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Image from commapress.co.uk<\/p><\/div>\n
The translation by Elisabeth Jaquette is very accomplished; Jaquette also translated another book I enjoyed recently (The Queue <\/em>by Basma Abdel Aziz<\/a>, a Kafka-esque nightmare set in Egypt), and so I already knew that she was an excellent translator. She brings the same sensitivity to Thirteen Months of Sunrise<\/em>, and there are echoes of the bureaucracy that haunts The Queue <\/em>in \u2018In the Muck of the Soul\u2019. But Mamoun is also playful, and Jaquette communicates that equally well: Mamoun shows a wicked sense of humour in \u2018Stray Steps\u2019, with pithy comments about family relationships that made me laugh out loud (\u201cWhat was the point of going home, where there was nothing but tap water and my mother, who I only like sometimes when I have all my wits about me, and she only half her wits, maybe even a quarter. They disappear and reappear at random, only she knows when they\u2019ll be there or not.\u201d\/ \u201cMy uncle works as a driver for a taxi company, but he also has a job as a first class drunk, so what he does with his salary won\u2019t help me.\u201d) \u2018Stray Steps\u2019 brings together the tragic and the humorous, the real and the imagined that co-exist in Mamoun\u2019s stories, leading us to a surreal conclusion but always foregrounding the most recognisable of human emotions.<\/p>\n In the short stories we meet women struggling to support their families, people cast out to the margins by love, by society or by illness, and relationships in many different forms. The bonds Mamoun explores range from desire, friendship, sexual attraction and family love to connections rooted in a place, a history, or a shared sense of belonging, as in the relationship between a Sudanese woman and an Ethiopian man in the title story (incidentally, I shan’t spoil the meaning of the title by telling you what the \u2018Thirteen Months of Sunrise\u2019 refers to; you can save that enjoyment for your own reading!):<\/p>\n \u201cHe found in me someone who understood him, and I found in him a window into Ethiopia, and oh how I loved it. [\u2026] The Blue Nile, which passes through Khartoum, originates at Lake Tana in Ethiopia. That\u2019s what makes our bond so strong, I thought: we were nursed from the same source.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n The Blue Nile is also beautifully depicted on the cover of the book, highlighting the importance of origins to this collection; there may be no obligation for Mamoun to educate us about contemporary Sudan, but this does not mean that her stories lack roots. The two I enjoyed most were a painful one about poverty, and a passionate one about love. In \u2018One-room Sorrows\u2019, a mother cannot feed her children, and we see her misery in the face of their hunger:\u00a0\u201c\u2018Mama, me hungry,\u2019 says the little boy of four, begging his mother. She looks at him, her heart so torn to shreds by hunger, sadness, pain and defeat.\u201d\u00a0You might think that this is the clich\u00e9d representation of Sudan I was trying to step away from earlier, but it\u2019s so much more than a reductive view of poverty \u2013 it is a tale of relationships and responsibilities and survival, and ends with a line that takes a social problem and shows its most personal side:\u00a0\u201c\u2018Mum, are you gonna eat us when you get hungry?\u2019 asks the boy of four, and she smiles, tells him no, hugs him, and sadly considers his need to ask.\u201d<\/p>\n These intimate portrayals of people at the edges of life, society and reason are where Mamoun excels: my other favourite story, \u2018Edges\u2019, exposes passion and desire, and plays with madness. The narrator describes waiting for love in an intensely poetic way:\u00a0\u201cI had waited for him so many years. For him to come mend my cracks and fissures.\u00a0He came to dismantle, disperse, and then assemble me, to rearrange my parts and pieces, to shape me anew.\u201d The protagonist is, however, deemed to be mad, her all-consuming passions considered a negative loss of control of the senses. But Mamoun reclaims these passions, casting in a positive light the memories of a great love that is both rooted in a time and place and collectively human:<\/p>\n \u201cI remember the evening the damp sandbar lay between us and the Blue Nile, when he reached out and said, \u2018Give me your hand.\u2019 Mamoun writes with a sparse clarity, eschewing melodrama: if her narrator here lives a lifetime in a moment, so Mamoun herself writes a life in just a few pages. She displays great gentleness towards her characters \u2013 the diabetic woman dragging herself along the road and encountering an unlikely saviour, the woman on a bus who feels a wave of compassion towards a pair of flies, the beggar woman who sits at the foot of the mosque\u2019s east wall, \u201ca black mass gathered in the dark\u201d, who even the dogs were afraid of \u2013 and offers a rich fresco of life that is at once deeply embedded in her culture and universally recognisable.<\/p>\n Review copy of 13 Months of Sunrise <\/em>provided by Comma Press. Released in the UK on 9 May 2019; available to pre-order here<\/a>.<\/p>\n For more by Rania Mamoun,\u00a0read\u00a0The Book of Khartoum<\/em><\/a>\u00a0or Banthology<\/em><\/a>, both also published by Comma Press.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Translated from the Arabic by Elisabeth Jaquette (Comma Press, 2019) It\u2019s no secret that I\u2019ve been excited about Thirteen Months of Sunrise,\u00a0the first major translation into English of a Sudanese woman writer. Rania Mamoun’s writing has a cultural specificity that offered me a window into a culture I know shamefully little about, but the themes […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2429,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[17],"tags":[23,235,303,771,841,871,983,1055],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nI lived a lifetime in the space and time between when I lifted my hand \u2013 it moved through the air, reached its apex, began its descent \u2013 and when it settled in his palm. I experienced a whole lifetime, parallel to my own, in those moments.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n