Customer Reviews

The Hakawati

5 star:		(16)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(2)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(4)

 

 

Rabih Alameddine's new novel, "The Hakawati," is a sprawling, delicious panoply of over-the-top tales of love, sex, murder, heroism, magic, loss, triumph, skulduggery, noblesse, repentance, lies, redemption, loyalty, curses, and just about everything else, all plaited into a set of parallel narratives which augment and illuminate each other. It is a masterful and startling accomplishment, a sort of literary maqam that twists and turns on recurrent themes and characters. The reader initially wonders how to relate all these seemingly unrelated stories, but quickly notices with growing awareness how they are really jazz riffs on single themes, embellishments that sear those themes into our consciousness so that we can't get them out of our heads.

This is not the first time that Alameddine has used such literary structure. His first novel, "Koolaids," interlaced two parallel narratives, the worst years of the AIDS crisis and the civil war in Lebanon. There, as in "The Hakawati," the narratives resonated one with the other. And his second novel, "I, the Divine," an ingenious work all in first chapters of his narrator's never-to-be-completed memoir, managed to give us multiple perspectives on events told by a single character, much as The Hakawati gives us multiple views of universal themes that echo through very different tales. But whereas the two earlier works had some rough edges and unpolished facets, "The Hakawati" is a perfect gem, burnished, intricate, complex, and with every feature serving to magnify its brilliance and dazzle. Here is a writer who has grown into his initial promise, perhaps beyond it.

It is easy to fall in love with the tales themselves; they are both currently relevant and timeless as well as entirely engrossing. The more discerning reader will also delight in the language of this book. Like other writers using English as a second language for their literary medium (Conrad and Nabokov come to mind), Alameddine is almost preternaturally aware of its sound and cadence, its semantic subtleties, its echos and reverberations of meanings. He is clearly besotted with English, and we follow him in a vertiginous trance like a whirling dervish, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Alameddine is nothing short, it seems, of a literary magician, pulling our emotions out of his hat, our dreams from out his sleeve, and showing them to us in a way that forces us to see them anew. This novel is a masterpiece, unlike anything I've ever read before or ever hope to read again.

For those who seek to understand the bonds in famililes, this book is a find. There is nothing heroic or unusual about this family, their happenings and trials are the stuff of common lives. The portrait is honest and emotionally deep.
Layered onto the story of this multigeneration family are the wild fables of Lebanon. In one moment you want to hear what happens to the family, the next you are totally absorbed in some wild tale. Tales emerge within tales to our delight.
I haven't enjoyed a book this much in ages.

`The Hakawati' is a plethora of tales of heroism, magic, death, victory, love, sex, redemption and lies, and just about everything else you can imagine woven into one story about one guy and his family roots.

Since finishing `The Hakawati', I have found myself wishing the story had never ended. I have opened the book and read a passage here and there, just to stay in the story for as long as possible. This book will have a lasting effect on any reader of any genre. Its classic, its modern, its an all around great read! Its a "jump right in" kind of book that will leave you exhausted, yet longing for more!

The main story set in the hospital is joined with two Arabian tales, one of Fatima, a slave girl who conquers the heart of a genie, and the other of Baybars, a slave prince and his servant, Othman. Within the stories are other stories of the rise of Osama's family's rise in society and the disintegration of a civilized society by competing religions and ideologies. There are references to the Koran, the Bible, Shakespeare, Homer and many other well-known classics.

Not only does Rabih Alameddine tell the story of a storyteller, he is the Hakawati. `The Hakawati' is a brilliant masterpiece of family roots, mythology and adventure. This book is a collection of fairy tales for adults. While I was reading some of the journeys in the book seemed a bit exhausting, and I had to put the book down. Upon reflection, though, they weren't exhausting, the experience of reading the Hakawati was a full sensory explosion. There is a story of Osama's great grandfather and his first experience with a Hakawati, the story describes how the audience reacted to the great Hakawati's storytelling techniques. Alameddine took his own descriptions of the audience and wrote this book in a way that his readers would transform into that audience whether they realized it or not.

