective of Sayyīd, shedding light in the process on the distinct personalities of both characters. For instance, Sayyīd displays his quick temper, using expletives during his narration, as he starts his day by narrating, “Water is shut off? Haven’t we installed a water pump? They call it an engine. An engine, sons of dogs?” (Rabie 2010, p. 20). His sour temper is contrasted in the following section to Shāhir who describes the day as “a nice morning” (Rabie 2010, p. 26). The novel develops with Shāhir moving closer to the world of the library, with Sayyīd’s narration punctuating Shāhir’s growth. This culminates when Shāhir narrates how Sayyīd argues with him about the role of translators.

124  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Sayyīd draws a circle of signification, whereby meaning is transferred from the original text to the translated text through the translator, then to the library in a circular fashion. Sayyīd describes Serfani’s book by drawing another circle with the original book, the translated book, and a library only, since they have found an Arabic edition of Serfani’s book but with no translator credited for it, and given that the original is written in an imaginary language as well, this raises the question that the translation is meaningless (Rabie 2010, pp. 142–​13). The connection between Shāhir and Sayyīd at this point enhances the motif of the erosion of meaning, through the disappearance of one link after another, with the translator missing from the diagram Sayyīd drew and, soon afterwards, the library being destroyed as well. Distress and the Impossibility of Change As both books work with mental challenges, whether changing allegiance and convictions or despair and deterioration, distress is central to shaping how the main characters grapple with intellectual dystopia in a world bent on banning and controlling the human mind. Insanity becomes the glaring ending in The Guardian of the Surface of the World. This becomes evident after the New Censor turns in the Warrāqa and finds out he is a character in one of her writings. He talks about how he has fallen in “the trap of meaning,” then lies naked on piles of books, beckons at three terrified colleagues carrying boxes of books and announces that he has become a character in a novel. From their lens, they only see “a naked man smiling like a madman” and decide to call an ambulance or the police (al-​Essa 2019, pp. 302–​303). Distress reaches its height in the novel with the New Censor’s daughter, who is mentally under shock as she is strapped to a bed and forced to stare at the picture of the president that used to scare her. Interestingly, when he saw his daughter in this crushing torment, the New Censor seemed more in control of his emotions than expected. He tries telling her a story, then secretly eases the straps around her arms, and walks quietly with the nurse who comes to take him out of his daughter’s room (al-​Essa 2019, p. 309). The following day, the child, now freed of her constraints, commits suicide by banging her head against the wall. She dies smiling (al-​Essa 2019, p. 311). Perhaps the ultimate act of compassion and rebellion that the New Censor does is to free his child and allow her to take her own life rather than endure the brainwashing of the regime. He soon follows as he throws himself into the fire with the burning books (al-​Essa 2019, p. 313). The brutal deaths of both characters can be seen as a stark depiction of the impossibility to adapt to mental control, as their collapse is at once defeat, and, perhaps, liberation, and even resistance.

Inflexibility in Intellectual Dystopia  125 In Planet Amber, distress seemingly takes an opposite direction but, with a closer look, perhaps not that different. Rather than vanish physically by dying like the New Censor and his daughter, Shāhir vanishes socially, culturally, and politically. He becomes irrelevant. The distress of living under the weight of a system that obscures him is his punishment, rendering him into a Sisyphus figure, with the six books he kept, trying to preserve what seems to be doomed to obliteration eventually. He is to be transferred to an unknown place where banned books will be stored permanently, a small villa, his boss tells him, where the books confiscated from the library of Kawkab ʿanbar will be stored (Rabie 2010, p. 163). He will be essentially locked up with the books he has tried to protect but ended up betraying, a fate not very similar from that of the New Censor’s. Both protagonists will be united with their books, one burning into ashes and the other rotting in negligence. References Abu Al-​Nasr, Mona. (April 11, 2022). “Blind Sinbad”: Bothayna Al-​Essa explores a changing Kuwair, from war to pandemic. Al-​Fanar Media. Retrieved September 19, 2002 from https://​al-​fan​arme​dia.org/​2022/​04/​botha​yna-​al-​essa-​explo​res-​a-​ chang​ing-​kuw​ait/​ al-​Essa, Buthayna. (2019). Ḥāris saṭh al-​ ʿālam. [The Guardian of the Surface of the World]. Beirut: Lebanon: al-​dār al-​ʿarabiyya li-​l-​ʿulūm. Alhinai, Sharifah. (June 30, 2022). Bothayna Al-​Essa: Literature can save us years of personal growth. Sekka Summer 2022: The Power of Words. 6(36). Sekka. Al-​tarjama ilā al-​faransīya … niqāsh adbī alā maqhā mahrajān sard al-​mutawasiṭ. (April 10, 2019). [Translation to French: A literary discussion at the café of the Mediterranean festival of narrative]. Bab Masr. Retrieved July 29, 2022 from https://​urlzs.com/​qtgM4 Banipal. (n.d.). Retrieved July 19, 2022 from https://​urlzs.com/​fPRqQ International Prize for Arabic Fiction. (October 2012) Retrieved August 20, 2022 from https://​arabic​fict​ion.org/​ar/​Moham​mad-​Rabie-​Nadwa2​012 Kawkab ʿanbar … riwāya al-​fard fī mujtamaʿ yastʿṣī ʿalā alalā–​taghyīr. (August 3, 2012) [Planet Amber: A novel about the individual in a society incapable of change]. Alwasat News. Retrieved August 18, 2022 from www.alwa​satn​ews. com/​news/​692​345.html Nuṣ sāʿa: riwāyat Kawkab ʿanbar. (2012). [Half an Hour: Planet Amber]. Ontv Live. Retrieved September 1, 2022 from www.dail​ymot​ion.com/​video/​xq3​58k Rabie, Mohammad. (2010). Kawkab ʿanbar. [Planet Amber]. Cairo: Al-​Kotobkhan. Riwāya takshif usṭūrat al-​qāhira al-​ ʿajūz. (July 27, 2010). [A novel that reveals the myth of old Cairo]. Al-​Yaum. Retrieved August 12, 2022 from https://​urlzs. com/​L6TSH Takween. [@takweenKW]. (n.d.) https://​twit​ter.com/​takwee​nKw

Section 2

Normlessness and the Dystopia of the Apocalypse Perhaps the most graphic of all the novels in this book are in this section. As normlessness is the norm, the worlds depicted here are spiraling toward chaos, even as the despotic entities ruling collapsing dystopias claim that they are still in control. With revolutions and wars as the backdrop of these narratives, those who used to enforce the system, as in the novels by Rabie and Abdel Aziz, ultimately defy it. Even those who were less aware of the atrocities around them eventually have to grapple with the inescapable violence of normlessness, such as the central characters in the novels by al-​Aʿraj and al-​Zaʿtarī.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-13

7 Mistrust in Post-​Revolt Dystopia Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue and Mohammad Rabie’s Otared

Introduction This chapter distinguishes between dystopia, apocalypse, and post-​ apocalypse in the Arabic speculative fiction examined in this book. For the purpose of this study, an apocalypse would be a specific event or series of events that posed a considerable collective existential threat. This turning point usually wreaks havoc on a community or number of communities, resulting in deaths and destruction, such as war, revolution, a natural disaster, or an ecological disaster. The apocalypse is survived by some members of the community. The traumatic experience of the apocalypse, however, contributes to a shift from the average, familiar daily life to extreme measures of survival. This usually feeds pre-​existing social, cultural, economic, and political malaise, and we see tyranny, class gap, poverty, violence, and the like taken to unprecedented levels. This differs from a dystopia which is more of an organized society languishing in corruption and slow decay within an intricate system sustaining such dysfunctionality. The dehumanization process in an apocalyptic society in the novels in this chapter meets with a pre-​existing dystopia of deep states, complete with bureaucratic and political structures of injustice constructed for decades. In other words, a post-​apocalyptic dystopia is the merging of recently accelerated violent disintegration with an old, established machinery of slow decay. It is a dystopia in survival mode. Few things can be more nightmarish than that, as the novels in this chapter might exemplify. It would not be an unusual expectation that the public unrest that took Arab countries by storm in the beginning of the second decade of the twenty-​first century, referred to as the Arab Spring, to inspire a pronounced focus in Arabic language speculative fiction. Ignited by Tunisia in 2010 and lasting through 2011, the political, public, global, and brutal nature of the protests that shook the region, had countries like Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, Lebanon, Syria, and Yemen embroiled in DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-14

128  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction unforgiving repercussions that range from civil war to a refugee crisis at worst, and economic pressures and significant loss of civil rights at best. The turmoil in the region at various degrees is worthy of rivaling the creative imagination of speculative fiction, of the darkest shade, perhaps even of an apocalyptic level. The body count whether in clashes between protesters and security forces, failed Mediterranean crossings that ended up with drowned refugees surfacing at European shores, or total destruction of cities in civil wars that erupted after decades of forced stability, all seem right out of a post-​apocalyptic setting in film or novel. The emergence, or at least blatant reinstatement, of repressive regimes and the thinly disguised global support for them are features of dystopian world structures. The combination of both the fear of a potential post-​apocalyptic existence and the paralysis facing dystopian conditions provides the backdrop of this part of the book that tackles some literary contribution to apocalyptic dystopia fiction. This chapter examines two novels that tackle the post-​apocalyptic strain in their dystopian narratives within a post-​revolt context, thus, treating the revolutionary act as apocalyptic, with the subsequent crises it entailed branding this act as a failed rebellion that succeeded in nothing but wounding the monstrosity of chaos and despotism, rendering it not only more lethal, but with a finality worthy of an apocalypse that makes whatever world left after the rubble as post-​apocalyptic. The first novel is The Queue, published in Arabic as al-​Ṭābūr in 2013, and in English in 2016, translated by Elisabeth Jaquette. It was written by Egyptian novelist Basma Abdel Aziz a little more than two years after the January 25th protests in 2011 started in Tahrir Square, marking the Egyptian joust in the Arab protests. With degrees in medicine and psychiatry, Abdel Aziz works at the Egyptian ministry of health, recently focusing on the rights of psychiatric patients and trauma victims of violence and torture. The Queue is her first novel, which has been translated to several languages and received critical acclaim. She has also written short stories, non-​fiction, and a second novel, published in Arabic in 2017 as Hunā badan, and translated into English as Here Is a Body in 2021. The second novel is ʿuṭārid, published in 2014 in Arabic, and published in 2016 in English as Otared, translated by Robin Moger. Written by Mohammad Rabie, author of Planet Amber examined earlier in this book, the novel is often paired with The Queue as literary responses to the Egyptian protests. This might be due to the proximity of the dates of publication to each other and to the protests in Egypt that they critique, but also due to how both novels scathingly address an Egyptian futuristic world distorted by events that led to unprecedented increase in violence, oppression, and chaos, represented by security apparel cracking down on dissent, technological surveillance, on the one hand, and streets of mounting suffering that resort to innovatively horrific tactics of survival

Mistrust in Post-Revolt Dystopia  129 to cope with the post-​apocalyptic realities of a world reeling from public trauma and its aftermath. Law and Lawlessness The premise of The Queue seems based on a bureaucratic ailment of modern society, as a satire of futility of an imposed superficiality of order. The painstaking queuing in front of counters, offices, and buildings waiting for services is crushing and even dehumanizing enough, becoming such a staple of life that small businesses form around it, such as people selling food, drinks, drugs, or helping with paperwork, but can become significantly more so, showing its nightmarish side when the very lives of the people in the queue rely on, or are defined by the services offered, and when, as in the novel, the queue reputably stretches for cities beyond the horizon. The queue is a distorted cynical reproduction of failed order, perhaps seen also as a part of what might be considered novels offering satirical critiques of the reincarnation of the nation state (Youssef 2021, p. 355). In a Kafkaesque twist, we never meet or see who is behind the large gate erected at the end of the queue. We just know that, known simply as the Gate, the foreboding structure was fortified after a failed uprising in the city known as the First Storm (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 8). In an absurdist portrayal reminiscent of Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot, we do not follow anyone from the queue who has ever successfully finished what they were hoping to or forced to accomplish by queuing. The novel, therefore, starts after a major crisis, a typical feature of post-​apocalyptic literature. The apocalypse here is the First Storm, whereby a group of people protested against the injustice of the regime. To suppress the First Storm, the regime established the Quell Force and made use of infighting among the rebels to end the uprising. The aftermath of the First Storm was the appearance of the Gate, erected by the old guard who became more powerful than ever (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 9). The narration recounts all this in retrospect, as the current time of the narrative is the post-​apocalypse of the torturous queue winding in front of the Gate. Otared starts with a heinous double crime of familicide and cannibalism. A police investigation unravels that an entire family was murdered and their remains were cooked. We soon learn that the time of events is 2025 at “the chaotic neighborhood of Bulaq Abul-​Ela, its disorder a fitting backdrop for the infantile troublemaking that had broken out there years before” (Rabie 2016, p. 26). It doesn’t take long reading through the account of the few years leading to the present moment before we find out that after the failed “troublemaking” the apocalypse befell Egypt. Weakened by the chaotic protests, Cairo was occupied by foreign forces called the Maltese Knights. This in turn led to a division of Cairo into

130  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction East Cairo and West Cairo, with West Cairo finally obtaining freedom from occupation while East Cairo remaining a stronghold of the Maltese Knights. The Knights’ victory was swift and was met by acceptance from the government and even the press, which never used the word occupation to refer to the presence of the Knights, whose presence was solidified when they appointed Egyptian officials, including a Colonel Abdallah for the Ministry of the Interior, running the police force and quelling resistance. However, the Knights still met underground resistance from defecting police officers and others in East Cairo. Described as a city in debris, with sprawling ruins of famous landmarks compared to prostitutes and drunk American tourists, we have in the occupied and divided megacity of 2025 the post-​apocalyptic setting of Rabie’s novel (Rabie 2016, p. 25). Visuality as a Narrative Strategy When the conditions of the post-​apocalyptic narrative are laid out as various aftermaths to failed public uprisings, the narratives then move forward with escalating details of the dystopian worlds constructed on the debris of the collapsed societies they depict. The common feature by both novels is the sheer dehumanization of survival imposed on a once defiant people on the one hand, and the ruthlessness of regimes wary of a repeat show of protest on the other hand. Both oppressor and oppressed, however, seem more like shadows of their past selves, more like remnants of dignified times, indicating that perhaps the autocratic rules once found pride even in despotism, and people found dignity in resisting, but now they are both shredding the last semblance of respect and clinging to survival, rotting whether in the streets or behind gigantic walls. The dystopia here is not only the stressful and dangerous failed conditions of most dystopian worlds, but more like having to endure the curse of survival itself. In other words, the two novels depict a world where the apocalypse might have been better than the post-​apocalypse. Daily suffering is evident in depictions of detailed living conditions. This requires a vivid visuality that is almost cinematic at times. In The Queue, the narrative progresses like a handheld camera shakingly moving along the long queue, filming the people standing in line, where some of them are not paying attention and others stare at the camera, or even curse at it. The people in the queue are described one after the other, with Yehya as the focal point against whom the imaginary narratorial lens rests and moves, thus, in front of him we notice a tall woman dressed in black whose eyes darts around searching for someone to hear her endless complaints, while behind him stands a young man, apparently inexperienced or at least displaying the hope of the inexperienced as he asks about the time the Gate opens, clearly not knowing the futility of time in the queue (Abdel Aziz

Mistrust in Post-Revolt Dystopia  131 2016, p. 10). This scene sets the tone for the visual movement, as we move further up the line, with another woman in turquoise standing in front of the woman in black, and more of the same, with each character described with a level of interest and even intimacy that the description would give a temporary false expectation that the character described is a major character, only to find out as the narrative lens moves on that the detailed description was for a visual grounding of the queue and its inhabitants rather than for plot or characterization. The narrativity and visuality go hand in hand, as the people in the queue who are mostly minor characters in the novel resemble extras in a filmed narrative. They exchange stories about their daily dilemmas that brought them to the queue, such as filing a complaint about being unable to buy subsidized bread, strewing their stories with expletives (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 12). While their conversations are all about banal daily problems, they are shared by the political ensnaring of bureaucracy. The narrator observes how “politics has eaten away at people’s heads and they, in turn, had begun to devour one another” (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 12). Indeed, the free movement of description and narration along the queue is dramatized through the presence of a character, Ehab. He declares that he is a journalist, considers himself “above reserving a place in the queue” and began working his up the lines of people, asking questions and jotting down answers. An important detail here is that Ehab is a former activist and protester, a point that only attests how the role of activism has changed in the oppressed world of the queue, with activists still seeking truth, but only allowed to stay on the margin, just like Ehab is on the margin of the queue (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 28). In a sense, Ehab’s appearance echoes the moving description and narration that mimics the progress of the queue. The visuality of narration in Otared, while not focused on the presence of a queue, is similar to The Queue in its constant movement, capturing details along the way. The graphic violence and decay in the novel seem, at least from some critical perspectives, to follow the current tone of Arabic dystopian fiction that combines graphic horror with science fiction and fantasy (Qutait 2020, p. 744). This graphicness is especially true in the AD 2011 and AD 2025 sections, as the narration follows the narrator’s walks in the streets of Cairo, with a narratorial lens describing and recounting what is happening in the streets. This usually throws light on details as macabre as dead bodies by garbage cans or badly disfigured prostitutes in one of the nightmarish neighborhoods. In AD 2011, the visuality follows the various narrators during protests and the ensuing violence. In AD 2025, the visual impact is at its most grotesque in the vivid cruelty of the squalor under one of the major bridges, where street vendors sell everything, and where pimps brutalize prostitutes, all wrapped in layers of horrid decay.

