Algerian

Moulessehoul, Mohammed (pseudonym: Yasmina Khadra). (2008/2007/2005). Sirens of Baghdad, The (Les sirènes de Baghdad). Trans. from French by John Cullen. London: Vintage (Great Britain: William Heinemann)(Paris: Juillard).

I think the only thing that Moulessehoul (2008/2007/2005)'s novel didn't need was the academic language that punctuated in and out of the narrative. That, however, might've been the translator's fault.

Interestingly, though - and I had to skim back through to make sure - the narrator's never named. Yet, the novel being written in the first person, it didn't occur to me until later that I really didn't care what his name was; I was, during my reading, him.

Of greater interest, however, is the unnamed prologue (pp. 1-12) which is really the beginning of part 3: "Beirut" (pp.  243-307). In fact, it's not until part 3 that the relationship between the narrator and Dr. Jalal (first mention p. 2) is made clear. Until then, the unnamed prologue anticipates a different beginning which, relievingly, doesn't exist.

In fact, I liked how Moulessehoul (2008/2007/2005) transitioned early on between the first two chapters that lead part 1: "Kafr Karam" (pp. 13-109). Specifically, toward the end of chapter 1 (pp. 14-26), the narrator's cousin Kadem (first mention p. 24) says, "'Did you hear the radio this morning? It looks like the Italians are packing it in'" (p. 25). Then, just past the beginning in chapter 2 (pp. 27-46): "'Have you heard the latest news?' the blacksmith asked me. 'The Italians are leaving'" (p. 28). This smooths out what at first appears to be a disconnected jump, but, more, those echoing lines reflect the narrator's relationship to his community which still retains the values and traditions of Iraqi history, now faced with U.S. invasion forces.

A different kind of echo, though, appears in the setup of three events that collide around the same time (the last setting off the narrator's rage; see p. 133), and the three people who deflect the narrator's intentions. Those three events, however, are not without significance as they move "60 kilometers west of Kafr Karam" (p. 51) to "a few hundred meters beyond the village limits" (pp. 73-74), and, finally, inside the narrator's home (pp. 99-102) — the deaths and dishonor the actions of American soldiers. There is the suggestion, thus, that what happens away from our communities can impact what happens in our communities, this concept most clearly expressed during the barbershop talks (pp. 32-33, 36-37). Consider these experiences, though, from the narrator's perspective:

(1)

The first gunshots shook me from my head to my feet, like a surge of electric current. And then came the deluge. Utterly dazed, I saw puffs of dust, lots of them, bursting from Sulayman's back, marking the impact points. Every bullet that struck the fugitive pierced me through and through. (p. 57)

(2)

I didn't understand what I was doing in that car, tearing along in the dark, nor was it clear why I'd accepted an opportunity to see horror up close, me, when I wasn't yet over my last awful shock. (p. 92)

(3)

And I saw, while my family's honor lay stricken on the floor, I saw what it was forbidden to see, what a worthy, respectable son, an authentic Bedouin, must never see: that flaccid, hideous, degrading thing, that forbidden, unspoken-of, sacrilegious object, my father's penis, rolling to one side as his testicles flopped up over his ass ... I heard the foul beast roar deep inside me, and it was clear that sooner or later, whatever happened, I was condemned to wash away this insult in blood ... (pp. 101-102).

In the first instance, "Sulayman, a boy nearly my age, was mentally retarded" (p. 28). In the second instance, "'This was a wedding reception!'" (pp. 94-95). The last incident, however, had to do with "my family's shame!" (p. 173) which severs the narrator from his community. Consider, too, how the trauma of that humiliation reverberates:

(1)

"The problem is, I can't go back to my house." (p. 105)

(2)

"It's a question of honor, Omar," I reminded him. (p. 158)

(3)

I was in the postshock, postoffensive period; it was my duty to wash away the insult, my sacred duty and my absolute right ... where the only reference point I had was the certainty that I would carry out to the fullest extent the oath my ancestors had sealed in blood and sorrow when they placed honor above their own lives. (p. 160).

(4)

"I couldn't go back home without dying of shame before I crossed the threshold. " (p. 162)

(5)

"All of us here—me, the others in this room, and the beggars in the street—we all know perfectly well what the outrage committed against your family signifies. But the GI ... can't measure the extent of the sacrilege." (p. 173, speaker: Yaseen)

(6)

"What happened in Kafr Karam has shaken all of us, I assure you. I knew nothing about it until this morning. And when I heard the story, I was furious." (p. 174, speaker: Sayed)

(7)

I had come to Baghdad to avenge an offense ...

... And so, when Yaseen finally opened his arms to me, he seemed to be opening up the path that would lead me to retrieve what I wanted more than anything else in the world: my family's honor. (p. 177)

(8)

I was a Bedouin, and no Beouin can come to terms with an offense unless blood is spilled. (p. 198)

(9)

Ever since that night when the American soldiers burst into our house, overturning our ancestral values and the order of things, I've been waiting! I'm waiting for the moment when I'll recover my self-esteem, without which a man is nothing but a stain. (p. 246)

(10)

At night, when I lie on the sofa facing the window, I remember the painful events of my life, and they all reinforce my commitment. (p. 248)

(11)

I had an offense to wash away in blood; to a Bedouin, that duty was as sacred as prayer to the faithful. (p. 252)

The three people who still the narrator's need for violence, though, are Omar the Corporal (first mention p. 38) who doesn't at first seem important (pp. 38-45) but is (pp. 150-169, 180-183, 198-199, 214-216, 224-228, 232-236, 247), Hussein (see pp. 208-212), and Dr. Jalal (pp. 2-11, 247-258, 270-284, 293-297). However, rather than direct that anger outward (pp. 133, 156-158, 160-161, 177, 184, 197-212, 216-232, 235-248, 252, 256-269, 282-300), the narrator ultimately chooses suicide (pp. 302, 304, 307).

Basically, what you have is a novel that asks the reader to identify with the narrator, to feel his outrage and pain, and to understand the struggle that comes with losing and reclaiming himself. These three aspects, moreover, build through the three parts of the storyline, the three events that propel the narrator to action, and the three people who save him from himself which creates a sense of synchonicity. 

Overall, though, I thought The sirens of Baghdad was well executed and finely developed. So if you're looking for a good book, I highly recommend Moulessehoul (2008/2007/2005)!