--excerpted from its original form at Old Musty Books

The Hakawati is a book I wanted to like more than I could. I only got about halfway through it before losing patience. The meandering, nonlinear style --which is the point, of course-- ultimately left me more confused and disinterested than intrigued.

As I said, I really wanted to like this book. The title and its meaning fascinated me from the start. A hakawati is a storyteller, and author Rabih Alameddine uses this as the focal point for weaving endlessly interlinked stories together. The tale jumps from present day Lebanon to the distant past of the Middle East, from historical events to mythical, Arabian Nights type tales. The postmodern effect of all these stories within stories is enhanced by using contemporary concepts and language within old, traditional (or supposedly so) tales.

In a way, my reaction to The Hakawati is similar to how I feel about Joyce's Ulysses; I enjoy discussing the structure and theory of both books more than I enjoy actually reading either of them. In both cases, I can see the brilliant and original ideas at work. Yet, in both cases I end up tiring of all the devices and wish for a simpler, more accessible tale. One warning sign I had before starting it was the fact that it's been called an "important" book by more than one reviewer.

I enjoy many postmodern novels (as well as films) that use the "tales within tales" gimmick, such as John Fowles' The French Lieutenant's Woman, A.S. Byatt's, Possession and Emotionally Weird, by Kate Atkinson. The problem I had with The Hakawati is that the number of stories and characters, and their scope, increases throughout the book. While there are certain parallels and relationships between the many layers of stories, after a while I found it difficult to keep track of which story I was in. And the lack of any conventional plot made it difficult to stay interested. So, while I generally enjoyed reading it, I never felt any urgency to keep reading.

The Hakawati is a book I could easily return to sometime and enjoy reading in short sessions. Alameddine is a talented writer who infuses the book with many fascinating historical and cultural references, starting with the very title. As a novel, however, it never quite came together for me.

Hakawati means storyteller and that is what Rabih Alamenddine proves that he is with this book. It is a beautiful set of stories that are so entwined it is easy to forget who is the teller and who the characters. But ultimately it doesn't matter as it is the reader who gets wrapped up in myth, family history, and family myths. On a cultural and political level the importance of this novel is in the way that it elegantly demonstrates how the Middle-East is not a single culture, single religion, and single political outlook lacking nuance - even within the extended al Kharrat family these are expressed in so many different ways. The Hakawati demonstrates to us that there are always a myriad of different stories surrounding any subject, and truth and falsehood may be in the telling. The lesson is in the final word: Listen.

Once in a very long while comes along a book so magical that one wishes it would never end. How perfect that Alameddine's The Hakawaiti is such a book? The title refers to the practice of a school of Middle Eastern story tellers who would entertain, often appearing nightly but drawing a story out over years, people coming back again and again to hear the next part of the tale. From the first line Alamaddine demonstrates himself to an heir to this great tradition, giving the reader a comfort that they are in the hands of a master story teller. "Listen," he begins. "Allow me to be your god. Let me take you on a journey beyond imagining. Let me tell you a story."

The narrative might sound complex in its description, but is executed so masterfully that one wants to weep. Alameddine tells the story of Osama, the modern Lebanese scion of a prominent family, returning home to wait by his father's death bed. Through this framing narrative, the reader is guided through all sorts of other stories, including the history of this particular family whose grandfather happened to be a Hakawati, Islamic adventure tales, stories of romance, stories of magic, stories of loss and joy. Some stories are short, lasting no more than a few paragraphs, while others are interwoven through the length of the narrative. Even these long stories digress into other stories, each adding another thread to what becomes a beautiful tapestry. Thus we are treated the story of Fatima, a clever capable slave who adventures across many lands encountering jinni and demons, the story of Baybar, a perfect chivalrous prince who fights evil and creates justice, and many more. Like many good stories these include twists, sex, violence, vivid characters, and much humor.

I could go on and on urging you to read this book, but really the more I write, the more time that will pass before you sink your teeth into Alamedine's delicious feast of a book. Don't wait even a minute, there is a story waiting to be told. Listen.

The Hakawait


"Never trust the storyteller," advises one of the thousands of characters who inhabit Rabih Alameddine's 2008 novel, The Hakawati, "but always trust the stories."