132  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Temporal Narration of Post-​apocalyptic Dystopia The nature of a post-​apocalyptic dystopian narrative requires constant weaving of past and present, causal relationships, and intersectionality of descriptiveness and action. The first, the temporal connectivity of past and present, traces the movement from before the apocalypse, then the apocalyptic turning point, up to the present post-​apocalypse. The second, causal relationships underscore the reasons for the current deteriorating conditions. The third feature uses description to magnify the details of the shattered world of the novel, while the action accompanies readers across the tapestry of life and death of that world. All three elements in the two novels are presented through narration. The narrative perspective is instrumental in each novel as it brings us retrospective knowledge of the world before the crisis, and connecting the dots as to why the narrative has reached this point, and, perhaps most importantly, zoom in on the details of the nightmarish world of possible doom. Interestingly, the two writers make different narratorial choices that aim at those similar goals. The narrator in The Queue is a third-​person voice that is omnipresent and omniscient, freely revealing characters’ thoughts and moving across places as well as filling in temporal gaps by providing historical details of the Gate and the queue. The narrative is divided into six parts, each starts with a chapter named after a numbered document, followed by chapters focusing on specific characters, certain key events, or significant places. For instance, we have chapters named Um Mabrouk, the cleaning lady, but no chapters are named after a central character, Yehya, who was wounded by a riot police bullet in protests and who is waiting in the queue to receive medical treatment but the circumstances of his wound make him suspect as well. Other key characters are mentioned as part of a place, such as Amani, who attempts to help Yehya and risks the wrath of the Gate, or Tarek, the doctor who is conflicted about saving Yehya and following procedures. Amani is mentioned in a chapter titled “The Way to Amani,” placing her as a potential hope to be sought. Tarek’s name makes the title of the last chapter, “Tarek’s Proposal,” where Tarek finally decides to operate on Yehya secretly at a supporter, Nagy’s house. In addition to characters, we have chapters named after places such as Zephyr Hospital, the state-​run hospital offering strictly controlled medical services, where Tarek works as a physician, and where all the documents are issued in a stifling bureaucratic record of Yehya’s case, from entering the hospital to requesting surgery. The surgery never happens at the hospital, but we know that Tarek attempts to do it, although the novel ends without us knowing for sure what happens (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 214). Key events are also highlighted as chapter titles, such as “The Boycott Campaign,” which introduces Violet Telecom as a major player in the narrative (Abdel

Mistrust in Post-Revolt Dystopia  133 Aziz 2016, p. 120). A phone company with enough state-​granted privileges to monopolize communications, Violet Telecom cuts communications to stifle protests, is involved in surveillance of users, as evident with another character, Ines, who finds out her political opinions and her critique of the state were recorded through Violet Telecom, thus having her summoned to the Gate, and potentially ending not only her career but that of her parents who work in an oil-​producing Arab country (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 130). The chapters, therefore, mark the narrative strategy that Abdel Aziz adopts, focusing on characters, time, and space as key connectors that thread the dystopian world-​building of the novel, contextualized with the sequenced documents at the beginning of each part. The dystopian world of Otared unravels through three main temporal spheres. It begins with AD 2025, then moves back to AD 2011, then even further to AH 455, then reverses back to AD 2011, and ends with AD 2025 as it started. The cyclic narration enhances the connectivity of character, time, and space. The variation of narratorial voice offers interesting perspectives on each temporal section. The futuristic post-​apocalypse has two parts, beginning and ending the loop, followed by the near past, or in many respects the present, given its very strong repercussions, of 2011, following 2025 in the first round then preceding it in the last one. The two pairs of 2025/​2011 are separated by the single part dedicated to AH 455, a distant past that is seemingly not related to the present nor the future, but is, in fact, a horrifically defining moment for what could be the true end of the post-​apocalyptic cycle, for AH 455 refer a Hejira year of Islamic calendar, when Egypt suffered from a famine that led to The AD 2025 section is the time of the post-​apocalypse, with the resistance in East Cairo against the Maltese Knights. The events of this dismal future are revealed through the first-​person account of an eye-​witness, who is none other than the protagonist of the AD 2025 parts and the title character, Otared. A police officer who decides to join a resistance unit to secretly assassinate Egyptian officers loyal to the Maltese Knight, Captain Ahmed Otared is the rugged, street-​wise, weather-​beaten cop straight out of stereotypical portrayals of cops or veterans who have seen it all. Even his name is Arabic for planet Mercury, the nearest to the sun in the solar system, perhaps a rather crude symbol to how close Captain Otared is to the source of heat, scorched by the fire of action in the post-​apocalyptic future. The AD 2011 follows the protests in Egypt during the Arab Spring. This section focuses on the chaotic events that took Egypt by storm, shifting from streets to the living rooms of average Egyptian. The fast-​ paced, rather familiar backdrop of this part has a third-​person narrator. The narratorial perspective, however, is closer to the stream of consciousness narrative technique than omniscient narrative voice. The third-​person

134  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction perspective adheres to the viewpoint of one character for a while before moving on to the perception of another character. The section starts with Insal, an average family man who finds an abandoned child, Zahra, and tries with his wife, Leila, to protect her during the chaotic protests. We see the narrative allowing us glimpses of Zahra’s sensory perception as the narrator describes how she falls asleep after touching Insal’s face (Rabie 2016, p. 200). We see someone referred to as a dog man, accompanied by dogs all the time, who represents the figure of the wanderer or scavenger, expected at scenes of impending doom. Then we move on to a violent pedophile living in the streets who captures two young girls, drags them along, and rapes them. The most ingenious use of narrators, however, is employed when the narrative briefly focuses on stray dogs as they sniff garbage and find a dead body, and the narration gives them voice as they bark to each other, “a dead man!” and continue barking “dead, dead, dead” (Rabie 2016, p. 202). When one character is the focus of narration, and they meet another character, the other is described from a distance, until they get their turn as the focalized narratorial object. This variation of third-​person stream of consciousness allows the writer to communicate the myriad perceptions of the people engulfed by the violent and chaotic outbursts of protests. The central narrative section is dedicated to the distant past. The events take place in the Hejira year of 455, almost 900 years ago. Historically, this date falls during the Fatimid rule in Egypt. What is more significant is that in the late Hijri 5th century (early 11th century BCE), Egypt went through a sweeping famine that resulted from a drought. It was called al-​Shiddah al-​Musṭanṣirīyya, which can be translated as the Mustanisrite Plight, in reference to al-​Mustansir bi-​Allah, the Fatimid Caliph at the time. Arid lands led to abject economic conditions and famine that reputably hit so hard that stories spread about people eating mules, cats, dogs, and in some extreme accounts, resorted to cannibalism. In the section AH 455, events are narrated by a first-​person narrator. We learn he is a warrior in Egypt, near al-​Muqaṭam, and that he witnesses an uprising after the death of a popular leader. This section is complete with no chapters and is the shortest in the novel. It is also the only fantastical part of the narrative. The narrator describes military attacks and ensuing torture that he attributes to hell, believing he must have died and is now “in fire forevermore,” cast into hell “moving from torment to torment” as he puts it (Rabie 2016, p. 242). Symbolically, the attack on people causing a massacre that suddenly turned into a life in hell might be a reference to riot police attacking protesters. Similarly, the choice of the specific time in history might also be a reference to economic strife, and in that sense, it might be an even darker prediction of an apocalyptic ending where the failed protests can lead to economic collapse and endless suffering. This is emphasized when

Mistrust in Post-Revolt Dystopia  135 the narrator says that his life in hell is just, ironically referring to what is meant to be the worst form of existence as more just than life under the injustice of humanity. The narrative moves from the Medieval hell to the modern one again in the second AD 2011. It begins with Insal accompanying Zahra to look for her father’s body among corpses. The hellish depiction of the Medieval section seems to catch up with this section as well. Zahra suddenly starts to show symptoms of a horrific condition, as her skin peels off, her eyes shut down, and she becomes gradually deformed. At this point, Insal thinks of hell and of how he wants to die to chastise Zahra’s father for abandoning her (Rabie 2016, p. 259). Zahra loses her senses, the ultimate in the nightmarish portrayal of sensory deprivation, which Rabie brilliantly intensifies through the use of the narrative stream of consciousness, which relies on relaying a character’s sensory perception. Yet, Zahra become faceless and we find out her aunt is faceless, too, a hereditary affliction (Rabie 2016, p. 285). Zahra, whose name means a flower, is a symbol of innocence, usurped and deformed. Her story is parallel to the two young girls raped by the garbage man, whose innocence is also shattered. The unflinching violence of rape and deformity afflict children, intensifying the silence, the unspeakable imprisonment of helplessness in the case of the two girls, and the physical absence of sensation in the case of Zahra. The three represent the oppressiveness of the impossibility of self-​expression. The narrative returns a second and last time to AD 2025, where the novel ends. The beginning of the end has the narrator of this section, Otared, expressing his shock and regret that he “forgot the anticipated revolution, the people gathered in the street, the piles of corpses, and the tearful cries” (Rabie 2016, p. 288). The narrative escalates quickly toward an end, with the Evacuation Day marking the end of the occupation as the Maltese Knights leave (Rabie 2016, p. 295). Possible interpretations of the Knights could be the religious right-​ wing political groups and the evacuation could be a reference to their removal from power. The circularity of the narrative is strongly accentuated by the closing event of the novel, where Otared is dying, and describing hell, a description similar to that described by the narrator of the section on Medieval Fatimid Egypt. Otared describes: “I saw that hell was eternal and unbroken, changeless and undying” where he saw how he tormented people and was tormented by them, an image of hell echoing the ending of the middle section AH 455 (Rabie 2016, p. 378). The most significant narratorial feat of this novel is the surprising insinuation Otared makes that “I saw that I had been a policeman in this world, and I saw that I had been a policeman in many different lives in many hells, and a million million images passed before me in which I saw everything” (Rabie 2016, p. 378). The metaphorical reincarnation of Otared as a member of the

136  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction ruthless security apparel entails the reincarnation of the core principles of oppression and injustice over the ages. What is more, Otared makes two interesting realizations about hell that seem to echo the main features of the post-​apocalyptic dystopia depicted by Rabie. He says, “in the end, other things would pass away and nothing besides remain. I knew I was in hell forevermore and the I belong here” (Rabie 2016, p. 378). First, the total destruction of life on earth is a classic ending of post-​apocalypse. Second, Otared echoes the notion expressed by the narrator of AH 455 that justice will only be found in the afterlife. The sensory awareness of hell and the sharing of torment among torturers and their victims close the looping circularity of injustice, protest, and repression of a thousand years. The rather stoic acceptance of the first-​person narrators of their fate in eternal damnation reflects the critique not only of oppressors but of those who enabled them as well. The Queue and Otared are both sharply focused on a futuristic dystopias with a firm grounding in the past, which is arguably closer to the present for the authors while presented as the relatively near past for the time frames for both narratives. Speculative fiction novels introduce elements of futurism using different methods. Among those methods would be technological devices. Of the two novels, Otared comes closer to that strategy. Rabie, however, resorts to an existing technology but portrays it differently, assigning it a role that would create a futuristic atmosphere. Otared’s 2025 world is full of drones that carry out several jobs, most importantly spying on people. One of them, in particular, is a small drone in the shape of scarab. It somehow refuses orders from its controller and attaches itself to Otared. Soon, Captain Otared takes it on as a pet and even gives it a name, Bruhan, which means evidence or proof. Burhan behaves like a pet, indeed staying on Otared’s leg, waiting for him, even protecting Farida, the only person Otared loves. At one point, Otared feels secure returning home to see Burhan clinging to the wall watching a sleeping Farida, almost like a loyal dog watching over a family member (Rabie 2016, p. 157). Both Otared and The Queue select a technology that is used for surveillance and control, the drones flying all over Cairo in Otared and Violet Telecom, the communications company in The Queue. The merging of dystopian elements with post-​apocalyptic features is prominent in both novels. The established regimes in The Queue are presented as vengeful revival of authoritarianism with reference to the failed protests. The Gate is emphatically described as a construct that was built in response to the failed protests. This indicates both the existence of a despotic regime that imposed a dystopian existence before the Gate was erected, and the violent events of the protests that led to the extreme post-​apocalyptic measures of the Gate and the ensuing queue

Mistrust in Post-Revolt Dystopia  137 that the novel focuses on. The Gate then is erected and the queue is imposed as punitive measures, portraying the post-​revolt regime as a Panoptic state (Eram and Haque 2022, p. 49). The Gate, then, is a post-​ apocalyptic state that has all the bureaucratic dysfunction of dystopia taken to new heights to punish the people and stifle them within an inch of their lives, as in Yehya’s case. Abdel Aziz makes use of the dystopian motif of ultranationalism within the bureaucratic hell of the Gate, introducing The Certificate of True Citizenship, a type of security clearance that any citizen should apply for or they would be denied services and risk placing themselves in the line of a suspicion, leading to questioning and interrogation by the paranoid McCarthyism of the Gate authorities. The Certificate of True Citizenship is directly linked to a world of McCarthyism, where employees report any dissidence by their colleagues to the Gate to prove their loyalty, a threat that Um Mabrouk, the cleaning lady, warns Ines about when she contradicts a co-​worker, Shalaby, who also proudly serves in the Servant Force to serve Gate Commanders, and told the truth against Mahfouz, a member of the feared Quell Forces (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 73). The Certificate puts into question the entire notion of nationalism, as even for citizens, citizenship is still proven only by the ruling class (Prasad 2021, p. 44). In Otared, the historical dimension of the narrative goes even further. A dystopian state is clearly laid out in the AD 2011 section. Once again failed protests lead to the apocalyptic moment that entails the post-​ apocalyptic nightmares of AD 2025. Nevertheless, the AH 455 section narrates another catastrophic event, apocalyptic in its own right. This, perhaps, signals a dystopian state that must have existed before AH 455, that led to the violent turn of events in Fatimid Egypt of the AH 450s. It makes sense to also expect a post-​apocalyptic state to have ensued after the violent events of AH 455. None of those are in the novel, as there are no accounts for what leads to AH 455 and what aftermath immediately follows it. This may serve, however, as a flashing visit from the past that sheds blinding light on the two closer timeframes of AD 2011 and AD 2025. The Medieval atrocities we read briefly about in the AH 455 section are like the hinges that hold together the two flapping ends of the current disaster of a failed protest and its expected aftermath. Mistrust as a Response to Random Death Distress figures prominently among the characters of both novels in the form of grappling with the contention of life and death, as a reaction to the persistence of a life hijacked and crushed by despotism and chaos together with death that seems to freely and randomly take away characters with little

