The Times
by Robin Yassin-Kassab | Friday, February 5, 2010
This is the first English-language novel to express fully the human dimension of the Palestinian tragedy
The Zionist story has Palestine before the state of Israel as “a land without a people awaiting a people without a land”. Writers from Mark Twain to Leon Uris, as well as Hollywood studios and certain church pulpits, retell the tale. But Palestinians, in the West at least, lack a popular counter-narrative. Palestinians are reported on, met only on the news.
Perhaps this is changing. As the land disappears from under their feet Palestinians have been investing in culture, and Mornings in Jenin is the first English-language novel to express fully the human dimension of the Palestinian tragedy.
The story begins with the Abulheja family at home in the village of Ein Hod, near Haifa, marrying, squabbling, trading and harvesting olives. It’s a touching and sometimes funny portrait of rural life.
Then comes the nakba, or catastrophe, of 1948. Driven from their shelled village, the family suffers loss, separation and humiliation, ending up in a camp in Jenin, where “the refugees rose from their agitation to the realisation that they were slowly being erased from the world”. By now we care very much about the key characters, and through them we experience “that year without end” that stretches through some of the bloodier signposts of Palestinian history — the naksa or disaster of 1967, the Lebanese refugee camp massacres, the 2002 Jenin massacre.
Our main protagonist, Amal, is injured by shrapnel during the 1967 war and scarred emotionally as well as physically. Her father is killed and her mother mentally broken. She witnesses “imperialism by the inch” as curfews and watchtowers are established over the remaining sliver of her homeland and travels via “cathedrals of silent orphans” to a convent school in Jerusalem.
She wins a scholarship and travels to America, where “statelessness clung to me like bad perfume”. Visiting her brother in Lebanon, she meets and marries a Palestinian doctor and becomes pregnant. For a moment we imagine that motherhood will mark a new beginning, but violence interrupts again and Amal’s losses accumulate.
At times you want to criticise Abulhawa for laying the tragedy on too thick, but her raw material is historical fact and her blend of fiction and documentary is one of the book’s strengths. What rescues Mornings in Jenin from polemic is its refusal to wallow or to stoop to tribalism. One of its many achievements is that, for such a necessarily political work, no character becomes a mere cipher for suffering or victimhood.
Although the novel is written according to Anglo-American conventions, it echoes the poetic prose that is a feature of contemporary Arabic writing. Abulhawa effectively communicates her bubbling joy in what she calls “the dance” of Arabic, pondering the language’s intricate courtesies and imagistic flair.
Mornings in Jenin by Susan Abulhawa (Bloomsbury, £11.99; Buy this book; 352pp)
Robin Yassin-Kassab’s novel, The Road from Damascus, is published by Penguin
Mornings in Jenin is the story of four generations of Palestinians living through the birth of Israel and the never ending war that follows. The story centers on Amal, a women who is born in a refugee camp. Her story is one of loss, love and redemption.
I asked to review this particular book because I have always questioned the war between Israel and Palestine. I am torn between understanding the need for a permanent homeland after living through the horrors of WW2 and the way in which the country of Isreal was settled. When I was younger I would ask my elders to explain the actions of the two nations but try as they might, none could truly explain both sides. The issue of the two nations within one setting is very polarizing. I would hear about the Palestine terrorist but not the people. As a result I know little about the human story of Palestinians and thought this book may offer some insight into their world.
Abulhawa’s writing style is nothing short of amazing. Though this book is heartbreaking at every turn Abulhawa’s words sing out. Yes, they sing out and you as a reader are caught up in her song. Never mind that at times the pain becomes unbearable, the song of her words compel you the reader to stay with her. A little past half way I wanted to give up; there was too much death and heartache, but I stuck with it as the story needed to be told. As much as it hurt to hear it, this story does need to be told. We need to hear about the aftermaths of war. Not because we need to take one side or the other, but because we should pause before we pick a side. Abulhawa shows us that war scorches the lives of those who lay in the path of triumph. No one really wins in war expect death and pain as Abulhawa so vividly tells us.
After finishing the book I sat for a moment trying to collect my thoughts. A part of me disliked having to deal with the emotions and questions that washed over me while another part was so taken by the character and lives in Mornings in Jenin I was almost sad to have come to the end of the tale. For a few moments I was not sure if I could recommend this book or not as it is so full of loss but it dawned on me that one of the reasons I kept reading was because it opened my eyes to what real sadness and pain are. Sometimes we Americans get so caught up in our daily drama we tend to forget we are blessed, even when we are struggling. Mornings in Jenin will make you think, question and maybe cry. It is a testament to a people that before now had no voice. I highly recommend this book.