It's good advice, and the reader will be well-rewarded by trusting the hundreds of tales that comprise this chaotic and brilliant novel that deftly interweaves Islam, magic carpets, automobile sales, every possible form of sexuality, Hell, the Lebanese civil war, slavery, the Crusades, jinni, princesses, witches, Greek myth, Gibson guitars, Palestinian militias, deserts, serpents and everything but an Aladdin's lamp.

At its most basic level, The Hakawati exposes the conflicting feelings of an Americanized Lebanese ex-pat who returns home to attend to his father's dying. The ex-pat comes from a line of professional Hakawatis, or storytellers. His grandfather was court hakawati to the local royalty. His father, uncle and sister prove to be hakawatis, too; they are Toyota salespeople in war-torn Beirut. Within the stories they tell are other hakawatis, who give birth to additional tales-within-the-tale. The result is a dense and exhilarating 512-page magic carpet ride. The proof of Alameddine's skill is that one never confuses the thousands of characters (even though several bear the same name). Each of his men, women, and monsters is a distinct creation, however wrought out of very familiar Thousand-and-One-Arabian-Nights material.

For the gay crowd, this book has peculiar rewards. It begins with an older man on a seven days' journey trying to seduce a younger one solely through storytelling around a campfire, and ends with a tragic, powerful homosexual interracial pairing of royal demon-spawn with a gift for makeovers and spa treatments. Among the comic figures inbetween are eight apparently gay imps with Old Testament names, each of whom has his own bright skincolor (collectively, the original rainbow flag?) and diverse talents with which he assists the warrior heroine of one of these tales to achieve her conquests.

Many of these tales have surprise endings, but none is achieved with gimmicks. The whole is organic, vines growing through one another in a dense weave, making it sometimes hard to determine where one tale ends and another begins - and I mean that in the best way: Alameddine has created a whole separate and complex world where there are no simple lessons and nothing can be divorced from its context. The storyteller might be a bit of a liar, but the stories are all true.

This is the type of book I could pick up and read again and again. In fact, it inspired me to go out and get the full 3 volume set of 1,001 nights (incidentally, if you're in the US, you'll need to get this from Amazon.co.uk - here in the US, we only get the abbreviated version; you know us Americans, 30-second attention spans).

The writing is incredible and evocative. I could hear the cries of the pigeons in the Pigeon Wars, and smell the coffee and tobacco in the Lebanese cafes (so much so that I've added Lebanon onto my list of places to go visit and explore).

If you enjoy stories within stories, The Hakawati does not disappoint. If you like your stories one at a time with a straightforward linear progression - there are a lot of other choices out there.

But for me, I'd love to be able to be with the grandfather, sitting in a small cafe, hushed, listening to the Hakawati, watching his hands and his eyes as he begins, "Listen and I will tell you the story of...."

I'm writing this review a couple of weeks after finishing The Hakawati, and I find that many of the character names and relationships and conflicts have slipped my mind. I don't remember all of King Baybars' slippery plots or Fatima's fantastic escape techniques or why Osama's aunts didn't get along. What does remain, though, is the sense that I was in the hands of a master storyteller. Rabih Alemeddine turns words into magic and takes readers, literally, on a magic carpet ride through history, blurring the line between fact and fiction and bringing all his characters to full-blooded life.

I personally preferred the Arabian Nights-esque stories much more than the modern-day family drama as related by Osama. Osama's family is fascinating and complex, but none of them caught my attention the way that Fatima and Baybars and Layla and Othman did in the stories. Which is interesting because in a way, the stories were populated by characters with fairly simple and straightforward lives and relationships. They knew their roles and played them and we never heard about domestic disputes. Instead, we were regaled with stories of heroism and deviousness and jealousy and how people must use their wits to prove their honor. In the modern day stories, we get none of that. Instead, we get realism which is (to me) not nearly as fair in its rewards system. Rather, the "real" characters in Osama's life are betrayed, hold grudges, don't seem to find much humor in life and live through countless military attacks.