138  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction that anyone can do. Mistrust reigns supreme when options are shut off, and when choices are scarce, which is the case in both narratives, as “what is so striking about the novels selected is that choices in the imagined future are so limited” (Marusek 2022, p. 766). With death prevailing more randomly, mistrust becomes a reaction to the normlessness of a life that is regulated by the flimsy presence of law and order, which, in fact, is the cause of impending death. The suffering of the characters can be viewed as indicative of trauma, and it certainly helps that the author, Abdel Aziz is a trauma specialist by profession (Campbell 2021, p. 309). Distress is even intensified as the conditions of life at times do not make death as feared as expected. The distress in both narratives manifests itself through the combination of the post-​ apocalypse with the dystopian in what seems metaphorically represented as a medical anxiety that both narratives delve in with powerful emphasis. In The Queue, the plot progresses along the unraveling of hospital documents recording the case of Yehya whose attempts to obtain treatment at Zephyr Hospital were stalled repeatedly. Yehya’s dilemma is presented as a “traumatic encounter” (Campbell 2021, p. 361). The bureaucratic machinery is weaponized by the Gate authorities to punish any civilian implicated in dissent, however minor or even accidental their involvement might be. The futile crisis of conscience by the physician Tarek might save Yehya and it serves the narrative as his inner conflict helps unpack the machinations of the world that Abdel Aziz is portraying. The doctor is an accomplice to a degree through his hesitation, and other doctors who run the hospital are directly involved by choosing not to stand up for a dying patient. Medicine, as representative of science here, does nothing to alleviate the destruction of the moral fabric of the world in The Queue. Only the personal decision of supporters such as Amani, Ines, Nagy, and finally Tarek might make a difference, although we never get to know whether their sacrifices and the risks that they took yielded any results. In Otared, the condition that Zahra suffers from, and as it turns out so do members of her family, is a facelessness that gradually renders her incapable of communicating through any sensory perception. The symbolism of the loss of contact, and the blighting of individuality by obliterating facial features and other unique indicative traits of an individual such as their voice signifies that brutal attack on individual existence as a severe deterioration of the despotic cracking down on freedom of expression, as it is taken literally in the novel to include even facial expressions. Rabie adds to this a genetic mutation, implying how fear of the repercussions of political and social oppression can become a disease developed by the people themselves. Zahra’s condition is a form of isolationism, a biological equivalent to the silencing imposed on communities by authorities in the aftermath of failed dissent. In Otared, deformity is a motif that runs through the novel, whether due to an inexplicable disease, poverty,

Mistrust in Post-Revolt Dystopia  139 or violence. In more than one incident, amputated nipples of women is mentioned as a grotesque metaphor for loss of sensation. Female breasts are multiple symbols, from nurturing motherhood to objectified sexualization, and the severance of nipples can indicate a loss of functionality, and are also part of medical and health conditions as maladies or health issues related to breasts are often medical. This is seen for instance in the description of one of the prostitutes that Captain Otared visits under the bridge (Rabie 2016, p. 110). Similarly, one of the young girls held captive and raped by the garbage man had a missing nipple. The garbage man stabs himself in the neck after raping her (Rabie 2016, p. 266). As she removes his corpse and moves from under him, her bloodied face, torn lips, and a missing nipple are described (Rabie 2016, p. 268). The villainized medical torture reaches its culmination in the public execution of Farida at the end. A doctor is present on stage next to an executioner and they take turns torturing and executing her, including at one point slicing her remaining nipple and throwing it to a raving crowd witnessing the execution. The doctor is described in “dapper white coat and spectacles” bringing out tubes, syringes, and other tools that he places “on the table alongside the executioner’s tools” (Rabie 2016, p. 373). The pairing of the doctor and the executioner molds how nothing saves society from moral decay, not even science nor education. Only the decision of Otared to rebel, which costs his life, might have made a difference, but he dies and we do not know if his death changed anything. Perhaps as a statement against the onslaught on individuality in the worlds depicted by Abdel Aziz and Rabie, death, which might have been considered an equalizer where no individual differences are acknowledged, is, in fact, reversed in their narratives. With many deaths recounted in the history of the First Storm in The Queue, and described with varied gruesome details in Otared’s different periods, both narratives still managed to individualize death by magnifying the death of specific characters. As death seems to be narratively desensitized due to its repetitiveness, we are surprised by the emotive connection made for specific characters. This is especially powerful in Otared, where the violence throughout the novel might not have prepared us for how tragic one more death would be, until Farida, Otared’s only love interest, is viciously tortured and executed. The empathic response by Otared himself guides us to focus on the details of her death, then his, when he tries to defend her. Death in Otared, for the most part, is denied the glorification expected from martyrdom in connection with death for a cause, such as revolution. On the contrary, “the narrative techniques strip any glorified significance from the moment of death and render it a mere public performance of terror” (Said 2021, p. 237). The public annihilationist ending of Otared as a character is not final, as he lives on in a hellish afterlife, making life and death less

140  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction consequential in the post-​apocalyptic dystopia of the chaotic shattered world of Otared. Death in The Queue is also robbed of details, and is not given an ending, perhaps reflecting “a century of thwarted popular aspirations, enfolds critical temporalities, and—​just—​resists closure” (Moore 2018, p. 193). The lack of clarity about whether Yehya survives the surgery Tarek secretly does or not highlights the unimportance and perhaps the privacy of life and death, maybe granting Yehya a final dignity regardless of whether he survives or not after the public shame of his case being documented as if he is only a case. The narrative ends with the final addition Tarek makes to the documentation of Tarek’s case, accurately adding an official entry that “Yehya Gad El-​Rab has spent one hundred and forty nights of his life in the queue” (Abdel Aziz 2016, p. 217). Yehya is the individualized case that we follow, as we become more invested in the injustice of denial, the tyranny of neglect. This, however, is methodically recorded in the neat documents at the beginning of each part with such soullessness that Yehya’s life and potential death are written away, filed away, also turning life and death into a bureaucratic property of the post-​apocalyptic dystopia of a stifling monitored and controlled world of The Queue. While Yehya is not a revolutionary figure, he plays a pivotal role in unraveling the lengths of injustice in the regime (Alhashmi 2022, p. 4). Nevertheless, death is not the same in both novels, for “while death is the only deliverance that a moral degenerate like Otared can imagine, Tarek still wonders about life” (Marusek 2022, p. 759). Guilt and Defiance In both novels, central characters are entangled and implicated in serving the despotic regimes in their dystopian worlds. In Otared, the criminal behavior of Otared portrays him as an aggressor. As a policeman, he is close to the authoritarian regime. Even his name, ʿuṭārid, is Arabic for the planet Mercury, implying his proximity to the burning sun, which is symbolically presented in the motif of hellfire at the end. His suffering reflects the concept of equity as the second central aspect of distress, whereby even perpetrators of oppression are hurt by it through their fear of retaliation. Their closeness to the sun, in other words, burns them. In The Queue, Tarek and Amani serve the corrupt authority of the Gate as government employees. Their proximity to the regime eventually turns them against it, and we can expect the consequences of their actions to be dire. The distress in the two novels is, therefore, more than failed adaptation which enhances mistrust. It is a resilience of some kind. The decision of Tarek to defy the terrifying Gate and operate on Yehya is a challenge. The

Mistrust in Post-Revolt Dystopia  141 attack Otared launches at the executioner and the mob is his ultimate act of defiance and retribution. The post-​apocalyptic worlds in The Queue and Otared were results of people rebelling against dystopian existence. Instead of acquiescence, however, Abdel Aziz and Rabie show us distress as it culminates to a screeching point only to push two symbols of the post-​ apocalypse, a bureaucratic model employee in The Queue and a brutal killing machine in Otared, over the brink and engage them to rebel all over. This, unfortunately, might lead to their demise, as in Otared’s case, but might also change something. The writers do not allow us to know. The surrealist abstraction of The Queue and the brutal futurist vision of Otared reflect a psychological upheaval resulting from trauma that remains very much beyond personal control (Hawley 2017). References Abdel Aziz, Basma. (2016). The Queue. (Elizabeth Jacquette, trans.). Melville House Publications. (Original work published in 2013.) Alhashmi, Rawad. (August 1, 2022). Poetics of allegory in The Queue: revolutionizing the narrative of Arabic science fiction between estrangement and diglossia. Critique: Studies in Contemporary Fiction, DOI: 10.1080/​ 00111619.2022.2106116 Campbell, Ian. (2021). The estrangement of political trauma in two sf novels by Basma Abdelaziz. In Ian Campbell (Ed.). Science Fiction in Translation: Perspectives on the Theory and Practice of Translation. Palgrave McMillan, pp. 309–​332. Eram, Aqsa and Mohd Raghibul Haque. (October 2022). Beyond punishment: Waiting under the panoptic gaze in Aziz’s The Queue. Nesir: Edebiyat Araştırmaları Dergisi, 3, 47–​60. https://​doi.org/​10.5281/​zen​odo.7221​200 Hawley, J. C. (2017). Coping with a failed revolution: Basma Abdel Aziz, Nael Eltoukhy, Mohammed Rabie & Yasmine El Rashidi. In E. N. Emenyonu (Ed.). ALT 35: Focus on Egypt: African Literature Today (NED-​New edition, pp. 7–​ 21). Boydell & Brewer. https://​doi.org/​10.2307/​j.ctvc16​j1j.6 Marusek, Sarah. (2022). Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow: Social justice and the rise of dystopian art and literature post-​Arab uprisings. British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 49(5), 747–​768. DOI: 10.1080/​13530194.2020.1853504 Moore, L. C. (2018). ‘What happens after saying no?’ Egyptian uprisings and afterwords in Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue (2016) and Omar Robert Hamilton’s The City Always Wins (2017). CounterText, 4(3), 192–​211. https://​ doi.org/​10.3366/​count.2018.0127 Prasad, Jishnu. (January 2021). Nation as a political labyrinth in Basma Abdel Aziz’s novel The Queue. International Journal of English: Literature, Language & Skills, 9(4), 43–​47. Qutait, Tasnim. (2020). The imaginary futures of Arabic: Egyptian dystopias in translation. Textual Practice, 34:5, 743–​ 759. DOI: 10.1080/​ 0950236X.2020.1749379

142  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Rabie, Mohammad. (2016). Otared. (Robin Moger, translated). The American University in Cairo Press. (Original work published in 2014.) Said, Walaa. (2021). The metamorphosis of the significance of death in revolutionary times: Mohammad Rabie’s Otared (2014). In Rachid Ouaissa, Friederike Pannewick, and Alena Strohmaier (Eds.). Re-​Configurations: Contextualising Transformation Processes and Lasting Crises in the Middle East and North Africa. Springer, pp. 233–​245. Youssef, Mary. (2021). Framing the (in)sensible in Egypt’s post-​2011 satirical novels in The Queue and Cats of the Eluded Year. Journal of the African Literature Association, 15(3), 348–​363. DOI: 10.1080/​21674736.2021.1935085

8 Inflexibility in Post-​War Dystopia Wāsīnī al-​Aʿraj’s 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab and Aḥmad al-​Zaʿtarī’s Bending Over the Corpse of Amman Introduction It is safe to consider war as the ultimate apocalyptic stereotype. It can wreak havoc on all parties and nations involved, whether it is a civil war or war among countries. Barring total annihilation, what remains after wars in a post-​ apocalyptic narrative is the nihilistic aftertaste, which lingers even in survival. While post-​revolutionary narratives feed the paranoia, resulting from the mistrust typically spread as authoritarian regimes attempt to buy and coerce informants to quell resistance, war narratives feed intolerance and rigidity, and dystopian fiction depicting wars and post-​war periods has an opportunity to depict the manic, self-​destructive inflexibility of warring factions and their inability to co-​exist. It is also possible to frame the normlessness and lawlessness of post-​war dystopia by focusing on the top of the survival chain or the bottom. For instance, a narrative can highlight leadership in wars, bringing forward the obsessiveness of Doctor Strangelove-​type of warlords bent on destruction, shutting down all beams of hope for peace (Kubrick 1964). Similarly, dystopian narratives can opt to hover over the streets of warzones, picking scenes of carnage and survival, zooming in on the dehumanization of survival, presenting demoralized characters who were once law-​abiding nice folk but have ended up pillaging abandoned stores, shooting passersby to steal food or blankets, and, worse, to cannibalize that neighbor they never liked anyway. As inequity in social distress results in social distress for both victims and perpetrators, post-​war apocalyptic narratives offer what might be the most adequate space for such representation, as the line between the two blurs significantly in war and the chaos that ensues. In this chapter, both sides of the war, leadership and the average person, in all their depravation and their loss of humanity, are discussed in two novels. The first is 2084: Ḥikāyat al-​ʿarabī al-​ʾakhīr (2084: The Tale of the Last Arab), by Algerian author Wāsīnī al-​Aʿraj. The novel was published in 2016 and has not been translated into English to date. It has, however, DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-15

144  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction been the subject of scholarly and media interest in Algeria, especially with graduate dissertations in literary studies analyzing it. Al-​Aʿraj, who taught at the University of Algiers and at the Sorbonne University in France, is an established Algerian novelist, writing in Arabic and French. The second novel is al-​ʾinḥināʾ ʿala juthat ʿammān (Bending over the Corpse of Amman). Written by Jordanian author, Aḥmad al-​Zaʿtarī, the novel, which was published in 2014 and has not been translated yet, has caused uproar among Jordanian officials and was banned in Jordan (Limādha manaʿat al-​riqāba 2017). While it received critical acclaim from some, it was criticized by others for misrepresenting Jordanians by including violent characters and by recounting a fictitious civil war in Jordan and was even banned by censors in Jordan (Al-​Jazeera 2017). Al-​Zaʿtarī is a journalist, as well as a music critic, regularly writing music reviews on his website, Ma3azef, pronounced maʿāzif, which means ‘Musical Pieces’. al-​ Aʿraj’s novel is a meticulous and horrific character study of a disturbed warlord who in his pursuit of power kidnaps a scientist and locks him up in a fortified residence called The Castle, in order to work on research developing weapons. Al-​Zaʿtarī’s novel follows a couple trying to survive in the streets of Amman, with the protagonist being the husband who has to make choices on how far he can remain human before succumbing to the bare necessity to commit unspeakable atrocities like everyone else in order to survive. Allusions and Symbolic Names As both novels address a collapse in societal norm, they rely on literary allusion and cultural references to conceptualize the nihilistic approaches in their narrative. In Al-​Aʿraj’s novel, 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab, literary allusions and real-​ life references constitute the fabric of the narrative, whether the place, time, or characters that construct an intricate structure. The date in the title, 2084, is a reference to Orwell’s 1984. The novel takes place one century after Orwell’s quintessential dystopia. What is more, one of the main characters is a traditional villain, and his name is Little Broz, written in Arabic to be pronounced as Little Broz as well (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 13). Described as looking like Mussolini, he is a high-​ranking military, Dr. Strangelove, bomb-​loving maniacal figure with delusions of grandeur (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 14). He even claims as ancestry none other than Big Brother himself. When the protagonist, an Arab nuclear scientist kidnapped by Little Broz and kept at a maximum facility fortress to finish a new bomb, confronts Little Broz that Big Brother is a fictitious character, Little Broz, whose real name is Malcolm Blair, points out that he has the same last name of Orwell himself, whose real name is Arthur Blair. Indeed, Little Broz goes as far as to celebrate

