“I put the book aside, astonished. I don't know what I had been expecting, other than notes on
the patterns that the book contained...but this sudden window into the past was
like a glimpse of treasure” (from The Tenth Gift by Jane Johnson, p. 33).
The Yacoubian Building
by Alaa al-Aswany
This was an amazing book. It did take me awhile to really get
into it, probably because of the episodic nature of the narrative
structure. Once I really got to
know the various characters, though, I found their stories compelling. Some of the stories were more
sympathetic to me than others. For
example, I found that I really liked Zaki Bey. He reminded me of my 83 year-old grandfather who was found to be juggling two girlfriends at his rest home. I really liked his character. He was polished, and never rude. I absolutely hated his sister, Dawlat, though. As a female reader I found I could
empathize with her; she needed financial security from her brother. I did not, however, agree with the
means by which she attempted to secure that. I was happy that Zaki Bey seemed to thwart her plans in the
end by marrying Busayna – she was a woman who truly deserved a happy ending. It was endearing to me how she
ultimately came to care for Zaki Bey and how, as a result of those emotions,
she abandoned her original plans.
She was a very spunky character who found a way to survive, found a way
for her family to survive after her father’s death, despite hardship. There was no way that Taha would have
understood that. Taha’s character
gives insight into how religious fundamentalism works in a community such as
the one described in The Yacoubian Building, but what about Radwa? She had already lost one husband to the
gihad, and now Taha. I would have
thought that as a character who underwent both emotional and physical torture
he would have possessed more empathy, but he was so consumed by his need for
revenge that in the end he abandoned the Organization’s plans (which admittedly
took a year to hatch) in order to secure both his vengeance and his
martyrdom. I know Taha thought it
was worth it, but as a reader I remain unconvinced. I also felt more for Hatim Rasheed than I did for
Abduh. I know Abduh loved his son,
but Hatim loved him. It was a love
of desperation, though, and perhaps that is why it was doomed to fail. I was shocked in the end that Abduh
felt enough rage and grief to brutally murder Hatim, but there is this sense of
parallelism that develops as a result.
Abduh aligns with Taha, while Hatim aligns with the regime. While Hatim does not explicitly torture
Abduh, it is implicit. He
certainly manipulates him in order to get what he wants. This is similar to what the regime does
to Taha in order to get what they want.
Both actions compel another human being to bend to the will of another,
although admittedly the severity is vastly different, the end result is still
the same and lives are irreparably ruined and damaged as a result. Along those same lines, the Sheikh and the
Organization attempt to achieve those same goals, with similar results.
Perhaps the ultimate message of the
novel is about freedom, then.
Individuals need to be free to be themselves; they should not bend or
change to meet another’s wills, nor should they force another to bend or change
to meet theirs. In the end, the
only truly successful characters are Zaki Bey and Busayna, two characters who
refuse to change their true identities, and in being truthful to one another,
are able to find happiness and companionship in the end. The other storylines relating to
political corruption were less interesting to me, as I found it difficult to
empathize with Hagg Azzam or Malak.
It seemed to me that they both got what they deserved. Hagg Azzam blackmailed and bribed in
order to achieve his high position, and then self-righteously got angry when El
Fouli turned the tables and blackmailed and extorted him. Hagg Azzam struck me as a hypocritical
character who was only after his own best interests. Furthermore, I hated him for what he did to Souad. True, she did “break” her end of the
bargain by getting pregnant, but he broke religious law in order to keep his
face in society.
Another of the novel’s messages seems to be that looks can be deceiving. For example, people gossip about Busayna, but she remains a
virgin (at least until Zaki Bey).
Also, the way that the people on the roof of the Yacoubian Building deal
with Abduh relates to this message.
Because they like him, they do not judge him as harshly. He is still committing a “sin” in their
eyes, but because he is “nice” they do not see him as wicked, only as
misguided. (Hypocrisy in this
society is interesting to note, too, particularly with regard to this
theme.) Malak, also, did not seem
to deserve my sympathy. He was
trying to better himself, true, but the means by which he attempted to achieve
this were problematic for me. He
used people, he stole space from the roof; true, he did give to charity, but he
was also corrupt. The way that religion
is represent, too, is corrupt.
Here, there seems to be an alignment between the politics and the
religion: they are inseparable, and they are also corrupt. The two primary religious figures in
the text are both able to bend the religious doctrines to achieve their own
ends. One of the Sheiks twists the
religious discourse, causing young men and women to protest, face inhuman
beatings, and ultimately martyrdom for a cause that they are brainwashed into believing. The other Sheik is able to twist religious
teachings such that Hagg Azzam is able to feel religiously justified in his
forcible termination of Souad’s pregnancy. Neither of these men seems to represent the “true Islam,” no
matter how much each character seems to protest that he does. The verisimilitude with which the
author rendered these characters is truly remarkable, because as a reader you
get to see through their eyes and walk a mile in their shoes. Even if I did not agree on a personal level,
as a reader I was able to understand each character’s motivations.
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