One of my favorite things about the Arabian Nights, when the story is told well, is that it really is only one story. One plot line leads seamlessly into another, one character introduces us to the next and before we know it, we are in the midst of a completely different adventure than the one we started in. I love this method, and I think Alemeddine does it so well. Here, the stories are more distinct -- you have to keep them straight in your head -- but near the end, they all seem to converge in a perfect bow and it's amazing how he does it.

Ostensibly a multigenerational tale of a Lebanese family that stretches from the mountain villages outside of Beirut to California, The Hakawati is a rich mosaic of family saga, Middle Eastern history and Arabic legend, all deftly arranged with wit, wile and heart.

It is a magic-carpet-ride of a book, which opens with "Let me tell you a story," and proceeds to layer memory and myth, tall tale and history, into a dense story-within-a-story-within-a-story.

Referencing everything from (but not in any way limited to) A Thousand and One Nights and the Koran to Shakespeare and Homer, Rabih Alameddine offers the traditional literary "framing" device (a contemporary plot embedded in or framed by mythic storytelling) in fresh new ways, letting multiple threads take the reader in many different directions, none of them nearly so obvious as they might be in less skillful hands.

Set in 2003, the general story line of The Hakawati is told by Osama al-Kharrat, a 40-something Lebanese man who returns to Beirut from the home he has made in California since 1977, when attending UCLA served as a cover for fleeing his war-torn childhood home. Osama's father is on his deathbed in a Beirut hospital, where the extended family has congregated for several days in an almost surreal parade of reminiscence among the tangled relationships.

The key to Alameddine's (and the narrator Osama's) telling of this family saga, however, lies in the title itself. "A hakawati is a teller of tales, myths, and fables (hekayat). A storyteller, an entertainer. A troubadour of sorts, someone who earns his keep by beguiling an audience with yarns. Like the word "hekayeh" (story, fable, news), "hakawati" is derived from the Lebanese work "haki," which means "talk" or "conversation." This suggests that in Lebanese the mere act of talking is storytelling."

Alameddine frames Osama's life not only with that of his father, aunts and uncles, but with his grandfather, a hakawati who worked for the village leader and told his grandson the endless myths and legends of the region's history as well as those of his own family ancestry. That the tall tale is hard to distinguish from the true history is a thread that runs through both the historical and ancestral tellings.

Mixed in with the tale of the slave/sorceress Fatima and her imps and jinnis, and the warrior hero Prince Baybars and the adventures of his fantastic slave army, are the stories of Osama's grandfather's birth to the Armenian maid of an English missionary doctor; his father Farid's marriage to an upperclass woman who beguiled with her wit and enigmatic beauty throughout her life; the growth of the al-Kharrat family fortune not through the glory of the poet/storyteller but the banality of a burgeoning car dealership; Osama's sister's impetuous short-lived marriage to a local thug and his best friend Fatima's serial marriages to wealthy Saudis.

Sprinkled throughout the Arabian and family folklore are tiny clues, like a trail of breadcrumbs left along a forest path, that point to Osama's struggles to assimilate in his new home ("I love people who are passionate about lost causes," in a passage about the Arab singer Umm Kalthoum, his already rocky relationship with his father that disintegrates when his mother dies, and the endless turmoil of a Middle East that was never a settled, homogeneous region ("You take different groups, put them on top of each other, simmer for a thousand years, keep adding more and more strange tribes, simmer for another few thousand years, salt and pepper with religion, and what you get is a delightful mess of a stew that still tastes delectable and exotic, no matter how many
times you partake of it.").

With so many nested and layered stories-within-stories, it is sometimes easy for the reader become literally lost reading (which Fatima is this paragraph about? Is this the same emir as at the beginning or a different one?) but this is hardly a technical fault. Rather, the hypnotic quality of the flow of the story, traveling back and forth in time, zigzagging about between folklore and family, ancient history and yesterday's news, seems designed to destabilize any sense of separation between these varying threads.

As with the most skillfully made tapestry, one fully appreciates the colorful whole without needing to examine each stitch. And, as Osama's Uncle Jihad, the only one of his father's siblings to have inherited their father's storytelling gift, says, "So, you ask, why am I telling you a story without a great ending? Because, as in all great stories, the end is never where you expect it to be."