Inflexibility in Post-War Dystopia  145 the centenary of his grandfather, Big Brother. The literary allusion to Orwell’s villain is part of the characterization of Little Broz as he not only adopts the surveillance tactics of his alleged grandfather, but even rephrases the famous original chilling slogan of “Big Brother is watching you” to become “Little Broz is not watching you, but he is inside you” (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 229). The proximity of Big Broz outdoes that of his grandfather, and may be understood on more than one level. Perhaps it is a reference to the invasiveness of modern technology, with tracking implants and other surveillance devices. It can also be an indication of the psychological defeat of the individual who has succumbed to the manipulation of authoritarianism to such an extent that they are embedded in people, making it unnecessary to watch them in the old-​fashioned way, as the ideologies of despotism are effectively turning people into followers, whether through ultranationalism or ultraconservatism. The symbolism of the names reaches the protagonists as well. The Arab nuclear scientist is called Adam. A human rights envoy monitoring the safety of Adam is a woman called Eva. She and Adam become romantically involved, making them a potential reference to Adam and Eve. Ironically, however, Eva manages to convince Little Broz to allow Adam to have a pet, and Adam gets a tortoise, because tortoises can survive a nuclear event, and he calls it Ḥawwāʾ, which is Arabic for Eve. This turns out to be appropriate since Adam and Eva are most probably going to die at the end, as events deteriorate and a nuclear disaster is expected. More symbolic name references that are thinly disguised pertain to places. The castle is called Améreupa, representing a new global power that controls the world. Its name is a portmanteau of America and Europe, which is written in French as Améreupa. It also has an entity that it propagates as its mortal enemy, also written Corbeau in Latin letters, implying an Islamic terror group or any of the unfriendly organizations or countries antagonizing the Western world. Corbeau in the novel, however, is not a country or specific organization but is described as a “killing machine” working with terrorist organizations (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 154). The word itself does not exist in Arabic but is derived from the French word for a raven, le corbeau. The raven adds to the Abrahamic allusion to Adam and Eve, seen in Adam, Eva and Ḥawwāʾ in the novel, as the raven is responsible for showing Adam’s son, Cane, how to bury his brother Abel after committing the first murder in humanity. Apart from that, there is no evidence that Corbeau exists in the novel, and it might, therefore, represent scaremongering tactics that are used to justify the violence of Little Broz. The most interesting name, however, is of the local countries that are targeted, controlled and impoverished by Améreupa. They are referred to as Arabia. While in English Arabia is used to refer to the Gulf area, including Saudi Arabia or the Arabian Peninsula, in Arabic there

146  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction is no such word. In other words, Al-​Aʿraj simply used the English word for Arabian written in Arabic spelling. The choice of the word Arabia is also interesting as it invokes colonial presence in this specific part of the Arab region. Even the name of the human rights organization, Lidrafic, is short for the French name of an organization called La Ligue des droits des races en fin de cycle, to protect endangered species, which is a cynical reference to human rights being a rare practice that groups human beings with animals (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 32). In Al-​Zaʿtarī’s novel, Bending over the Corpse of Amman, the novel begins with an epigraph about how talking to the living is stranger than talking to the dead. The protagonist, a civilian, an average person working with nothing distinct, heroic or evil, called Aḥmad, is the narrator. In his writing there are frequent references to philosophical, especially existentialist concepts, debating the nonsensical absurdity of Amman and the dystopia it has come to represent in the novel. He discusses a Heidegger notion of the oxymoron of being too close but also nowhere at the same time (Al-​ Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 16). He applies this to the city of Amman, describing it as a no-​place that does not mean anything specifically and can mean anything at the same time. He explains that Amman “has not real memory. It is a trick: a trap that everyone set up but everyone survived” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 15). Describing his attempt to write, while alone in his house, he shares with the reader titles of books in front of him on the coffee table. The titles are fictitious mock-​historical and mock-​political treatises and manifestos that indicate the authoritarian militaristic turn the country took, such as a booklet about the new post-​apocalyptic reality, an attempt to control the new rules of sharing the limited salvaged place, and it’s titled “Discipline in the New Livable Spaces,” a nationalist history book about glorious battles titled “The Sacred Bridge Battle,” a Utopian urbanization plan titled “The Five-​Year Plan to Modernize the New Downtown Amman,” an autobiographical propaganda titled “Ibrāhīm Al-​Ṣaʿīdī: My Job as a Hard Worker,” and another populist history book titled “The Martyrs of the Roman Amphitheatre,” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 22). At the risk of overinterpreting the description, I find one detail interesting here: the narrator specifies that the books are on a table on his right, possibly a snide remark at the right-​wing nature of the cultural output spread by these books and what they represent. While there is no elaborate name symbolism in Al-​Zaʿtarī’s novel as we find in Al-​Aʿraj’s novel, the role of names is emphasized in conjunction with the fluidity of identity. Aḥmad and his partner Nawāl have several IDs and passports with fake names in order to pass through checkpoints, blockades, and military tanks (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 47). In addition, naming in the sense of defining concepts is raised as a psychological escape mechanism, used to cope with the realities of their lives. Aḥmad describes his

Inflexibility in Post-War Dystopia  147 relationship with Nawāl, writing “we deceive love sometimes and call it love” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 47). Grotesque Description The macabre and grotesque are the primary stylistic features of both novels. The writers plunge into descriptions that can range between brutally gory details to easily recognizable insinuations, that combine disgust with acceptance in the fictional reality of the dystopian castle and the world that hosts it. At the heart of it all is the larger-​than-​life villain, Little Broz. He is at once a war criminal and a disabled veteran. Little Broz is in some ways a cyborg. He has a bionic arm and a bionic leg. His missing arm and missing leg are on opposite directions and are replaced by mechanical limbs. He is generally depicted as someone with visible deformities and multiple plastic surgeries and prosthetics that make him seem less human. Little Broz even lost his penis and fails to have an artificial implant. Ironically, the only possible solution for him is to get a human penile implant and the only available penises are Arab, presumably because Marshal Little Broz and the Améreupa forces kill so many of them. The irony here is that Little Broz can only claim manhood, with all its baggage of egotism, through the very Arabs he abhors enough to write “The only good Arab is a dead Arab” (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 227). This apparently does not apply to Adam, whose scientific work on this bomb saves him from the fate of Arabians as illustrated by how Little Broz cares for Adam’s wellbeing but only as long as he is committed to the bomb. The grotesqueness in the novel stretches to the masses of Arabians, who are invited to Améreupa annually to be given food. While initially readers might presume this would be a charitable event, it turned out to be a massacre in disguise. The food is thrown at the starving Arabians who fight each for the morsels. Améreupa is ready for the bloodbath and caskets are prepared for those who are killed during the dehumanizing food contest. It is possible to see the influence of the French symbolist theater, especially Alfred Jarry, who coined the term pataphysics, as a form of seemingly scientific or pseudo-​ scientific principles, and whose primary character, King Ubu, the cuckold king, is a satire of European kings. In a sense Little Broz, in his castration and megalomania, has the Ubuesque figure of a grotesque mixture of sardonic satire and horror. A similar comparison may be made to the French Theatre of Cruelty, initiated by Antonin Artaud whose theater included a fascination with the macabre, from dismemberment to bloodbaths, as in some of his plays such as The Spurt of Blood, which was not performed in his lifetime (Tripney 2017). In Al-​Zaʿtarī’s Bending over the Corpse of Amman, the title is brought to literal manifestation in the narrative, as corpses are often described in

148  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction the streets, at home, or even in the central characters’ fridge. The grotesqueness is enhanced by the matter-​of-​factness of narrating or describing corpses, which depicts death as a frequent sight that the characters cope with eventually. A civil war led to the isolation of the anti-​government factions in the camp where the events of the novel take place. The streets of the camp are strewn with dead bodies, rendering the city a corpse through the sheer number of corpses in its street. In spite of the toll of death caused by civil war, the deaths in the streets are more the result of disease than war (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 134). An example of normalizing the normlessness in everyday life in the novel, Aḥmad describes he opens the window to see the remains of an animal. He doesn’t know if it is a cat or dog. All he sees is a tail and some fur. This brief assumption takes place while he admires the rain that might warm the weather, making death no longer worthy of ruining a February morning (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 37). The grotesqueness of the narrative receives a detailed description when Aḥmad, Nawāl, and their asthmatic guest, Louis, go to a medical facility. They stand in a long queue that seems endless. In a surrealistic touch, Al-​Zaʿtarī gives us a queue so long that anthropologists and sociologists from everywhere come to visit it and the restaurant opens on both sides (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 61). While standing in the queue, Aḥmad, Nawāl, and Louis, make a deal with another patient. He will let them use his inhaler in return for them cleaning after him as he cannot leave his place to find a restroom. The queue is divided into sub-​queues classified by disease, from cancer to AIDS to Parkinson, and many others (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 62). The similarity between the queue in this novel and Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue, discussed in the previous chapter, which was published in 2012, is undeniable. It is possible that this is testimony to the impact Abdel Aziz’s novel is now having on dystopian fiction, and it is also possible to see this as an homage by Al-​Zaʿtarī, or perhaps an attempt to signal that the world he critiques in his dystopia is joining Abdel Aziz’s queue. Post-​apocalyptic Characterization Characterization is a key element in the post-​apocalyptic atmosphere of the two novels. The protagonists are presented on the threshold of being killers and victims at the same time, whether directly or indirectly. Self-​ deception grapples with remorse, and survival needs to tackle what remains of humanity. In 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab, the central characters are Adam and Little Broz, with the conflict between them defining the relational structure of the narrative. Characterization is among the strongest aspects of this novel. With Little Broz a well-​written disturbed psychotic villain, with madness worthy of classical kings, Adam serves as the foil. He is the neurotic, mousy scientist, struggling to assert himself, but also

Inflexibility in Post-War Dystopia  149 trying to survive. The last thing Adam expects is self-​doubt. He is a firm believer in the peaceful potential of his invention, which he calls the Pocket Bomb, a point of contention with his wife, Amaya, whose grandfather was a mutilated survivor of Hiroshima. Adam and Amaya were together when an Islamist terrorist group attack and he is kidnapped during the confusion, only to find out he was kidnapped by Americans and locked up at the Améreupa. His is not the only one. He and others are referred to as Guests, mainly to appease human rights watchers. When Adam is finally granted a request to talk to Amaya, he mentions a word in Arabic that only she would know how to respond to, but she did not. It is a secret word they use to confirm each other’s identity. When she does not recognize it, he suspects something was wrong. He later discovers that Amaya was killed on the day they were attacked, and that the woman on the video call was an online artificial intelligence impersonating her. This shakes his inflexible faith in the good bomb, and accelerates his decision to stop the bomb he helped invent. As remorse starts to take over Adam, he begins reflecting on his beliefs. Adam’s reflection on what he once perceived as fixed convictions can stand for the deconstruction of Arab ideologies in the face of imperialist manipulation (al-​Shīmī 2020, p. 75). This is seen as Adam gradually changes his beliefs in the safety of the bomb as Little Broz reveals his true intentions of using Adam’s research to amass military power. During his stay at Améreupa, Adam gets closer to Eva, and they make love. Their relationship is key to Adam’s change. Conversely, while Adam’s rigidity thaws, that of Little Broz intensifies. Hoping to use the new Pocket Bomb to promote his hawkish political stance, Little Broz destroys the Arabians in the desert camps around Am’ereupa but is attacked by the terrorist groups that killed Amaya. He fails to defend Améreupa and only antagonizes his leaders and is forced to retire. His defeat, and Adam’s questioning of his convictions, represent the damages of rigidity as recurrent features of dystopian characters, especially those whose actions have caused destruction to others. Adam will forever be responsible for the spilled blood and destruction that his Pocket Bomb caused, regardless of his intentions. Little Broz, although a remorseless war criminal, will be still haunted if not by guilt, then by his failure and his unexpected isolation. The main characters in Al-​Zaʿtarī’s Bending over the Corpse of Amman are Aḥmad, his wife Nawāl, and their guest Louis. Other characters help or hurt them, mainly residents of the camp. Louis is an interesting figure. He shows up one day at the couple’s doorstep, breathing irregularly before collapsing. Loosening his shirt to help him breathe, Aḥmad and Nawāl notice the he is wearing a necklace with three pendants, a crescent, a cross, and a David star, thus representing the three Abrahamic religions (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 37). In a region fraught with conflict pertaining to

150  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction practices of those three religions, Louis might represent the stifled potential for co-​existence of the three religions in the very region that witnessed their origins. Louis’ health condition portrays him as an invalid, constantly disabled due to his bouts of asthma, but his presence is more invasive and more powerful than his condition suggests. There are frequent hints that Nawāl begins to like him and possibly has an affair with him. Aḥmad seems rather accepting of Nawāl’s feelings for Louis, as she shows by cleaning for Louis, caring for him, and ironing his clothes. It is possible that Aḥmad lets Nawāl get closer to Louis, perhaps due to his understanding that Nawāl has already been struggling to stay in love with Aḥmad, thus hoping she might stay if Louis stays, not to mention that Aḥmad does consider Louis a friend. The silent, unprofessed, and undefined love triangle between the three does not continue as Nawāl one day simply leaves and does not come back. Louis’s name can inspire an interpretation of his role as representative of Western influence. Aḥmad is the quintessential average middle-​class citizen. He is educated, depoliticized, confused. When the fighting in their neighborhood reaches his home, he is kidnapped and kept in the house of militias in a newly formed camp. Soon Aḥmad rises in the ranks and becomes responsible for helping those who need medical assistance, using concoctions and whatever available herbal medicine there is, and he also becomes a handyman, helping with plumbing and other small jobs to survive. The change in Aḥmad’s personality becomes apparent when he is alone, after Nawāl left. Although he was initially kidnapped by protesters, he is then released and integrated in their societies. His ability to adapt may be seen as the dehumanizing psychological defeat of survival. Nawāl, like Aḥmad, starts off as the average middle-​class woman. By the time she has decided to leave, after which she disappears from the narrative, she has also undergone drastic change. The main change the two characters display is their hardening to the lawlessness of survival. Their ability to survive the horrors of the street, including hiding a dead body in their fridge, drives them apart, as they devolve into survivors incapable of refined emotions such as love, especially Nawāl, whose disappearance foregrounds Aḥmad’s role as he grapples with coping while she probably succumbs to distress. Narrating Inflexibility as a Pattern of Distress Narration plays a pivotal role in underlining the psychological distress as a result of inflexibility affecting both ends of the dystopia, the victims and the aggressors. The narration in both novels elaborates the development of the plot as the events move closer to apocalyptic normlessness, and also reflects the dehumanization of the main characters, whether they are victims or perpetrators. The narrative strategies in both novels adopt

Inflexibility in Post-War Dystopia  151 introspective narration, with elements of interior monologue as characters talk to themselves about their responses to what is happening around them, in addition to the exact opposite of such intimacy, as we see factual information introduced that does not permit glimpses of the characters’ thoughts. The combination of both strategies varies between the two novels, but produces similar effects of providing us with two very different perspectives of the impending total collapse, and highlighting the rigidity of facts, as shown in the documentary narrative style, and, simultaneously, the destruction of the human element, as seen in the profound ruminations and reflections of the main characters. The progress of the plot in 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab relies on narrative interruptions. The narratorial voice varies from third person narration as a narrative voice to third person narration as a documentary voice, simply recounting documents such as diaries or newspaper headlines and articles. The narrative fluidity in the novel allows for various tempos, speeding the narrative and slowing it down as the narrative strategy changes (ʿAlāʾ al-​Dīn and Hibat al-​Raḥmān 2020, p. 85). The narration, through diaries, allows lengthy interludes of background information about central characters. Retrospective narration intermingles with current narrative presence, depicting the past as a mental space of refuge for the residents of the castle, whether they are those in control or prisoners. This is true of Little Broz, for instance. Early in the novel, we learn about his injuries and his castration from his diaries. The same diaries provide us insight about his personality. He writes that he hates women, possibly because of his inability to have sex, and that he prefers to remain a mythological figure, not weakened by real relationships (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, pp. 38–​39). Adam also writes his diary on paper provided by Lidrafic, the human rights organization that requests that he receives notebooks and pens (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 56). Both diaries are significant narratorial strategies. They are used intermittently with little warning during current narration, and as a result we have first person commentary interlaced with third person narration. This narratorial shift constantly takes us from a surface account of events to a deeper account of feelings and thoughts. The use of diaries reveals what the two antagonistic characters are hiding from each other and from other characters. Interestingly, Eva gives Adam a portable recorder so that he can record his thoughts without leaving written documents. The textuality of the diaries in this sense extends to a different form of documentation but for us as readers it remains in writing. The journalistic and documentary aspects of the narration are further complemented by the use of acronyms and footnotes, both adding an academic impression to the narrative, making it seem less fictitious and more authentically presented as if it were a well-​researched text. The use of acronyms in the narrative forms an impression not only of authenticity

