• The Book of the Sultan’s Seal, Strange Incidents from History in the City of Mars


    It’s hard to imagine a debut more thrilling than Youssef Rakha’s groundbreaking The Book of the Sultan’s Seal. The novel is made up of nine chapters, each centered on a drive our hero, Mustafa Çorbacı, takes around greater Cairo—city of post-9/11 Islam. In a series of visions, Çorbacı encounters the spirit of the last Ottoman sultan and embarks on a mission the sultan assigns him. Çorbacı’s trials shed light on the contemporary Arab Muslim’s desperation for a sense of identity: The Book of the Sultan’s Seal is both a suspenseful, erotic, riotous novel and an urgent, unparalleled examination of accounts of Muslim demise.

  • Always Coca-Cola


    Always Coca-Cola is the story of three very different young women attending university in Beirut: Abeer, Jana, and Yasmine. The narrator, Abeer Ward (fragrant rose, in Arabic), daughter of a conservative family, admits wryly that her name is also the name of her father’s flower shop.

  • Sarmada


    Three women struggle against the forces of society, family, and passion in a small Druze village in the south of Syria as the country itself struggles against the forces of the Ottoman Empire, the French Empire, and then the Baath. The village of Sarmada is an enchanting place, but the people who live there don’t much notice it.

  • The Book of the Sultan’s Sea...

  • Always Coca-Cola...

  • Sarmada...


Sarmada reviewed by Elayne Clift from New York Journal of Books

“.. . a troubling look through the portals of a history and a culture rife with sexism western readers may find difficult to digest—even as they are seduced into the stories like uneasy voyeurs.”

Sarmada is both a timely novel—it takes place in Syria—and a timeless tale, or more precisely, set of tales. Rich with myths, mystical characters, murder, superstition, erotica, and politics it suggests the magical realism of Latin America. Indeed, Fadi Azzam may well be the Arabic Gabriel Garcia Marquez with a bit of Marc Chagall thrown in.

Reminiscent of The Arabian Nights, the initial story in Sarmada is offered by a woman named Azza Tawfiq, a.k.a. Hela Mansour (Scheherazade?). The story weaves its way throughout the subsequent tales dominated by two other female characters: Farida and Buthayna. Of course their lives converge, but like a long and winding river, there are many interesting stops along the way.

In a sense, however, the village of Sarmada, an Arabic word connoting the eternally unchanged, is the central character of the novel. Mr. Azzam describes it as a place of many names, including “God’s Basin.” All of its names, he tells us, “reflected the nature of the place and the character of its people: so modest they were naïve, so excitable they were rash, so profound they knew all the different ways to be God-fearing.”

Known for its high quality hashish, “the village was drowned in good spirits and constant laughter. . . . There was never any logical explanation for what happened, and everything that happened seemed illogical.”

But the stories of transmigrated Hela, victim of an honor killing; Farida, widowed several times; and Buthayna, who commits an act of child sexual abuse are not all laughter and good spirits. They are a troubling look through the portals of a history and a culture rife with sexism western readers may find difficult to digest—even as they are seduced into the stories like uneasy voyeurs.

These stories range from the tragedy of Hela’s murder to the comical tale of a beloved cow falling to its death from a cliff into the sea. There is magical breast milk and a little boy born with two penises. A variety of men, who have a way of disappearing or going mad, also populate the pages of this debut novel placed in a Druze village seemingly isolated from the modern world.

History and religion provide a subtext for many of the tales. They also help us to understand why some of the characters behave as they do. In addition, the two forces allow author Azzam to address the current political climate, both in the Arab and western context, in a way that is almost chilling.

“We turn a blind eye to illiteracy and poverty,” one character tells the narrator. “We ignore individuals, and the rights of people and their dignity, and even life itself as a legal principal. Instead we agitate and call for resistance and sacrifice. Our fallen are ‘martyrs,’ just like in the religious code we’re trying to uproot or tear down.

“The retreat to religion is flourishing because there’s no such thing as justice, and because individuals’ sense of self and self-worth is equal to zero. When the earth is undifferentiated misery, heaven will thrive. When ideas are impotent and strange and naïve and they have nothing to do with reality, then all people have left is magic . . .”

It’s a statement that not only explains the book; it also illuminates the potential threat of looming fundamentalisms, no matter where they originate. Not even powerful women or bedtime tales can assuage the terror that threat breeds. They only help to calm us in the chill of a desert night.

Reviewer Elayne Clift, a writer, journalist, and adjunct professor, is Sr. Correspondent for the India-based syndicate Women’s Feature Service and a regular columnist for the Keene (NH) Sentinel and the Brattleboro (VT) Commons. Her latest book is ACHAN: A Year of Teaching in Thailand (Bangkok Books, 2007). She is currently at work on a book about doula-supported birth in the US.