Scan barcode
A review by obtuseblues
Infidels by Abdellah Taïa
3.0
kinda torn about how i feel about this.
taïa possesses a very particular writing style that reminds me of my own at times but in the opposite way. all of his sentences are short and often straightforward, sometimes only phrases left grammatically incomplete. the frequency of periods and lack of commas really forced me to slow down, which irritated me at times because it was like every other sentence, but i came to appreciate it generally. his structure for storytelling confused me at first as well. first it's jallal when he's 10 and angry at the world (rightfully so), then saadia, then slima, and finally back to jallal in his 20s. in hindsight, it makes a lot of sense, but the experience of it takes a little getting used to. nevertheless, all three of the characters and the peeks we are afforded of their lives relay a sort of anger, melancholy, poignancy, and suffering that comes with the difficulties of their experiences due to their positions in life. but at the same time, you feel a sense of love, especially with these first two perspectives, as a young jallal and saadia sacrifice and rage at the expense of slima.
there are just so many congruent feelings tied up in taïa's story that i have difficulty trying to explicate them. i suppose i'll do this chronologically (organizational wise) then. i find myself entrenched in these three people's lives, aching for them. this fervent, righteous love jallal has for his mother despite/because of her occupation feels so real, so tactile in that way, that i wait for his spit to splatter onto the ground, onto a head. the strength yet desperation required to take on the occupation his grandmother had and to pass it down to his mother as a form of love, as a way of freeing her, makes me nod along, saying yes, maybe that is kindness. but i read her daughter's tribulations so soon after and i must ask, "how could it be?" the shame, the abuse, the danger she incurs because of her profession is so much. so very much. too much to handle. ask an adolescent jallal. ask a released slima. was it worth it? was that actually freedom? and then we have our grown up jallal, detached, abandoned, and adrift. of course he's drowning. he's utterly lonely. he's been alone for too long now and he doesn't know where to put his hands. and i feel for him. i wish there was a place for him in this world. he seemingly finds it only to be misguided yet seduced. what else does he have left to live for? what does this world owe him?
i constantly struggled throughout this novel and especially during slima's confinement. i am always wary of men writing women characters because i feel like so few men can actually ever understand the magnitude of the makeup of women's lives, their interiorities. how can they when most of them are trained to view women as some kind of object or auxiliary person, if human in their eyes, at all? taïa's voice himself comes through most obviously when he writes these women's stories. they don't feel like women's voices to me really. and it really didn't when she begins to relay her terrifying encounter with the interrogators. she didn't speak of r**e like i think a woman would. it sounded more like what a man thought a woman may feel during that. and that aspect of the novel was really hard for me to discount. to speak of women's trauma like this, i need it to feel real and i need it to feel respectful and understood. otherwise, what the fuck does this all mean? the trauma and abuse these women characters endured are simply the means that explain jallal's end? fuck that
so there, all of my ambivalence bare for you to see. it was also so interesting to consider the role marilyn monroe played in this story, especially at the end there. still unsure what to make of it but i will say that i'm thinking of this novel. this story. and that's all i can really ask for from a book.
taïa possesses a very particular writing style that reminds me of my own at times but in the opposite way. all of his sentences are short and often straightforward, sometimes only phrases left grammatically incomplete. the frequency of periods and lack of commas really forced me to slow down, which irritated me at times because it was like every other sentence, but i came to appreciate it generally. his structure for storytelling confused me at first as well. first it's jallal when he's 10 and angry at the world (rightfully so), then saadia, then slima, and finally back to jallal in his 20s. in hindsight, it makes a lot of sense, but the experience of it takes a little getting used to. nevertheless, all three of the characters and the peeks we are afforded of their lives relay a sort of anger, melancholy, poignancy, and suffering that comes with the difficulties of their experiences due to their positions in life. but at the same time, you feel a sense of love, especially with these first two perspectives, as a young jallal and saadia sacrifice and rage at the expense of slima.
there are just so many congruent feelings tied up in taïa's story that i have difficulty trying to explicate them. i suppose i'll do this chronologically (organizational wise) then. i find myself entrenched in these three people's lives, aching for them. this fervent, righteous love jallal has for his mother despite/because of her occupation feels so real, so tactile in that way, that i wait for his spit to splatter onto the ground, onto a head. the strength yet desperation required to take on the occupation his grandmother had and to pass it down to his mother as a form of love, as a way of freeing her, makes me nod along, saying yes, maybe that is kindness. but i read her daughter's tribulations so soon after and i must ask, "how could it be?" the shame, the abuse, the danger she incurs because of her profession is so much. so very much. too much to handle. ask an adolescent jallal. ask a released slima. was it worth it? was that actually freedom? and then we have our grown up jallal, detached, abandoned, and adrift. of course he's drowning. he's utterly lonely. he's been alone for too long now and he doesn't know where to put his hands. and i feel for him. i wish there was a place for him in this world. he seemingly finds it only to be misguided yet seduced. what else does he have left to live for? what does this world owe him?
i constantly struggled throughout this novel and especially during slima's confinement. i am always wary of men writing women characters because i feel like so few men can actually ever understand the magnitude of the makeup of women's lives, their interiorities. how can they when most of them are trained to view women as some kind of object or auxiliary person, if human in their eyes, at all? taïa's voice himself comes through most obviously when he writes these women's stories. they don't feel like women's voices to me really. and it really didn't when she begins to relay her terrifying encounter with the interrogators. she didn't speak of r**e like i think a woman would. it sounded more like what a man thought a woman may feel during that. and that aspect of the novel was really hard for me to discount. to speak of women's trauma like this, i need it to feel real and i need it to feel respectful and understood. otherwise, what the fuck does this all mean? the trauma and abuse these women characters endured are simply the means that explain jallal's end? fuck that
so there, all of my ambivalence bare for you to see. it was also so interesting to consider the role marilyn monroe played in this story, especially at the end there. still unsure what to make of it but i will say that i'm thinking of this novel. this story. and that's all i can really ask for from a book.