152  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction but also of mock-​seriousness and contemporaneity. For instance, UTA is an acronym that is used to refer to union des tribus arabes, or the Union of Arab Tribes, a fictitious union that symbolizes the tribalization of Arab countries in the future under the repeated divisiveness of wars and imperialist manipulation. The acronym, while not real, is a historical allusion, however, that has its roots in the formation of Saudi Arabia, as the tribes united in the first three decades of the 20th century. This provides a backdrop to a Lawrence-​of-​Arabia-​type of representation of tribalism as manipulated by Western imperialism, which is represented with a symbolically grotesque lens in how Little Broz invites the desert people of Arabia to his meal massacres. Lidrafic is another acronym that serves a similar cynical reference, equating the potential of success that animal rights groups might have with human rights when it comes to poor countries. This is in harmony with the title, and with the fact that Adam is being preserved by Little Broz to remain as the last Arab, after all Arabs are annihilated, mainly due to the importance of Adam’s research. In addition to acronyms, the using of real documents adds a historiographic dimension to the narration, bringing the fictitious world of Améreupa and Little Broz too close to home. For instance, three full pages are dedicated to quotes from the New Yorker magazine reporting on the disarmament of Iraq and the destruction it incurred due to allegations that have not been fully proved and that their equipment were stolen to manufacture nuclear weapons (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, pp. 328–​330). The three pages are all footnotes, which renders the footnotes more spacious and more foregrounded than the text they are supposedly simply footnoting. This could symbolize how the atrocities committed during wars such as the Gulf War and the nuclear issues in Iraq have been delegated to the limited space in history. Like many historical events, such details are set as footnotes to the mainstream narrative, while, in fact, they are quite often as important, and possibly even more important, than the headlines fed to the people. This strategy reflects Al-​Aʿraj’s interest in weaving history through the world building in his narratives (ʿUmar 2017, p. 250). In Bending over the Corpse of Amman, references to political opposition and accusations of alleged government corruption abound in the novel, making the protests of the Arab Spring the initiation of the dystopian deterioration in the novel. Aḥmad and Nawāl huddle together on their sofa listening to military voice singing in unison: “We are the army of Arabs. We are blessed in the name of God. We protect the flag, the country, and the eyes of Abdullah” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 41). The details of the protests are not real, although the period of time and the presence of protests in the region is real. For instance, in a cynical note, we read that in response to the protests, an anti-​corruption committee is formed by the government to address issues such as “littering in the streets, corruption,

Inflexibility in Post-War Dystopia  153 and abstaining from brushing teeth in the morning and in the evening” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 42). The surrealistic blending of journalistic reporting style with outrageous and satirical content goes on, as the committee writes, in an official report titled “The Last Manifesto” about a dancing band in front of the prison building, referred to as the dabke of corruption, as dabke is a well-​known dance in Jordan and neighboring Arab countries (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 43). The narrative moves from mock-​history to historical narration, dedicating most of a chapter to the origins of music, including the question of whether the first musical instrument is really what is attributed to Aboriginal tribes in Australia thousands of years ago, or whether that is only a bone (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 57). The historical overview is part of a long monologue by Louis to his only audience of two, Aḥmad and Nawāl. While seemingly disconnected from the narrative, Louis discusses how everything has harmony, from the movement of clouds in the sky, to the sounds of dry leaves. The focus on harmony stands in sharp contrast to the jarring discord of the dystopian world of the futuristic decaying city depicted in the novel. The motif of documentation persists in the novel, as the internet collapses under piracy and the sabotage of surveillance. Pirated copies of Encarta and Wikipedia became the only salvaged sources of information in a post-​ truth type of society (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 48). The shutdown of the internet signals an intellectual and cultural implosion. People stopped going to college. No one cared about watches and clocks. Time lost its meaning (Al-​ Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 50). One of the most powerful commentaries in the novel is made by al-​Ṣaʿīdī, a fictitious resistance figure, about a caricature of a bridge that cost 15 million dinars and is criticized as an example of government overspending (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 110). Several caricatures did in fact appear about the bridge, including one in 2005, as Al-​Ṣaʿīdī mentions in the novel (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 110). The one the novel refers to is by cartoonist ʿimād Ḥajjāj, depicting a family from the poor East Amman sitting in a large slingshot aimed at the well-​developed West Amman across the bridge, which is referred to in the drawing as jisr al-​naqīfa the slingshot bridge (Ḥajjāj 2005). He cites the bridge as one of the early triggers of conflict between protesters and the governments, especially as the bridge separates the rich, green fields on one side of the bridge, and the poor, yellowed slums on the other side (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 111). It is a historical fact that the bridge, called ʿAbdūn Bridge, became known as a site for suicide after several incidents were recorded (Kuttab 2022). This resulted in discussions of the symbolic significance of the bridge as a reflection of the widening socioeconomic gap in the city between the rich and the poor (Ṭālūzī 2022). It even inspired a more recent novel called Jisr ʿAbdūn, or ʿAbdūn Bridge, by Palestinian-​Jordanian writer Qāsim Tawfīq in 2021. The factual details

154  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction about the bridge are narrativized through the character, Ibrāhīm, the resistance figure who kidnapped Aḥmad. Aḥmad describes him as a leftist with an “unbearable ideology” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 113). Ibrāhīm is another example of inflexibility, which is just as destructive among victims, seen in his deep-​seated hatred for the rich. He makes fun of the middle-​class Aḥmad when the latter says he used to let drivers keep the change. In a key conversation, Ibrāhīm says that Aḥmad, and passive middle-​class people like him, are the reason revolutions fail, making a reference again to the 2011 protests, mixing fictitious characters with the reality of protests. Ibrāhīm accuses Aḥmad and other pacifists of weakening protests: “You are the ones who threw us under the bus. You are the group of equality and social justice, alternate art, and political campaigns” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 114). He blames their pacifism for the persistence of injustice, saying, “You know why I did not go down to protest in 2011? Because of you. Yes you. You are more dangerous than the profiteering and the wealthy” (Al-​ Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 114). Ibrāhīm sees stability as “silly” and “fake” which only legitimizes the ruling bourgeoisie class. For that reason, he vehemently admits he wants to burn the city. Aḥmad admits to himself that he does not care if the city burns down. He wants to survive. He thinks to himself, “Let it burn. But I want to participate in burning it for the right reasons” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 115). In spite of their radical differences, Aḥmad and Ibrāhīm eventually get closer to each other, and even become friends after Ibrāhīm releases Aḥmad who integrates with the residents of the camp. Dehumanization An interesting manifestation of dehumanization in both novels is the bestial nature of humanity depicted as forms of degradation or devolution. In 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab, animal symbolism is often interweaved with human representation. In a flashback remembering his childhood, Adam recalls a conversation he used to have with his grandmother. He comments jokingly on her assertion of Darwinist evolution, but argues that his people, Arabs, are descendants of the great grey wolf, not monkeys. When he mentions apes, she laughs at him and argues that monkeys are humans devolved and cursed, while a wolf is genuine and a master of itself. She asks Adam whether he has ever seen a wolf making a fool of itself, clowning to please others? She not only emphasizes that they are the offspring of the grey wolf, but recounts a prophecy that when they are gone, the grey wolf will stand fierce and defiant, a guardian on top of the hill (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, pp. 82–​83). In another footnote, the narrator explains that the origin of the monkey is an Algerian myth that reverses Darwin’s theory, claiming that the monkey was originally a human, but he performed ablution, the washing up in preparation for prayer, using milk

Inflexibility in Post-War Dystopia  155 when he could not find water. As a result, God punished him and turned him into a monkey (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 83). The reversed Darwinism puts Adam’s origin, as an Algerian, as a source of dignity and power, which may be lost once it is willingly replaced by cowardice and weakness. The grandmother says that the grey wolf ancestor is called Ramad, which is Arabic for ashes. At different parts of the novel, Adam hears the howling of the grey wolf, and in some nights, he feels his senses sharpened as if he is a grey wolf (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 85). The possible reference to wolf transformation remains symbolic. It mirrors Al-​Aʿraj’s interest in Algerian folklore and myths in his novels, where oral stories and folkloric motifs are incorporated in his depiction of place and his characterization (Hanīyya 2013, p. 425). Another interesting animal symbol in the novel is the tortoise that Eva requests from Little Broz to allow Adam to have as part of Adam’s rights to keep a pet. Calling it Ḥawwāʾ, Eve in Arabic, is a gesture paying homage to Eva. The tortoise’s reputable ability to survive a nuclear event is said to be due to its ability to hide its body inside its shell. The satire of the survival of the tortoise can be seen within the context of the Darwinism that runs through the motif of animal symbolism in the novel. Perhaps it represents cowardice and shying away from confrontation. If so, Ḥawwāʾ’s self-​preservation strategy does not succeed. She is found poisoned one day. This assassination is probably carried out at the order of Little Broz himself after a standoff during a conversation between him and Adam. Little Broz cannot kill Adam because he needs him as a scientist but he can punish him. The animalism in the narrative, however, takes its darkest side in representations of human beings. When Little Broz invites the famished desert tribes of Arabia to Améreupa to eat the scarce morsels he offers them, they attack each other, and many are killed, including a woman and a child. Little Broz prepares boxes for the fallen. The scene invokes historical images of Greco-​Roman arenas with slave gladiators facing off each other. The monstrous fighting of the tribes against each other symbolizes the divide and conquer strategies often attributed to colonialism. It can be a reference to civil wars, revolutions, regional terror attacks, and other self-​ destructive violence committed by victims of oppression against each other. Open-​ended Deterioration The endings of the two novels intensify the post-​apocalyptic violence, yet the spiral to dehumanizing violence does not end in the death of the protagonists. On the contrary, their survival counters the impending destruction, and as the readers might brace themselves for total Armageddon-​like ending with the escalation of confrontation toward the end of each novel,

156  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction the protagonists do not die. Nevertheless, it is not easy to understand whether their death signals a hope for redemption for what they have stooped to commit, or is simply a prolonging of their dehumanization. The open-​endedness in the two novels leaves the two options possible. In 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab, the dystopian world ends with a hellish attack on Améreupa, presumably by the Corbeau group. The Améreupa castle is evacuated. Little Broz’s hopes to make it an independent self-​ sufficient force fail. One of Adam’s military friends, Smith, dies in the attack. Another military figure from the castle, Major Tony, helps Adam leave the castle. Adam goes looking for Eva amid the carnage in the surrounding Arabia and its tribes. A description of the injured, the sick, and the dead is typical of post-​apocalyptic destruction. In a grotesquely surrealistic scene, Adam sees a family with a husband crawling on the ground, two disabled children, and a wife dying on a bed. Adam asks them if they have seen a woman that fits the description of Eva and the man points to a direction, but warns Adam that if the armed militias see him, they will kill him (Al-​ Aʿraj 2016, p. 435). Adam tries to go to where the man says Eva might be but ends up falling into a trap. He is met by a group of armed people who shoot him (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 436). This is followed by a lengthy, delirious conversation he has with the grey wolf, who is striving to rise out of Adam (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 441). A feverish ensuing fight between the wolf and hyenas surrounding it, suggests that Adam is not only the last Arab, but is also carrying the spirit of the first one, as the wolf rises through him to protect his people, fulfilling his grandmother’s prophecy (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 442). The wolf is eventually overwhelmed with wounds and lies dying under a tree covered with snow. Adam remembers a childhood sweetheart, and the sound of Hendel’s music (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 445). At this moment, Adam hears a chopper approaching, hears Eva and feels her hands. Then the stream of consciousness of his thoughts is interrupted, replaced by Major Tony speaking to Eva, telling her that Adam is bleeding and cold but is still alive and breathing and that they need to lift him to the chopper and leave (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 446). The potential for salvation might be seen to persist in the survival of Adam. This is strongly implied in how Al-​Aʿraj signs the ending off the ending of the novel as written in Paris, then adds “and other places” followed by 15 Arab cities (Al-​Aʿraj 2016, p. 446). While this is a traditional ending of locations of writing, the listing of Arab spaces is connected to Adam’s symbolic significance as an Arab savior figure. The ending of Bending over the Corpse of Amman is much less dramatic. Aḥmad becomes an integral part of the camp. Nevertheless, he fails to belong. He hides in the bathroom and cries for hours, “the more the regime of our new state prospers, the more alienated I felt” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 127). Aḥmad’s remorse melts away eventually. He decides to

Inflexibility in Post-War Dystopia  157 survive at any cost and welcomes his rise in the new post-​apocalyptic dystopia above the ashes of an earlier dystopia. Realizing how his skills with herbal medicine are needed, he starts charging money for them, promising cures for headaches, hypertension, impotence, toothache, and even providing cosmetics (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 139). The novel ends with Ibrāhīm gathering enough forces and deciding to leave the camp to move on. Aḥmad refuses to join him. Ibrāhīm tries to convince him, telling him that his loyalty to this place is nonsensical. He asserts that they are all living in their heads and will always remain alienated. He adds: “None of us was born in Amman, but we will all certainly die in it” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 142), At this point, Aḥmad responds that “Some of us are downtrodden who became authoritarian. Others are victims who became killers” (Al-​Zaʿtarī 2014, p. 143). The two frenemies represent the core principle of inequity as a cause of distress, where the lines separating victim and perpetrator blur, rendering everyone guilty. References ʿAlāʾ al-​ Dīn, Mahdī and Fiqās Hibat al-​ Raḥmān. (2020). Alīyyāt al-​ ʾiḍmār al-​ aydīyūlūjī fī riwāyat 2084: Ḥikāyat al-​ʿarabī al-​ ʾakhīr li-​l riwāʾī Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj namūdhajan. [The mechanisms of ideological implications in the novel 2084 The Take of the Last Arab by Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj as a case study]. [Unpublished master’s dissertation]. University of Muḥammad Būḍīyāf. al-​Aʿraj, Wāsīnī. (2016). 2084: Ḥikāyat al-​ʿarabī al-​ʾakhīr. [2084: The Tale of the Last Arab]. Beirut, Lebanon: Dār al-​ʿadab. Al-​Jazeera Arabic. (August 1, 2017). Khārij al-​naṣ. [Video]. YouTube. www.yout​ ube.com/​watch?v=​y7yk76​ysm-​g al-​Shīmī, Ḥāmid. (2020). Ḥikāyat al-​ʿarabī al-​ ʾakhīr li Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj mukāraba fī al-​naṣ wal-​khiṭāb. [The Tale of the Last Arab by Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj: A comparison between text and discourse]. Ḥawlīyyat kulīyat al-​ʾādāb, 9(1), 73–​119. al-​Zaʿtarī, Aḥmad. (2014). al-​ʾinḥināʾ ʿala juthat ʿammān. [Bending Over the Corpse of Amman]. Casablanca: al-​Markaz al-​thaqāfī al-​ʿarabī. Ḥajjāj,ʿimād. (2005, July 6). Jisr al-​naqīfa. [The slingshot bridge]. Alghad. Retrieved December 2, 2022 from https://​urlzs.com/​sHth7 Hanīyya, Jawādī. (2013). Ṣurāt al-​makān wa dilālatuhu fī riwāyat Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj. [The place motif in the novels of Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj]. [Unpublished doctoral dissertation]. University of Muḥammad Khīḍar Baskara. Kubrick, Stanley (Director). (1964). Doctor Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Hawk Films. Kuttab, Daoud. (2022, May 11,). Dealing With Suicide Becomes a Political Issue in Jordan. The Medialine.org. Retrieved December 12, 2022 from https://​theme​ dial​ine.org/​by-​reg​ion/​deal​ing-​with-​suic​ide-​beco​mes-​a-​politi​cal-​issue-​in-​jor​dan/​. Limādha manaʿat al-​riqāba riwāyat al-​ʾinḥināʾ ʿalā juthat ʿammān? [Why did the censors ban the novel Bending Over the Corpse of Amman?] (June 1, 2017). Khārij al-​naṣ. Retrieved December 10, 2022 from https://​urlzs.com/​9APrD

158  Inequity and Distress in Arabic Speculative Fiction Ṭālūzī, Bāsil. (2022, August 7). Jisr al-​ʾintiḥār [The bridge of suicide]. Alaraby. Retrieved December 12, 2022 from https://​urlzs.com/​EjG6y Tripney, Natasha. (2017, September 7) Antonin Artaud and the theatre of cruelty. British Library. Retrieved December 5, 2022, from www.bl.uk/​20th-​cent​ury-​lit​ erat​ure/​artic​les/​anto​nin-​art​aud-​and-​the-​thea​tre-​of-​crue​lty. ʿUmar, Samra. (2017). Al-​yūtūbyā fī al-​tajruba riwāʾīyya li Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj: dirāsa baynīyya takwīnīyya. [Utopia in the fiction experiment of Wāsīnī aīl-​Aʿraj: a structural and interdisciplinary study]. [Unpublished doctoral dissertation]. University of al-​ʿarabī al-​tabsī.

