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A review by archytas
Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih
adventurous
reflective
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.25
"Rationally, I know what is right: my attempt at living in this village with these happy people. But mysterious things in my soul impel me towards faraway parts that loom up before me and can't be ignored. How sad would it be if my sons grew up with the germ of this infection in them, the wanderlust."
This is a really complex, dense novel, which I fear I will not do much justice to. Like many 1960s postcolonial fiction stories, it weaves together stories of gendered and colonial violence in a narrative that sprawls despite its relatively tight cast. The novel is balanced between two protagonists - one, Mustafa Sa'eed, is the quintessential African in Europe, a man who becomes a professor, a literati, a political commentator, a lawyer and a token African/Arab on a dozen prestigious posts before imploding his status and then retreating to a small African village where he proves unable to live a traditional life. The other, our narrator, is paralysed by indecision and caution, visiting Europe but not staying, joining the civil service, which he treats more as a restriction than an enabler, drifting between his eminent village elder of a grandfather and the bustling, urban world of those trying to construct a country from what has been left. This is rounded out by Mahjoub, a cynically optimistic (optimistically cynical?) childhood friend of the narrator who runs much of the village and has a political career. Neither Majoub nor our narrator, however, are big fish. They are just men trying to work out a pathway between tradition and modernisation, culture and colonialism, in a world with little power.
Our characters debate change - its existence, more than its value. Sa'eed's glittering career is also hollow - one predicated on entertainment, not impact. He is feted as a symbol, but the rapacious extraction of resources and the denial of real power remains. He views his obsession with the Western canon - a room of musty, smelly books - as a barrier to happiness, all while capturing a yearning for a world beyond the village. Despite this, he is a surprisingly empathetic figure, as we meet him saturated with regret.
These themes also play out in Sa'eed's personal life. He serially dates, lies to, manipulates and ultimately inflicts violence on white women in Britain. These women are portrayed both as vulnerable and as orientalising of him. Ultimately, he kills his wife, Jean, whose scenes with him indicate her capacity to violently silence him, devour him, and recreate him as she wills. In her courtship, she insists he let her destroy objects of immeasurable cultural worth, increasing the stakes. These scenes play with the varying power dynamics, although Jean's leaves any form of realism into some world of surreal symbolism.
The local women in the village are portrayed with sensitivity and humanity. Hosna, a local woman, fights to raise her children free of servitude, which conflicts with the village traditions. This story provides a strong counterpoint to Sa'eed's insistence that the village provides the only route to happiness. The village for Hosna is anything but, and it is the narrator's passivity and inability to take a position, which ultimately dooms her. Salih does not seem to be a fan of romantic love; our narrator at one point refers to it as "the germ of contagion that oozes through the universe". Attracted people, like nations, are ultimately combatants.
In other words, there are a lot of ideas here - several readings worth - and a lot to explore and reflect on. The violence against women was a little too visceral (and as is typical of the time, not always shown from the perspective of the women) to make that entertaining. However, I found myself in this reading, always wanting to read just another chapter.
This is a really complex, dense novel, which I fear I will not do much justice to. Like many 1960s postcolonial fiction stories, it weaves together stories of gendered and colonial violence in a narrative that sprawls despite its relatively tight cast. The novel is balanced between two protagonists - one, Mustafa Sa'eed, is the quintessential African in Europe, a man who becomes a professor, a literati, a political commentator, a lawyer and a token African/Arab on a dozen prestigious posts before imploding his status and then retreating to a small African village where he proves unable to live a traditional life. The other, our narrator, is paralysed by indecision and caution, visiting Europe but not staying, joining the civil service, which he treats more as a restriction than an enabler, drifting between his eminent village elder of a grandfather and the bustling, urban world of those trying to construct a country from what has been left. This is rounded out by Mahjoub, a cynically optimistic (optimistically cynical?) childhood friend of the narrator who runs much of the village and has a political career. Neither Majoub nor our narrator, however, are big fish. They are just men trying to work out a pathway between tradition and modernisation, culture and colonialism, in a world with little power.
Our characters debate change - its existence, more than its value. Sa'eed's glittering career is also hollow - one predicated on entertainment, not impact. He is feted as a symbol, but the rapacious extraction of resources and the denial of real power remains. He views his obsession with the Western canon - a room of musty, smelly books - as a barrier to happiness, all while capturing a yearning for a world beyond the village. Despite this, he is a surprisingly empathetic figure, as we meet him saturated with regret.
These themes also play out in Sa'eed's personal life. He serially dates, lies to, manipulates and ultimately inflicts violence on white women in Britain. These women are portrayed both as vulnerable and as orientalising of him. Ultimately, he kills his wife, Jean, whose scenes with him indicate her capacity to violently silence him, devour him, and recreate him as she wills. In her courtship, she insists he let her destroy objects of immeasurable cultural worth, increasing the stakes. These scenes play with the varying power dynamics, although Jean's leaves any form of realism into some world of surreal symbolism.
The local women in the village are portrayed with sensitivity and humanity. Hosna, a local woman, fights to raise her children free of servitude, which conflicts with the village traditions. This story provides a strong counterpoint to Sa'eed's insistence that the village provides the only route to happiness. The village for Hosna is anything but, and it is the narrator's passivity and inability to take a position, which ultimately dooms her. Salih does not seem to be a fan of romantic love; our narrator at one point refers to it as "the germ of contagion that oozes through the universe". Attracted people, like nations, are ultimately combatants.
In other words, there are a lot of ideas here - several readings worth - and a lot to explore and reflect on. The violence against women was a little too visceral (and as is typical of the time, not always shown from the perspective of the women) to make that entertaining. However, I found myself in this reading, always wanting to read just another chapter.