The First Well is an engaging autobiographical account of Jabra's boyhood in Bethlehem, where he was born in 1920, and later in Jerusalem, where he moved as a teenager with his parents. Here is a chronicle of the experiences and events he drew upon as he became one of the leading authors of the Arab world.
Jabra tells his love story through alternate journal entries and with a complex layering of voices, showing how the affair of a famed (fictional) male novelist and the woman who desires him takes shape, through twin perspectives. Initially he is seen through the text of her journals: from her fascination with his writings until the instant when she arranges their first meeting. Thereafter, Jabra presents the male novelist's point of view: from the start of the relationship through demise due to departure, and eventual momentary reunion in romantic Paris. Jabra’s well-known concern with the inconstancy of identity and its articulation through multiple first-person narration is ever evident. However, this is the first time he places a strong female character at the center of his novel, with all the enticing complexities that result from the interplay of the author's projected female and male sensibilities. Crafting a tale of love from two disparate yet linked points of view, Jabra encourages readers to question their assumptions about the nature of self, its role in shaping character, and the possibilities of salvation through action. The extreme value Jabra places on the import of the female narrative gives his book a timely relevance.
Jabra’s debut novel, first published in 1955 and called by Edward Said “one of the principal successes of Arabic artistic prose and drama,” introduced stream of consciousness, flashback and interior monologue to the Arabic novel and set the stage for the outpouring of excellent modern Arabic prose in the decades that followed. In the first novel by the Palestinian author Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, Amin Samaa walks the length of his native city on a portentous night. Amin is headed to the house of Inayat Yasser, an aristocratic heiress who has hired him to help her write a book on the history of her Ottoman family, now fallen on hard times. On his way there, Amin recalls his childhood in a nearby village and the city slum his family had to flee to after his father died. Old friends, thieves and madames attempt to waylay him. And the haunting atmosphere of the city gives rise to memories of Amin’s wife Sumaya, whose sudden disappearance two years before has left him at a loss. Sumaya’s sudden reappearance forces Amin into a decision that will change his life forever. In a novel written just two years before the 1948 Palestinian Nakba, the events and characters lead to a momentous conclusion. Jabra brought modernist techniques into modern Arabic literature: the reminiscences of D. H. Lawrence, the introspective wanderer of James Joyce, and the acerbic wit and country-house feel of early Aldous Huxley. This classic of Arabic literature is not to be missed.
Walid Masoud disappears. A Palestinian intellectual, he has been living in Baghdad since the first Israeli War of 1948. As a member of an organization engaged in the armed struggle against Israel, suspicion arises that he has gone underground as part of a political movement. Masoud leaves behind a lengthy but disconnected tape recording of garbled utterances through which Jabra Ibrahim Jabra artfully crafts the basis for the narration. He transforms the transcription of the tape by each of Masoud’s comrades into a study of character. Through a series of monologues, each becomes a narrator of his own experience. Readers of The Ship (also translated by Adnan Haydar and Roger Allen) will remember the ingenious way the political themes emerge through the dialogue between passengers on a ship crossing the Mediterranean from the Arab to the European world. This novel echoes identical subjects: the misperceptions between Western and Islamic cultures, personal landscape as a shaper of culture, and the necessity of political commitment. A tour de force that places the evolution of the Faulknerian style into a political register, this book is a testament to the brilliance of one of Palestine’s preeminent writers.
Jabra’s debut novel, first published in 1955 and called by Edward Said “one of the principal successes of Arabic artistic prose and drama,” introduced stream of consciousness, flashback and interior monologue to the Arabic novel and set the stage for the outpouring of excellent modern Arabic prose in the decades that followed. In the first novel by the Palestinian author Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, Amin Samaa walks the length of his native city on a portentous night. Amin is headed to the house of Inayat Yasser, an aristocratic heiress who has hired him to help her write a book on the history of her Ottoman family, now fallen on hard times. On his way there, Amin recalls his childhood in a nearby village and the city slum his family had to flee to after his father died. Old friends, thieves and madames attempt to waylay him. And the haunting atmosphere of the city gives rise to memories of Amin’s wife Sumaya, whose sudden disappearance two years before has left him at a loss. Sumaya’s sudden reappearance forces Amin into a decision that will change his life forever. In a novel written just two years before the 1948 Palestinian Nakba, the events and characters lead to a momentous conclusion. Jabra brought modernist techniques into modern Arabic literature: the reminiscences of D. H. Lawrence, the introspective wanderer of James Joyce, and the acerbic wit and country-house feel of early Aldous Huxley. This classic of Arabic literature is not to be missed.