Conclusion Distress, Dystopia, and a Speculative Fiction Turn in Arabic Literature

Connections Examining dystopian writing in Arabic speculative fiction unearthed some interesting observations about the variations of dystopias. The structure of the narratives with respect to where the dystopian elements were placed, the intent behind using a dystopian element, and the tempo of producing dystopian fiction are all aspects that can draw attention when tracing dystopian presence in Arabic fiction. Moreover, as narratives that can be read from the lens of social causes of psychological distress, the recurrence of patterns of distress and the diversity of causes of distress depicted in the novels can highlight a new perspective that might help understand the specificity of Arab dystopian writing. In classical Arabic narratives, the dystopian component was mainly embedded comparatively to highlight potential utopian existence. In The Arabian Nights, the overarching narrative is a progression from utopia to dystopia then back to a utopia. The kingdoms of Shahrazad and his brother Shahzaman were painted brightly as happy spaces ruled by happy sibling monarchs. The infidelity of Shahzaman’s wife is echoed by that of Shahrazad’s wife, but the response of Shahrayar is intensely more violent, initiating the descent of his kingdom into dystopia. Shahrazad’s nightly storytelling that presumably lasts for a thousand nights and one night not only has a therapeutic effect on Shahrayar, but impacts the entire kingdom, as he becomes the just king he used to be, thus effectively restoring the utopian space that was violently destabilized by the collective punishment he imposed on his subjects. In the translator’s postscript of Arabian Nights’ edition of The Arabian Nights, he writes that tradition has it how Sharahyar and Shahrazad turned around their relationship, and that “having learned to trust and love her, he spared her life and kept her as his queen” (Arabian Nights 2008, p. 518). The key factors in restoring the utopian version of the kingdom are flexibility and trust, with “learning” indicating a change in behavior, which is a sign of flexibility, and trust leading to love and even DOI: 10.4324/9781003304838-16

160  Conclusion life, seen in “sparing” Shahrazad’s life, and stability, reflected in keeping her as his queen. This commentary aligns with the role of inflexibility and mistrust in the theoretical framework of psychological distress discussed in this book. The absence of flexibility and trust, and their replacement by their opposites, generated the dystopian stage in the life of the kingdom as parallel to the distress in the lives of the central character of the frame narrative, Shahrayar. This pattern, however, is used remedially in The Arabian Nights, as the narrative is a therapeutic progression, a salvation, alongside a utopia-​dystopia-​utopia circular movement. A similar circularity can be seen in Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan. The Abrahamic alternative for Hayy’s birth story adopts a circular motion from dystopia to utopia. Hayy is born to a princess who hides her marriage and her newborn son from her brother the king, signaling a despotic monarchy. She puts the child in a box and sets him in the sea. The allusion to the Moses story, which exists with notable similarity in Islamic as well as Judeo-​ Christian narratives, is also an allusion to the conditions where Moses’ mother needed to hide him, and these do represent archetypal dystopian features of the Abrahamic unjust City. This origin story, then, establishes the beginning of the Hayy narrative as dystopian place. As Hayy grows up, this changes steadily. His unraveling of idyllic natural wonders and his spiritual sublimation combine to provide him with a utopian existence on the island where he is raised. When Absal arrives at the island, he and Hayy become close, and decide to go to Absal’s homeland, where Hayy is met by rejection for the first time in his adult life. Such rejection brings him back to the island, in a movement parallel to his escape from his uncle’s wrath as an infant. What is more, since he is joined with Absal in self-​exile, this places Absal’s homeland in a dystopian context as well, with the final return to the island as a return to utopian existence. This completes the circular movement of dystopia-​utopia-​dystopia-​utopia. The elements of mistrust and inflexibility are at play in the two dystopian locations in the narrative. The tyranny of the king in the origin story is an example of inflexibility and his sister’s fear of his anger is an example of mistrust. Similarly, the rejection of Hayy’s ideas when he visits Absal’s country represents the inflexibility of the residents there who are incapable of accepting the level of spirituality and meditation that Hayy yearned to explain to them. Their reaction to his ideas was to “recoil in horror” and while they initially showed respect as a courtesy to their countryman Absal, they did not like Hayy and “in their hearts, they resented him” (Ibn Tufayl 2003, p. 163). In both Medieval narratives, the dystopian space is set comparatively to better alternatives, and its inclusion is intended for contrast, mainly to highlight the process by which an ideal or at least an improved existence is attainable. In Ibn Tufayl’ Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan, scientific observation and

Conclusion  161 spiritual meditation accomplish a more refined and elevated existence away from “the misery” of living daily with “not one action that did not amount to seeking one of these vile, sensory aims: money making, pleasure seeking, satisfying some lust, venting rage, saving face, performing religious rites for the sake of honor, or to just save your neck” (Ibn Tufayl 2003, p. 163). It is the mundane and the banal that constitute the narrative’s dystopian life. In The Arabian Nights, the massacring of young brides by Shahrayar resulted in group distress as “the mothers and father, who called the plague upon his head, complained to the Creator of the heavens and called for help on Him who hears and answers prayers” (Arabian Nights 2010, p. 12). One detail that is common in both narratives is the role of the protagonist as savior, and the qualities that qualify them for that role. In Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan, Hayy is the savior, and his ability to survive is ability to combine his rational thinking with his spiritual enhancement. Initially, “Hayy deeply pitied mankind and hoped that it might be through him they would be saved. He was eager to go to these men and explain the Truth” (Arabian Nights 2010, p. 162). However, he succeeds in saving himself and one follower, Absal, only, but his message is rejected by the majority. Perhaps in that sense, Hayy is modeled after Abrahamic prophets, who are not heeded except by the few who earn salvation, and, as a philosopher himself, the author, Ibn Tufayl is placing philosophy as a vehicle for this amalgamation of science and spirituality. In The Arabian Nights, Shahrazad is the savior, and she is enabled by her intellect. She is described as someone who “had read the books of literature, philosophy, and medicine. She knew poetry by heart, had studied historical reports, and was acquainted with the sayings of men and the maxims of sages and kings. She was intelligent, knowledgeable, wise and refined. She had read and learned” (Arabian Nights 2010, p. 13). In both cases, learning and knowledge are at the heart of the training that shape a savior capable of turning a dystopian nightmare into a utopian experience. In the modern versions of dystopias, it is possible to draw a line where the features, functionality, and intent behind using dystopias, as well as the role of central characters change noticeably. I would argue that the 2010–​11 protests of the Arab Spring seem to have launched a redefined set centered around dystopianization of the Arabic speculative novel. Earlier narratives were progressing steadily toward science fiction, with incorporation of features such as extra-​terrestrials and advanced inventions, in combination with a gradual move away from the philosophical concerns of classical narratives. Among the most successful examples to hold on to the philosophical content are Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma (Mahfouz 1997) and Eassa’s The Façade (Eassa 2014). In both novels, the allegorical narration is a powerful tool that offers philosophical problematization of questions that have been occupied by theological arguments

162  Conclusion as well, such as the futility of life, the randomness of death, the prevalence of injustice, the banality of work for materialist possessions, which are all underlining themes in Eassa’s The Façade. Mahfouz focuses on the journey as a Sufi endeavor, a quest where the path is as important and even potentially more important than the destination, which is guaranteed if the path is worthy. Both the rise above the banality of life and the significance of the method are elements emphasized by Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan and the philosophy he encapsulates in his narrative. The types of dystopias in the two novels differ from the classical texts. They are not placed as components anymore. They are central to the narrative. They are presented differently, however. It is possible to argue that Mahfouz’s Qindil traverses through many lands, each holding itself up as a utopian ideal, and each unraveling as much less than it claims. The Journey of Ibn Fattouma then introduces the list of failed utopias as a collective dystopia of unsuccessful attempts, without a true utopia in sight, as Gabal is never explored. The Façade does the opposite, it begins with an illusion of a utopia as M N is offered free food and is treated with hospitality, but then rapidly and ruthlessly vanquishes any utopian possibility, denying us any alternatives to compare with the nightmarish City. There are no different dystopias, either, only darker depths of the same dystopia, more levels, as seen in the reversed City that exists as some underworld of the City accessible through the whimsical door in M N’s house. The circularity of narration we experience in The Arabian Nights and Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan is replaced by the linearity of a series of dystopias in Mahfouz’s journey and an amusement park maze of horror in Eassa’s city. Both novels emerge from the depth of paranoid isolation and mistrust, with Qindil’s misadventures in every land, ranging from exile to imprisonment, and to the stifling glass bowl claustrophobic existence of M N. There are distinctions between the two novels, however, as far as the role of the savior and the type of dystopia are concerned. In Mahfouz’s novel, the sociopolitical aspect starts to poke its head, with allegorical representations of Western systems as opposed to Eastern systems of governance evident in the lands that Qindil visits. It is worth considering that Mahfouz has no savior, and that Qindil is a learner rather than a teacher, unlike Shahrazad and Hayy, who learn then impart their wisdom. Qindil soaks in wisdom, which he never completes, as he is constantly erring and suffering while he is learning. M N, in Eassa’s novel, is even less of a savior, as he epitomizes the dilemma of the modern man, lost to both practice and conviction, with little faith in what he is expected to obey, and with little ability to survive without that belief that he cannot bring himself to accept. While both characters draw attention, for Qindil manages to travel from one danger to the other, while M N rises in ranks and is given an office in a tower presiding over the City he despises, neither of them save, or even

Conclusion  163 serve anyone but themselves. This is the core development of the Arabic dystopian character in the middle of the twentieth century: individualism. There are no prophets, sages, teachers, or socially obliged characters here. The best Qindil could do is to write his diary which is never complete. M N is up for himself, and his attempt to involve the residents of the City is more a cry for help than an attempt to spread wisdom. Nevertheless, in their very individuality, both characters change things. Turning points happen while they are there, and are causes in some cases because of them. Perhaps the individualistic tendencies of these two narratives are intended as the response to the failed utopias of Qindil’s journey, or the nightmarish dystopia of M N. The movement toward political impressions is visible in the critique of world systems and regimes that are recognizable in Mahfouz’s The Journey of Ibn Fattouma. Nevertheless, the lands Qindil visits remain holistic experiences, not just political, but also societal, spiritual, and economic. The deconstruction of regional experiences and ideologies that Mahfouz conducts in his novel opens possibilities for dystopian writing to venture away from philosophical and spiritual investigation. Nihād Shārīf’s Residents of the Second World (Shārīf 2016) is an example of an Arab dystopia that plunges the narrative into a different trajectory, with barely any symbolic or hidden intellectual puzzles, but brutal and nonsensical condemnation of world powers, named realistically, and their role in jeopardizing the future of Earth. Interestingly, the comparative aspect remains, but the dystopian world is decidedly the real world we live in, tweaked with futuristic predictability that is not as prevalent in the earlier novels discussed in this book. The only prediction seen in those novels is the warning of eternal damnation that Hayy expects for those who take religion as an excuse to cling more to this life rather than seek the afterlife through meditation (Ibn Tufayl 2003, 164). Other than that, the predictability is much clearer in Shārīf’s novel, and it is made possible by references to the ecological dystopia that the nuclear race at the onset of the second half of the twentieth century promised. The savior returns in Shārīf, but still tainted with survival and individualism close to an extent to the protagonists of Mahfouz and Eassa, and farther from those of Hayy and Shahrazad. This is evident in the intent of the scientists who constructed the underwater city, and the representatives who joined them and supported them. They are all motivated by saving themselves, which can only be attained by saving the planet, since the collective threat will not spare anyone, unlike Hayy, who can, and does, safely retire to his island, or even Shahrazad, who could have been spared as the Vizier’s daughter, or went unnoticed, as the narrative shows Shahrazad himself surprised that the Vizier offered his daughter knowing her fate, and told him, “how is it that you have found it possible that you give me your

164  Conclusion daughter, knowing that by God, the Creator of heaven, will ask you to put her death the next morning” (Arabian Nights 2010, p. 17). The altruism of Shahrazad and the missionary vision of Hayy are not found neither in the individualism of Mahfouz and Eassa, nor in the group dynamics to save the planet in Shārīf’s novel. The realistic appeal of Shārīf’s novel and the attempt at prediction in his work continue in the next stage of novels examined in this book. This is specifically true of Ahmed Khaled Towfik’s Utopia (Towfik 2011). Towfik seems to select current malaise and spin it into its potential growth, like medically speculating on the possible repercussions of a disease left untreated or an overdose left unchecked. As a result, his novel is more plausible, while more horrific, than the previous novels. Hallucinogenic addiction, entitled teenagers, global military intervention by the United States, widening socioeconomic gap, and hunger are all real, and pushing them further might as well lead to the novel’s fenced-​off compound, the monetizing of the American military as mercenary bodyguards for the wealthy of the world, and, emboldened by new drugs, the preying of rich adolescents on hunger-​stricken neighborhoods. The replacement of philosophical inquiry in the novels before Shārīf’s with gritty realistic prediction not only continues, but is hardened by the return of individualism, reshaped as the ruthless selfishness of pleasure seeking instead of mere survival. The dystopia in Towfik’s novel, titled ironically as Utopia, is full blown, with both the Utopia, the name of the rich compound, and its neighboring slums, competing for the most nightmarish versions of a dystopia. The parallelism in Shārīf’s novel is between potential for improvement in the underwater city and potential for nihilation in the land countries. The parallelism in Towfik’s novel is that of the proverbial two sides of the same coin, two shades of darkness, one rich and one poor, separated by a collapsing fence. Powered by inflexibility, both novels intensify isolation. The refusal of world powers to admit their disastrous choices in Shārīf’s novel not only risks everyone, but leads to the separation of the two lovers, from the underwater city and the land countries, ending in their isolation as they send letters that will most likely never reach their recipients as the world is torn apart. The same inflexibility, but on a smaller scale, proves equally deadly in Towfik’s novel as the predators of the rich compound refuse to believe the impending danger of the mounting gap between them and the surrounding slums. This ends with the expected attack on the armed but outnumbered compound by the hungry neighbors, resulting in the implied massacre for everyone at the end of the novel. While isolation is imposed by place and physical features in the first part of the book, it is taken to a different level in the second part. With unprecedented technological invasiveness contextualizing contemporary Arabic

Conclusion  165 speculative fiction, isolation evolves from the physical to the psychological and the societal, especially with technology used for surveillance, resulting in voluntary self-​estrangement. The intermingling of human and machine, while seen in its physicality as a feature of cyberpunk, may have occurred on a different level as a sociopolitical reality for Arab protesters whose reliance on social media has made cyberspace a humanized interface for their aspirations and their controversies. Mahmoud Othman’s Revolution 2053: The Beginning, written before the Arab Spring, shares a predictive element with Towfik’s pre-​Arab spring novel of class war (Othman 2007). Othman’s novel, however, is perhaps closer to a crucial detail of the Arab Spring: the middle-​class component and the reliance on the internet. The central character, Nassār, is the affluent software engineer unaware of the dystopia that engulfs him. His foil, and friend, Gharīb Ṣālīh, is a photographer with the ability to visualize the future and secretly an activist running a revolutionary website. The combination of politicized cyberspace and an educated, pacifist middle class is close to the woe of activism seen in the beginning of the second decade of the twentieth century. Whether the horrific dystopia of Towfik’s Utopia will also take place remains to be seen, but the connections between the internet and revolt made in Othman’s novel are already recognizable. The internet and the intricacies of cyberspace gain the most traction in Aḥmad Wild Islim’s The Outsider. Self-​estrangement figures out prominently in Makhtūr, who loses his memory because of a mugging in Russia. An interesting perspective on isolation is that it is further revealed when the bubble of cyberprivacy is burst and people’s secrets are spilled, uncovering the level of secrecy shielding individuals as much as governments and corporations. Indeed, the events take place on an island, a traditional symbol of isolation, but it is time that feeds the isolation, whether the loss of memories, the festering secrets of the corrupt members of Futucity, or even Makhtūr’s humanoid which has its own secret by inventing another humanoid. The dystopia in Islim’s novel is a techno-​dystopia, where control over labor and privacy merge in a global corporatization of life. Like Othman’s novel, the cyberprivacy scandals ring true with implicit references to whistleblowers and internet leaks that plagued cybersecurity in real life. Both Othman and Islim foreground surveillance as central to their dysfunctional worlds. This results in the heightened mistrust as a factor of distress displayed by the communities they depict. The microchips in Nassār’s arm, the obsession with security in the smart villas he designs, the Kafkaesque interrogators who torture Nassār without revealing their identities, all intensify the element of mistrust. The fragility of a supposedly utopian world with state-​of-​the-​art economic and information system is emphasized as it collapses because of one humanoid hacker. The busting of cyberprivacy of Futucity in the novel globalizes and humanizes mistrust.

