In progress: Saintly models
Profile by Youssef Rakha - Ahram Weekly
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| Cover of the Novel (left)- Ibrahim Farghali |
Ibrahim Farghali is a writer and
journalist. Since graduating from the Faculty of Commerce, Mansoura University,
he has worked at Rose Al-Youssef (1991-94), the Omani cultural magazine Nizwa
(1994-97) and several departments of Al-Ahram (since 1998). He has published
his work in Al-Fann Al-Sabie, Akhbar Al-Adab, Adab wa Naqd and many other
magazines and periodicals. Since last returning from Oman, where he spent a
significant part of his childhood, Farghali has produced three volumes of
fiction: Bittijah Al-Maaqi (Towards the Eyes, 1997), Kahf Al-Farashat
(Butterfly Cave, 1998) and lately Ashbah Al- Hawaas (Ghosts of the Senses,
2001); the latter, whose main theme is sexual relations, appeared just after
the banning of three, allegedly pornographic General Organisation for Cultural
Palaces publications -- an occasion referred to as the "three novels
crisis". Other than the two projects I'm working on, intermittently, there
is really very little to speak of. I married last summer and my daughter Laila
is already a major figure: she commands a great deal of my attention. Then
there is the daily, journalistic work: nothing terribly interesting there.
Every week I read books in preparation for the Tuesday Books page of the daily
Al-Ahram. I can't say I enjoy reading in this rushed way, by force as it were,
though Ezzat El-Qamhawi's recent Al-Aik fil-Mabahij (Trees of Joy) did prompt a
deeply felt response, its slight verbosity notwithstanding. At Rose Al-Youssef
I did straightforward political reporting, nothing else, but even the
culturally-oriented press proves frustratingly conventional as a job; and it
tends to take up far too much time. One of the two projects is a novel, yes.
Ibtisamat Al-Qiddisin (Saints' Smiles) is my provisional title, but I'm still
thinking. It's about Muslim-Copt relations; sometimes -- you mention Ashbah Al-
Hawaas -- it pays to be topical, though for me it is never a
popularity-generating mechanism. The stories in Ashbah Al- Hawaas had been written
long before the crisis, of course, but it was a nice timing challenge; and it
was reassuring to find a publisher (Mohamed Hashim's Miret) willing to take the
risk. The real challenge, however, was how to be bold, even explicit, without
being in any way vulgar or losing sight of the reader. Themes included mutual
misunderstanding between men and women; and four of the stories in the
collection recount the same events from two corresponding viewpoints. There was
also this idea of intimacy between two people from two entirely different
socio-cultural backgrounds, how they might interact at this level, what they
might say. You will notice, though, that if anything the actual sex either does
not happen at all or remains incomplete. I've been working on Ibtisamat
Al-Qiddisin, on and off, for a very long time. Laden details keep emerging,
taking control and prompting various kinds of research are propelling me in new
directions. Some events take place in Mansoura, for example. Some scenes happen
in churches there. A lot of priests and things. Now in the area there are two
principal towns, Mansoura and Talkha; and the usual leisure practise for many
of the inhabitants of Mansoura is to cross the river to Talkha and look back on
their city from there. "Mansoura from Talkha" is thus the usual
perspective. And during my research -- one logistical problem, you see, was
that every so often I had to get there and stay for a few days; thankfully that
part of my research has been concluded -- it was interesting to reverse that
perspective, looking, instead, at Talkha from Mansoura. You'd be surprised how
many memories this process of rediscovery generated, and how much inspiration
for the novel. All I have to do now is to sit down and finish writing the book.
It sounds blissfully simple... Whereas a short story overtakes you all at once
-- laying its own foundations and forming, as it were, immediately -- a novel
builds up over time. In a story there tends to be absolutely no plan, but when
you write a novel you have a general theme and you seek it out as you write,
discovering more and more details as you go along. You look around you and the
idea changes, the bits and pieces come together in ever newer ways and it might
end up being something totally unlike what you started out with. Whether it's a
short story or a novel, though, I always work with the reader in mind: I feel I
have an obligation to the reader, whose interest I must never let go of. Maybe
the topical bent is merely a reflection of this concern: wanting to capture the
reader's interest and maintain it till the very last sentence. Which should
never be confused with being vulgar or blasphemous or scandalous in order to
generate attention. It is in the second project that this open-ended approach
to writing a novel finds expression. Again, from the practical viewpoint, one
should never begin a new project until the old one is complete. But you can't
help these fluctuations of attention -- forcing you into one or another
direction despite your better judgment. Already I've published a chapter of the
new book -- in the last issue of the alternative literary magazine Al-Kitaba
Al-Ukhra, under the title Tuqous Awwaliya (Preliminary Rites). I was thinking
the title for the whole thing would be Aqni'at Al-Ra'ia (The People's Masks)
but I'm not at all sure. That chapter depicts a sort of fancy-dress party in
which the masks develop into disturbing dimensions of the characters'
identities. The book is focussed on this idea of illusion vs. reality, lying
vs. the truth and multiple identities. As far as I can see it's going to be a
multi-genre endeavour, with long passages devoted to the concept of the
artist's model -- another long-standing interest of mine -- and others that
will draw on my own experience. But the "I" of the narrator plays no
part in the transition from one mode to another. The stress will remain on
fiction, on this being an essentially fictional text: all the various,
diversely dramatised strands of the aforementioned cluster of themes should
emerge seamlessly out of the process of invention itself -- of producing
fiction. I'm equally embroiled in both projects at the same time. I wish I
could finish one of them, that would be such a relief. Eventually, I'm sure,
one of them will take over entirely and so force me to complete it