This book continues the personal story of Jabra Ibrahim Jabra (1920–1994) that began with The First Well: A Bethlehem Boyhood. Jabra was one of the Middle East’s leading novelists, poets, critics, painters, and translators (he was the first to translate The Sound and the Fury into Arabic), and is the writer who is given credit for modernizing the Arabic novel. This book not only helps us understand Jabra as a writer and human being but also his times in post–World War II Baghdad when Iraq was enjoying an unprecedented period of creativity in literature and the arts. As a bright and inquisitive young man he became friends with the archeologist Max Mallowan and his wife, who, he later learned, was Agatha Christie (she wrote The Mousetrap during this period, in a little mud brick room). Jabra’s intellectual autobiography quickly developed as he traveled to Jerusalem, Oxford, and Harvard University, where he studied with I. A. Richards and Archibald MacLeish. A number of different teaching posts in Baghdad provided him opportunities to become friends with many leading poets, such as Buland al-Haydari and Tawfiq Sayigh; historians like George Antonius; and the renowned translators of Arabic literature Desmond Stewart and Denys Johnson-Davies. But this book is not only about matters of the mind, it is about matters of the heart as well. Jabra beautifully describes his lengthy love affair with a young Muslim woman, the beautiful Lamica, whom he first met near Princesses’ Street and whom he eventually married. He recounts all of the difficulties they had to surmount, and the pleasures to be had. This is the last book that Jabra published during his lifetime. Not only is Jabra’s life an outstanding example of the circumstances—and fate—of the Palestinian in the twentieth century, but it also provides countless interesting insights into the cultural life of the Middle East in general and its modes of interconnection with the West.
Jabra tells his love story through alternate journal entries and with a complex layering of voices, showing how the affair of a famed (fictional) male novelist and the woman who desires him takes shape, through twin perspectives. Initially he is seen through the text of her journals: from her fascination with his writings until the instant when she arranges their first meeting. Thereafter, Jabra presents the male novelist's point of view: from the start of the relationship through demise due to departure, and eventual momentary reunion in romantic Paris. Jabra’s well-known concern with the inconstancy of identity and its articulation through multiple first-person narration is ever evident. However, this is the first time he places a strong female character at the center of his novel, with all the enticing complexities that result from the interplay of the author's projected female and male sensibilities. Crafting a tale of love from two disparate yet linked points of view, Jabra encourages readers to question their assumptions about the nature of self, its role in shaping character, and the possibilities of salvation through action. The extreme value Jabra places on the import of the female narrative gives his book a timely relevance.
Walid Masoud disappears. A Palestinian intellectual, he has been living in Baghdad since the first Israeli War of 1948. As a member of an organization engaged in the armed struggle against Israel, suspicion arises that he has gone underground as part of a political movement. Masoud leaves behind a lengthy but disconnected tape recording of garbled utterances through which Jabra Ibrahim Jabra artfully crafts the basis for the narration. He transforms the transcription of the tape by each of Masoud’s comrades into a study of character. Through a series of monologues, each becomes a narrator of his own experience. Readers of The Ship (also translated by Adnan Haydar and Roger Allen) will remember the ingenious way the political themes emerge through the dialogue between passengers on a ship crossing the Mediterranean from the Arab to the European world. This novel echoes identical subjects: the misperceptions between Western and Islamic cultures, personal landscape as a shaper of culture, and the necessity of political commitment. A tour de force that places the evolution of the Faulknerian style into a political register, this book is a testament to the brilliance of one of Palestine’s preeminent writers.
This book continues the personal story of Jabra Ibrahim Jabra (1920–1994) that began with The First Well: A Bethlehem Boyhood. Jabra was one of the Middle East’s leading novelists, poets, critics, painters, and translators (he was the first to translate The Sound and the Fury into Arabic), and is the writer who is given credit for modernizing the Arabic novel. This book not only helps us understand Jabra as a writer and human being but also his times in post–World War II Baghdad when Iraq was enjoying an unprecedented period of creativity in literature and the arts. As a bright and inquisitive young man he became friends with the archeologist Max Mallowan and his wife, who, he later learned, was Agatha Christie (she wrote The Mousetrap during this period, in a little mud brick room). Jabra’s intellectual autobiography quickly developed as he traveled to Jerusalem, Oxford, and Harvard University, where he studied with I. A. Richards and Archibald MacLeish. A number of different teaching posts in Baghdad provided him opportunities to become friends with many leading poets, such as Buland al-Haydari and Tawfiq Sayigh; historians like George Antonius; and the renowned translators of Arabic literature Desmond Stewart and Denys Johnson-Davies. But this book is not only about matters of the mind, it is about matters of the heart as well. Jabra beautifully describes his lengthy love affair with a young Muslim woman, the beautiful Lamica, whom he first met near Princesses’ Street and whom he eventually married. He recounts all of the difficulties they had to surmount, and the pleasures to be had. This is the last book that Jabra published during his lifetime. Not only is Jabra’s life an outstanding example of the circumstances—and fate—of the Palestinian in the twentieth century, but it also provides countless interesting insights into the cultural life of the Middle East in general and its modes of interconnection with the West.
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