166  Conclusion Distress grows beyond politics and reaches individual and private levels everywhere. Self-​estrangement takes a cultural trajectory, an alternate route to the political and economic ones in the dystopias of Othman and Islim. The two novels that underscore cultural alienation in this book do so with glaring clarity. One, If Hannibal Returns, has Hannibal, a larger-​than-​ life cultural figure of ancient North African civilizations, return as a clone (Thābit 2004). The other, The Seeds of the Devil (Kīlānī 2007), adds an ecological concern while resorting to genetic engineering and puts forward an undisguised labeling of its products as the work of the devil. The self-​estrangement of the protagonists in both novels is imposed by their circumstances, whether the cloned war leader hundreds of years away from home, or the scientist of multi-​ethnic background adopting a pre-​ technological lifestyle to avert a scientific crime. In both novels, inflexibility accompanies self-​estrangement. The two protagonists attempt to change the cultures they find themselves in but are resisted by the unsurmountable obstacle of self-​interest. Both succeed on a popular level but are stopped by an upper level of decision makers. Hannibal is well received by both Tunisians and American audiences, but blocked by security and political forces. Frank is welcomed by the simple Afghani tribe, but challenged by the genetic engineering company and its agents in Afghanistan. In the novels discussed above from the first part of the book, the focus is consistently on the victims of authoritarianism as a dystopian mechanism leading to psychological distress. In the novels analyzed in the second part, I shift the focus to perpetrators, who are sometimes converted victims or who end up becoming victims themselves, thus exploring inequity as a dystopian component leading to distress. Interestingly, I have found examples of the aggressors in dystopian function on psychological and even intellectual levels, not just political. Perhaps since the aggressors do not suffer physically as much as the victims in a dystopian content, their actions impact their mental state as much as that of their victims, even if physically they are protected by their status at least temporarily, thus forming a psychological and intellectual dystopia, a dystopia of the mind. Ṭība ʾaḥmad al-​ ʾIbrāhīm’s novel (al-​ ʾibrāhīm 2003), while written earlier than the other books in this part, chooses to shed light on the psychological impact of medical revival. The wealthy old protagonist comes back after the freezing experiment younger and healthier, and most significantly, more intelligent, but also cold-​blooded. While not a criminal, his calculating mind, combined with his cold self-​serving motivations, is alarmingly capable of severe damages, and we have an example in his discussions with the scientists, when he dismissively disregards any societal values for the sake of absolute rationalism and survival.

Conclusion  167 Survival here, and change, are key notions. In ʿumar Ḥāziq’s The First Novelist of the City, revival is metaphysical, in a post-​death experience (Ḥāziq 2014). The protagonist is also self-​serving, and acquires talents he never had. His actions are met by equally self-​serving manipulation of fellow residents of the underworld, leading to his potential demise, or at least transference to a different status of post-​death. The enhanced abilities that he experiences are also the realm of the mind, like the revived businessman in Al-​ʾIbrāhīm’s novel. While both acquire their abilities for different reasons, they do so as a result of absence and revival, a shutting down and restarting of the human mind that seems to bring an awakening and enhancement, and take away empathy and emotive involvement. It is interesting that superior mental abilities, represented as creative talents in one case and intelligence in the other, are put as adverse to empathic maturity and social harmony. Given that an ideal condition for a person is enhanced abilities, the two novels see such individual enhancement as less important than values that empower the communal good. As a result, such enhancement provides no meaning, as it is uselessness to the society that devalues it. Moreover, the two novels emphasize meaninglessness in details that show the protagonists grapple with meaning. The revived Mr. Muwā fails to understand the connotations and implications of key concepts, and adheres only to cold encyclopedic and lexical definitions. The novelist of the undercity collects words that fall on the ground, without understanding much of their meaning, given that he himself did not pursue an education during his life above the ground. His work is made up of words, not meaning. Meaninglessness, then, is linked to social harmony and empathy and meaningfulness is not necessarily dependent on superior mental faculties in these two narratives. By challenging their communities, the two protagonists become obvious threats to the world that witnessed their revival. Their presence is resisted, but they persist, even if because of legal loopholes like in the case of The Pale Human or in a different ethereal form in The First Novelist of the City. As a matter of fact, both will be able to wreak more damage in their new positions, with Mr. Muwā free of the scientific observation and the novelist free of the power other residents have on him. The threats they pose, however, and their realization that they are not welcome, builds into mistrust which increases the distress they suffer from as they expect retaliation and prosecution, which is typical with the aggressors in the theory of social causes of distress. The dystopia of the mind extends to the intellectual deterioration. Imposed by those in power on the public as a means to control them, intellectual hegemony seems to eventually also impact those who try to enforce it, as well. This is explored in the motif of censorship, cemented as a staple of dystopian fiction by works such as Huxley’s Brave New

168  Conclusion World and Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, two Arabic novels examined in this book incorporate it with an interesting perspective from the lens of the censors, following the detrimental effect of an inner conflict between their official duties as censors and their appreciation of books that leads the protagonists on a collision course with the state agencies that hire them. In Buthayna Al-​Essa’s novel, The Guardian of the Surface of the World, the protagonist is a book censor who tells his daughter bedtime stories (Al-​Essa 2019). The juxtaposition of his personal life and his professional life offer us a flawed anti-​hero, his moral dilemma extends beyond his burgeoning curiosity, as he gradually becomes infatuated by Zorba the Greek and Alice in Wonderland. It damages his daughter’s life, as she becomes a direct victim of the regime he serves, when she is strapped to a bed and forced to stare at the photo of the president he obeys. As he contributes to brainwashing fellow citizens, his daughter’s forced intellectual rehabilitation is brainwashing her. The dumbing down of the minds of his people, magnified as we read items that he and other agents must ban and censor, does not affect his intellect as he secretly reads the books he is expected to ban, which only adds to his torment as he willingly watches books burn and sees his daughter horrifically brainwashed. The intellectual downfall and the moral dilemma of the censor in Al-​ Essa’s novel is present in Mohammad Rabie’s Planet Amber (Rabie 2010). The protagonist is assigned by a government to evaluate Planet Amber, an old library, to pull down for neighborhood renovations. He, too, is drawn to the underworld of book lovers, in this case book copiers. He also betrays them eventually when he fears the repercussions of the wrath of his superiors. Like in Al-​Essa’s novel, the protagonist in Planet Amber is intrigued by a real book, but a lesser known one, Codex Seraphinianus by Italian writer and artist, Luigi Sarfani. The use of real books in both texts provides authenticity and relevance. Sarfani’s book is possibly not well known, and this might serve to start a real interest in readers, which would make that of the protagonist more understandable. Moreover, the surrealistic and fantastical illustrations in Sarfani’s book, and the ineligible unreal alphabet used mirror the motif of meaninglessness of this section of the book. The words do not exist. They mean nothing in themselves. Yet their meaninglessness turns them into interpretable plains for whoever chooses to read the book. As narratives about books, both novels deal with meaning. Banning books is a negation of meaning, and censoring them is a distortion of meaning, propagation of meaninglessness, which is the element of distress discussed in this section. Meaninglessness dominates the dystopian worlds of the two novels as ideas and words are interrupted and quelled through censorship. The key distress pattern in the two book banning novels is inflexibility. This trait is displayed by the superior clerks in the government agencies in

Conclusion  169 both novels, as they crack down not only on the bookshops and libraries, but on their own men when they start to develop a fascination with books. The superiors in both novels, whether those who train censors in Al-​Essa’s novel or the typical bureaucratic government boss in Rabie’s novel, are conniving and manipulative, but are also delivering the orders of the regime, making them middle-​level corrupt officials, and the protagonists in both novels early-​level pawns. By the end of both narratives, however, the dehumanized protagonists are ready to move up as they make their choices and support the system, although readers know that they both still have the burning tingle in their minds. The inflexibility of the system breaks them. The last part of the book discusses normlessness, as a form of a new norm of lawlessness and normalized chaos. This specific feature reflects the post-​apocalyptic nature of war and revolt dystopias. Perhaps it is here more than anywhere else in this book that the recent events from the early 21st century and their impact on Arab countries directly speak to the creative expression of distress in Arabic speculative fiction. The two Arab Spring novels, if I can refer to them as such, are Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue (Abdel Aziz 2016) and Mohammad Rabie’s Otared (Rabie 2016). They excel at throwing at the reader the fear and poignant dehumanization of getting used to fear, and to injustice. These are two narratives about choice and its price. Abdel Aziz’s novel offers an interesting normalization of normlessness through the metaphorical visuality of the queue. As a finite form with limited and controlled shape, a queue is supposed to epitomize order. In The Queue, it contains chaos. In the sprawling cities where the queue stretches endlessly, normalness embraces normlessness. In the queue life occurs, with tragic stories, buying and selling, betrayals, and more. The tight control of the Gate manifested through the queue is in fact an attempt at making inequity palatable by giving it the appearance of order. Like the other novels in this section, representatives of the system grapple with moral choices. A reporter risks suspicions that could endanger her Certificate of True Citizenship, for example. But perhaps the closest example to challenging inequity from someone who belongs to the system is Tarek, the physician at a public hospital, who has been following protocol and bureaucratic filling of Yehya’s case, until eventually he changes, and decides to operate on Yehya at a friend’s home, outside the system that is clearly punishing Yehya and others like him for the mere suspicion that they had anything to do with the failed protests that inspired the ironclad control of the Gate. Rabie also uses normalization to express normlessness, perhaps even more drastically. The protagonist is a policeman. Otared is the law, and his enforcing of the law in fact does nothing but contextualize those who live

170  Conclusion outside the law, as seen in hideous scenes in slums and entire lives parasitically persisting under the bridge, where he himself frequents and where he finds the closest thing to love he ever experiences. Otared is the law enforcer who makes lawlessness the law of survival. He also follows the pattern of the aggressor suffering from their role in authoritarianism. Otared throws himself at the angry mob, after Farida is killed by the seething people in the streets, and is killed as well. His death is the ultimate blurring of the two poles of an authoritarian dystopia. As novels of revolution and retribution, it makes sense for mistrust to reign supreme. From Certificate of True Citizenship in The Queue to guarantee conformity, and spying in the office, to McCarthyistic investigation committees. As Otared plays with cyberpunk elements of decay and technology, the silent cop has a metallic pet, a surveillance drone with a name. The soft side of the lone enforcer is nothing but another testimony of the spread of paranoia. Both novels reinforce the underlying conversation of individualism versus communality in the middle of mistrust. Yehya and the physician Tarek challenge the everyone for themselves tactics instated by the Gate authority to guarantee loyalty, and Tarek operates on Yehya after all. Otared, the stereotypical ruthless lone survivor, falls in love and dies to join the woman he loves. These two novels portray survival as a burden worth sacrificing. Survival remains a prominent motif in this section. The Queue and Otared foreground survival as an underlying motif in their post-​revolt dystopian worlds. In the last two novels discussed in this book, survival is even more powerful. As a result, its tenacity as an instinctive urge leads to dehumanization at the highest level in the novels analyzed in this study: reaching a point where corpses are kept in the fridge and cannibalism is on its way to becoming normalized in Aḥmad al-​Zaʿtarī’s Bending over the Corpse of Amman (al-​Zaʿtarī 2014). As two narratives of war, civil war in al-​Zaʿtarī’s and nuclear war in Wāsīnī al-​Aʿraj’s 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab (al-​ Aʿraj 2016), survival necessitates normlessness. The role of inequity in both novels is also more pronounced. The two central characters slide rapidly into actions they would not have otherwise committed if they had known better, echoing the spiraling violence in their dystopian worlds. al-​Aʿraj’s novel shows us a horrific character, the warlord Little Broz, whose torment by the war injuries that made him half mechanic and half human, perhaps in a nuclear version of steampunk, is bent on total annihilation. The protagonist, the last Arab with the ironic first name of Adam, is a selfish scientist incapable of realizing the disasters he might contribute to with his nuclear research and his Pocket Bomb project. Both have left a trail of blood, as both also suffer. Adam, however, like Otared perhaps, sacrifices himself as he finally responds to his own “call of the wild” as the grey wolf of his Algerian ancestors emerges inside him.

Conclusion  171 Al-​Zaʿtarī’s novel is a novel of hard choices, too. The middle-​class protagonist, abandoned by his wife, and traumatized by militias, descends into normlessness even after he is no longer forced to demoralize himself to survive. He chooses to belong to the camp and monetize his skills. He has killed before and is now ready to do what it takes to survive after he realizes the city he once called home is nobody’s home. Inflexibility resonates with the characterization of two different characters. Little Broz is broken by his inability to let go of his demonic urge to take revenge of all Arabians. Al-​Zaʿtarī’s protagonist is offered a chance to redeem himself or at least leave the camp with Ibrahim, but persistently decides to say, and move deeper into what he has become. The factors leading to distress, and the patterns of suffering, are weaved into the narratives that are examined in this book. They reveal a profound understanding of how social deterioration can cause psychological distress on individual and collective levels. There is a movement that I would argue is visible, from the philosophical to the real, even in the middle of the unrealistic details, dictated perhaps by the development of intersectionality of narrative and real events, and thus assimilating nuclear threats, ecological threats, and moving closer to revolts and wars. How far these novels reflect the times they were written in accurately can be another study, but analysis of the changing thematic structures might suggest that. Speculative Turn The condensation of Arabic dystopian fiction in the last two decades may be a reflection of the accumulating disasters in the region. Nevertheless, the choices writers make point to a creative interest in world making. Another question might be posed here, as to whether fear of censorship might be a motivation for an escapist approach. This also needs further exploration, as thinly disguised references might imply this, and, therefore, stopping short of depicting real accounts of political woes and conflicts suggests that freedom from censorship can be a valid reason. Conversely, another perspective interestingly views speculative fiction as a state-​sanctioned means of venting criticism that would “serve as a safety valve for grievances or at least as a breathing space amid repression” (Determann 2023, p. 6). Perhaps all these reasons are pushing this reshaped and constantly evolving genre to the forefront of Arabic culture, with renewed interest fueled by the need for free expression in the middle of recurring events that lend themselves to be encapsulated in a narrative style that Arabic literature has had many affinities to for centuries. The argument that speculative fiction is gaining acceptance has many more testimonials than the ones I examined here. Some have gained recognition that is somewhat reminiscent of the respect graphic novels gained

172  Conclusion when Spiegelman’s Maus was awarded the Pulitzer Prize. For example, Mohammad Rabie’s Planet Amber was awarded the Sawiris Prize for Literature in 2012. Soon after, Saadawi’s Frankenstein in Baghdad (Saadawi 2018) was awarded the International Prize for Arabic Fiction in 2014. Ibrahim Nasrallah’s Ḥarb al-​kalb al-​thānīya, The Second War of the Dog (Nasrallah 2016) was awarded the same prize in 2018. There is an award established in the name of Nihād Shārīf. Moreover, perhaps in the case of Arabic literature specifically, another rite of passage is translation. Whether through the American University in Cairo, one of the pioneers of translating modern Arabic novels, or other publishers, translation has always been a mark of acceptance for Arabic fiction. Moving from mainstream seminal works to other genres is not easy for the market of literary translation. The fact that we are witnessing increased translations of works of Arabic speculative fiction with experimentation and maturity is a sign that the genre is becoming more confident. A third indication is academia. With scholarly books such as Ian Campbell’s, and increasing articles about Arabic science fiction, there is rising attention to the possibilities of making valid literary and cultural connections through understanding this genre in Arabic fiction. In Arabic academia, there already are dissertations about works of novelists such as Wāsīnī al-​Aʿraj, Ahmed Saadawi, and many others, studying them as science fiction writers. The fourth sign of growing interest is recent groups of writers coming together and identifying their work as science fiction. The most notable perhaps is the Egyptian Society of Science Fiction (ESSF), founded by a number of Arab science fiction, such as Hossam Elzembely, in 2012, the group authored the book Arab and Muslim Science Fiction: Critical Essays (Elzembely 2022) which collects essays by writers discussing the development of science fiction in Arabic speaking countries and in South East Asia, and introduced by Marcia Lynx Qualey, the editor and founder of the ArabLit Quarterly. There Can Always Be More There are novels that the scope of this book could not cover, but perhaps in another book or shorter articles, I would indulge myself in further analysis maybe with a new theoretical and critical lens. I would be interested to delve deeper into time shifting novels such as Khairy Shalaby’s The Time Travels of the Man who Sold Pickles and Sweets (Shalaby 2016), and Saadawi’s recent novel, Bāb al-​ṭabāshīr, or Chalk Door (Saadawi 2017), which has not been translated to date, where a door painted in chalk on a prison wall starts a series of shift through temporal and spatial planes. New novels that have been published recently continue to grapple with the aftermath of protests. Most notably among them is Basma Abdel Aziz’s Here Is a Body, which was translated in 2021 (Abdel Aziz 2021).

