A society in transition

~ Celestial Bodies, by Jokha Alharthi ~

This is the first Omani novel I have read; Celestial Bodies, winner of the 2019 Man International Booker seems a good starting point (albeit in translation).

First impressions are that this is indeed a very different literary terrain. It is not so much that the landscape is unfamiliar or the norms and standards, values and expectations of this people, this society are different; it is more to do how are the stories are communicated. One wonders if there is a code or etiquette that one is failing to interpret in the literal text, or if as an outsider to this community, one is simply unable to read between the lines or decipher the connotations and ramifications. That said, there is often some charm just in novelty (at the risk of exoticising slightly and at the even greater risk of  tokenising the author and novel).

Certain key themes come across very strongly throughout: gender differentiation and gender expectation governs the lives of both men and women; kin and community bonds are powerful and life-shaping; religion and piety are woven into the fabric of society, not just a spiritual or private thing, but forming the narrative of identity construction from individual to national levels, and part of public discourse, deeply and intricately part of whole culture – Islam is not just a faith here, it is the way of life. 

Each chapter (some are very short chapters) is by or of one of this cast of characters who mostly live in al-Awafi. The characters are all closely related to each other in some way, usually by kinship and/or marriage ties, or else by servant-employer/master bonds. In this community, everyone seems related to everyone and to know everyone else’s families, business, stories, and reputations. In many ways, this  close-knit community is still very traditional, by choice seemingly, because they do have access to the outside world and modernities, and yet seem to prefer to continue living in ways they have always done, and doing things as ritual dictates. If they follow conventions, then it seems to be by preference, and for staying within comfort zones, rather than by compulsion. That said, this remains a conventional, rural, agricultural society (different from Muscat), only a generation away from serfdom, and in some ways, perhaps still feudal, in attitude if not necessarily in deed.

The women are a particularly interesting study. In this novel, many of the women are unfulfilled, frustrated, unhappy women. It seems fairly common for women to be unrealistic about romance, setting their hearts on men they know nothing about, but whom they want to venerate. This holds across all the generations, apparently, even independent young London who is a doctor and a cosmopolitan. Her aunt, Khawla takes it to an extreme, rejecting all proposals of marriage because Khawla has her heart set on her cousin Nasir, whom she barely knows, and who only returns from Canada to marry her because he had to do so in order to gain his inheritance. Nasir largely deserts Khawla after the wedding, going back to Toronto to his partner, but coming home yearly to impregnate Khawla. He is callously neglectful but she remains devoted to him. After 10 years of this, his partner in Toronto throws him out and he is forced to return to Oman, and to his Omani family. Strangely, it is at this point that Khawla suddenly decides to leave him, her love and devotion vanishing in a flash. It is surprising and unexplained. In fact, much of this novel is, with characters’ motives seldom being clear, let alone their actions.

The only completely happy woman seems to be Asma, supposedly a great lover of books and reading, with a strong natural curiosity and thirst for knowledge, but after she marries – improbable as it sounds –  seems to have her heart set on nothing else but a large family (14 children), and seems entirely fulfilled by that. She does not even seem too worried about who her husband is, and is content to let him lead quite a separate life from her own, as long as she can have her family. Indeed, many of the women’s lives seem to revolve around their children. Many women, including servants, have quite a lot of freedoms and choices, quite a considerable degree of autonomy, and yet seem to customarily allow their older relatives, particularly the menfolk, to dictate their lives. 

Not all the men are tyrants – the male protagonist, Abdallah, son of Sulayman the merchant (the local man of wealth), who marries Mayya, eldest daughter of Azzan and Salima, seems a gentle, conflicted man, abused in childhood by his father whom he puts on a pedestal, resentful and revering him simultaneously. Actually, there do not seem to be many healthy relationships depicted in this novel. 

What must be commended about this book is that it avoids cliches and stereotypes. Also very interesting is the inclusion of the Arabic phrases, proverbs, poetry, and the depiction of food, herbs, incense, clothing, furniture, interior decoration, bedouin culture, all of which evoke a particular culture and locale. For example, in the background, but notably, the writing depicts the key role dates play in Omani diet and lifestyle – particularly interesting was a short passage about how locals may eat dates fresh; but dates are boiled and dried before being exported. Likewise the reader cannot help but be struck by the many mentions of “dark greasy omani jellysweets” (hilwa/halva/halveh) and their role in celebrations, gift-giving, treats. It is also clear the author makes mention of many materialities which would be real touch stones for anyone growing up in or familiar with that milieu and community, in those decades. 

However, the novel lacks structure, randomly oscillating between past and present, between characters, and while some characters speak in their own voices, some are spoken of by an omniscient narrator, without there being any obvious narrative strategy underpinning these oscillations. Too many names are introduced without embedding, which makes it hard for readers to follow. Characters’ personalities are told, not shown, which also makes it harder to keep them separate in the mind. It was not exactly an enjoyable read as such. Interesting, but not particularly enjoyable for being so disjointed, abrupt, lacking explanation, seeming to be full of potholes and gaps and bumps. Whether this is a convention of Omani prose, I have no idea. I don’t regret having had this reading experience, but neither will you find me queuing to secure Alharthi’s other novels. If she is writing to make Omani society more accessible to outsiders, her success is only partial with this particular reader. It is of course entirely possible that the lack is not with the author or novel, but with the reader’s lack of experience with Alharthi’s literary conventions and coordinates.

Celestial Bodies, by Jokha Alharthi. Sandstone Press, 2019