Conclusion  173 It was analyzed in a chapter by Campbell in the 2022 book he edited on global science fiction in translation. Here Is a Body is a novel of the streets, where homeless youths are weaponized, and a novel of fake ideologies and the bodies they consume. An interesting new novel by Mohamed Kheir, Slipping (Kheir 2021), ventures into the magical side of Egyptian cities, and strange abilities, as a journalist tries to make sense of what happened after the world shook during the Arab Spring. Reflecting on the choices made in this book, I am aware of potential comparisons, or alternate texts that could have been used or added to the comparative approach I adopted. Some of those texts could have been influenced by one or another, or simply had interesting points worthy of reading comparatively. For instance, Nihād Shārīf’s novel, Residents of the Second World, shares themes of underwater worlds with Moroccan novelist Aḥmad al-​Baqālī’s novel al-​Ṭūfān al-​azraq (al-​Baqālī 1976), or The Blue Flood (Aysha 2020, p. 12). There are also earlier works that I would like to visit and explore new connection they might provide, perhaps the entire opus of key pioneering writers in this genre such as Nihād Shārīf and Talib Omran. The connection to Young Adult fiction is another significant area to trace as a major space for speculative fiction. In addition, while women writers have produced some of the best Arabic science fiction analyzed in this book, I am very interested in finding more women writers, whether they would address issues related to gender or write from any other lens. As more Arabic novels might be moving toward a genre that has deep roots in Arabic culture, and has many reasons to remain strong, I can, in the spirit of speculative fiction, make some speculative prediction of my own. I would argue that, regardless of reasons, and there usually are a multitude of them for a specific genre to gain grounds in a literary scene, we might as well be witnessing the speculative fiction turn in Arabic literature. References Abdel Aziz, Basma. (2016). The Queue. (Elizabeth Jacquette, trans.). Melville House Publications. (Original work published in 2013.) Abdel Aziz, Basma. (2021). Here Is a Body. (Johnathan Wright, trans.). Hoopoe Fiction. (Original work published in 2017.) al-​Aʿraj, Wāsīnī. (2016). 2084: Ḥikāyat al-​ʿarabī al-​ʾakhīr. [2084: The Tale of the Last Arab]. Beirut, Lebanon: Dār al-​ʿadab. al-​Baqālī, Aḥmad. (1976). al-​Ṭūfān al-​azraq. [The blue flood]. Cairo: Itiḥād al-​ kuttāb al-​ʿarab. al-​Essa, Buthayna. (2019). Ḥāris saṭh al-​ ʿālam. [The Guardian of the Surface of the World]. Beirut: Lebanon: al-​dār al-​ʿarabiyya li-​l-​ʿulūm. al-​ ʾibrāhīm, ṭība ʾaḥmad. (2003). al-​ʾinsan al-​bāhit. [The Pale Human]. Cairo: al-​ mūʾassasa al-​ʿarabiyya al-​ḥadītha li-​l nashr wa al-​tawzī.

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Index

Abba, Dimi bint 73 Abdel Aziz, Basma 11, 12, 17, 19, 127–​41, 148, 169, 172 al-​Aʿraj, Wāsīnī 11, 18, 19, 143–​57, 170, 172 al-​Baqālī, Aḥmad 173 Al-​Essa, Buthayna 11, 18–​20, 111–​25, 168 Al-​Hakim, Tawfiq 15, 20 al-​Insān al-​mutaʿddid [The Multiple Human] (al-​ʾIbrāhīm) 95 al-​Kawākibī, ‘abdel-​Raḥmān 15 allegory 25–​7, 29, 39, 40; ideational/​ conceptual 25; narrative strategy 26; structural symbolism 25 allusions 144–​7 al-​Manfalūṭī, Musṭafā Luṭfī 15 al-​Maʿarrī, Abū al-​ʿalā 14 al-​Shārīf, Nūr 45 al-​Shaykh, Kamāl 45 al-​Ṣīyarfī, Lūwayj 116 al-​Ṭūfān al-​azraq [The Blue Flood] (al-​Baqālī) 173 al-​Zaʿtarī, Aḥmad 11, 18, 143–​57, 170 al-​ʾIbrāhīm, Ṭība ʾAḥmad 11, 95–​110, 166 Animal Farm (Orwell) 111 apocalyptic dystopia 3 Arab and Muslim Science Fiction: Critical Essays (Elzebmely and Aysha) 16, 172 The Arabian Nights 12, 13, 85, 88, 159–​62 Arabic Science Fiction (Campbell) 12, 17 Arabic speculative fiction 1, 4, 5, 11, 17, 19, 36, 62, 76, 127; dystopia

see dystopia; early modern 15–​6; in English 12; in literature 159–​73 Artaud, Antonin 147 Atwood, Margaret 1 authoritarianism 4, 5, 10, 23, 136, 145, 166, 170; inequity and 7–​9; inflexibility 8; mistrust 8 Aysha, Emad 16 Barbaro, Ada 12 Beckett, Samuel 129 Bending Over the Corpse of Amman (al-​Zaʿtarī) 11, 18, 143–​57, 170 Bethke, Bruce 61 The Blade Runner (Scott) 61 Blake, Victoria 61 Brave New World (Huxley) 3, 14, 48 Campbell, Ian 12 censorship 111–​4, 116–​20, 122, 167, 168, 171 Chalk Door (Saadawi) 172 Children of the Alley (Mahfouz) 28, 29, 105 classical Arab dystopian elements 12–​5 Codex Seraphinianus (Sarfani) 116, 168 commitment 9 communal distress 41–​2 conceptual allegory 25 The Conqueror of Time (Shārīf) 12, 18, 45 critical dystopia 3 cultural dystopia 76–​90; communities 81–​2; definitions of 77–​9; fantasy aspects 84–​5; female stereotypical support 82–​3; identity crisis 85–​6;

182 Index narrative strategy 87–​8; protagonists 79–​81; spirituality 86–​7; Western hegemony 83–​4 Cyberpunk (Blake) 61 cyberpunk dystopia 61–​75; Arabic 62–​5; distress 74; narrative strategy 71–​2; political innuendos 68–​70; protagonists 66–​8; surveillance 65–​6; violence 70–​1 defiance 140–​1 dehumanization 57, 99, 127, 130, 143, 150, 154–​6, 169, 170 distress: in Arabic literature 159–​73; communal 41–​2; in cyberpunk dystopia 74; individual freedom 120–​1; inequity 143, 157; intellectual dystopia 120–​1; narrating inflexibility 150–​4; psychological 4–​9; public inflexibility 120–​1; social 143 Dolet, Étienne 119 dystopia: apocalyptic 3; in Arabic literature 159–​73; critical 3; cultural 76–​90; cyberpunk 61–​75; definitions of 1–​4; intellectual 111–​25; parallel 44–​58; post-​apocalyptic 127–​30, 133–​7, 140, 157; post-​revolt 127–​41; post-​war 143–​57; psychological 95–​110; quest 25–​42 dystopian spaces 10, 40–​1, 160 Eassa, Ezzedin Youssef 10, 16, 18, 25–​42 Egyptian Society for Science Fiction (ESSF) 16–​7, 172 Elzebmely, Hosam 16, 172 The Façade (Eassa) 10, 18, 25–​42, 113, 161, 162; narrative structure 38–​40; symbolic names 36–​8 Fahrenheit 451 (Bradbury) 3, 111, 168 Farouq, Nabil 17 The First Novelist of the City (Ḥāziq) 11, 18, 95–​110, 167 Frankenstein in Baghdad (Saadawi) 18–​9, 172 Gibson, William 48, 61 The Guardian of the Surface of the World (Al-​Essa) 11, 18, 111–​25, 168 guilt 8, 121–​2, 140–​1

The Handmaid’s Tale (Atwood) 1 Hayy Ibn Yaqdhan (Ibn Tufayl) 12–​5, 160–​2 Ḥāziq, ʿumar 11, 18, 95–​110, 167 Here Is a Body (Abdel Aziz) 128, 172, 173 Ibn Tufayl, Abu Bakr 12 ideational allegory 25 If Hannibal Returns (Thābit) 11, 18, 76–​90, 166 indignation 8 individual freedom as distress 120–​1 inequity 10, 11, 166, 169–​70; authoritarianism 7–​9; cause of distress 157; social distress 143 inflexibility: cultural dystopia 76–​90; definition of 8; intellectual dystopia 111–​25; parallel dystopia 44–​58; post-​war dystopia 143–​57 Inqirāḍ al-​rajul [The Extinction of Men] (al-​ʾIbrāhīm) 95 intellectual dystopia 111–​25; central characters as censors 114–​5; guilt 121–​2; impossibility of change 124–​5; individual freedom as distress 120–​1; library as challenge 115–​8; literary allusions 118–​20; meaninglessness 106–​8; narrative strategy 122–​4; public inflexibility as distress 120–​1 Internet Speculative Fiction Database (ISFDB) 1 The Island of Doctor Moreau (Wells) 48 Islim, Aḥmad Wild 10, 18, 61–​75, 165 isolation 6–​10, 23, 24, 60, 115, 138, 148, 149, 152, 164, 165 The Journey of Ibn Fattouma (Mahfouz) 10, 17, 25–​42, 113, 161–​3 Khafagi, Omayma 17 Kheir, Mohamed 173 Khūrshīd, Kamāl 65 Kīlānī, Līna 11, 18, 19, 76–​90 lawlessness 129–​30 literary allusions 118–​20 The Literary Mind (Turner) 26 Madīnat al-​Sa‘ādā [The City of Happiness] (al-​Manfalūṭī) 15

Index  183 Mahfouz, Naguib 10, 15, 18, 25–​42, 70, 105 Maḥmūd, Muṣṭafā 12, 16 Majlis al-​‘adl [The Council of Justice] (Al-​Hakim) 15 Master of the World (Verne) 47 meaning 9 meaninglessness 6, 7, 9, 11, 93, 94, 106–​8, 117, 167, 168 Mill, John Stuart 2 Mirowsky, John 5 mistrust: cyberpunk dystopia 61–​75; definition of 8; post-​revolt dystopia 127–​41; psychological dystopia 95–​110; quest dystopia 25–​42 Moger, Robin 128 More, Thomas 2 Moussa, Sabry 16 Nasrallah, Ibrahim 19, 172 Nassār, Maḥmūd 63 Neuromancer (Gibson) 48, 61 1984 (Orwell) 3, 26, 48, 61, 119, 144 normality 9 normlessness 6, 7, 9, 11, 93, 126, 138, 143, 148, 150, 169–​71 Omran, Talib 173 open-​ended deterioration 155–​7 Orwell, George 26, 119 Otared (Rabie) 11, 17, 18, 113, 115, 127–​41, 169, 170 Othman, Mahmoud 10, 18, 20, 61–​76, 165 The Outsider (Islim) 10, 18, 61–​76, 165 The Pale Human (al-​ʾIbrāhīm) 11, 17, 95–​110, 167 parallel dystopia 44–​58; characters between two worlds 49; inability 58; narrative strategy 46–​8; narrators 49–​53; negated utopias 57–​8; role of women 55–​7; subjectivity 49–​53; violence 53–​5 Planet Amber (Rabie) 11, 18, 111–​25, 128, 168, 172 post-​apocalyptic dystopia 127–​9, 136, 140, 157; characterization 148–​50; narrative strategy 130, 143; temporal narration 132–​7

post-​revolt dystopia 127–​41; defiance 140–​1; guilt 140–​1; law/​lawlessness 129–​30; random death 137–​40; visuality as narrative strategy 130–​1 post-​war dystopia 143–​57; allusions 144–​7; dehumanization 154–​5; grotesque description 147–​8; macabre description 147–​8; open-​ ended deterioration 155–​7; pattern of distress 150–​4; post-​apocalyptic characterization 148–​50; symbolic names 144–​7 powerlessness 6, 7, 9, 23 pragmatism 102, 106 psychological distress 4–​9; Arabic dystopian fiction 9–​11; dystopian fiction 5, 7, 8; patterns of 9; sociological approach 5 psychological dystopia 95–​110; circumstances 105–​6; distress 109–​10; empathy 98–​9; enhanced abilities 95; meaninglessness 106–​8; mental enhancement 96–​8; motif of revival 96; narrators 108–​9; pragmatism 102, 106; social structure 99–​103; spirituality 103–​5; surroundings 105–​6 public inflexibility as distress 120–​1 Qualey, Marcia Lynx 172 quest dystopia 25–​42; allegory 25–​7, 29, 39, 40; communal distress 41–​2; dystopian spaces 40–​1; narrative structure 38–​40; symbolic names 28–​34, 36–​8 The Queue (Abdel Aziz) 11, 17, 127–​41, 148, 169, 170 Rabie, Mohammad 11, 12, 17, 18, 111–​25, 127–​41, 168, 169, 172 Revolution 2053: The Beginning (Othman) 10, 18, 61–​76, 165 Ross, Catherine E. 5 Rossetti, Chip 45 Rucker, Rudy 61 Saadawi, Ahmed 18 Sarfani, Luigi 116, 168 The Second Dog War (Nasrallah) 19, 172 The Seeds of the Devil (Kīlānī) 11, 18, 76–​90, 166

184 Index self-​estrangement 6, 7, 9, 10, 60, 165, 166 Shalaby, Khairy 19, 172 Shārīf, Nihād 10, 12, 16, 18–​20, 22, 44–​58, 163, 172, 173 Shelley, Mary 19 Slipping (Kheir) 173 Social Causes of Psychological Distress (Mirowsky and Ross) 5 social distress 143 social interruption 6 Sterling, Bruce 61 storytelling 26 structural symbolism 25 Sukkān al-​‘ālam al-​thānī [Residents of the Second World] (Shārīf) 10, 18, 44–​58, 112, 163, 173 support 9 symbolic names 28–​34, 36–​8, 144–​7 Taqrīr qamarī [A Report from the Moon] (Al-​Hakim) 15 Thābit, al-​Hādī 11, 18, 76–​90

The Time Travels of the Man Who Sold Sweets and Pickles (Shalaby) 19, 172 Towfik, Ahmed Khalid 10, 12, 17, 19, 20, 44–​58 Turner, Mark 26 Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea (Verne) 47 2084: The Tale of the Last Arab (al-​Aʿraj) 11, 18, 143–​57, 170 Ukāsha, Tharwat 119 Umm al-​Qurā [The Mother of Villages] (al-​Kawākibī) 15 Utopia (More) 2 Utopia (Towfik) 10, 17, 44–​58, 164 Verne, Jules 47, 62 V for Vendetta (Moore) 111 visuality 130–​1 Waiting for Godot (Beckett) 129 Wells, H. G. 48