I recently read Mahfouz’s Palace Walk. The book is the first part of the three books that together form The Cairo Trilogy.
The book interweaves an account of Egypt’s 1919 Nationalist Revolution with the story of Al-Sayyid Ahmad and his family. It begins enjoyably with detailed descriptions of the Ahmad household: the early morning kitchen sounds that serve as an alarm to wake the family, the thorough sketches of the characters. We are introduced to the lovely Aisha, the quick-tongued Khadija, the dreamy Kamal, the thoughtful and principled Fahmy, the unperturbed Yasin, the ever-so-patient, uncomplaining Amina, and to Al-Sayyid Ahmad himself –austere and staunchly religious where his family is concerned.
Mahfouz scrutinizes – and he scrutinizes well. I recognize my childhood self in Kamal – one that wonders very seriously about where babies come from, what a man and a woman do together in a closed room, and everything else that makes the world seems – at that age – mysterious, dangerous, perpetually elusive. The books captures well the tension that results out of the impulse to stick to the requirements of tradition and social norms and the human need for individual freedom and expressions. When Zaynab leaves Yasin because of the latter’s philandering, Amina’s anger towards Zaynab results partly out of her incapacity to come out of her own situation that resembles Zaynab’s. To his credit, Mahfouz depicts emotional nuances delightfully, without giving in to melancholy. This aspect of the book, I must say, is what I enjoyed most. Mahfouz’s characters are enjoyable because they are very solidly outlined. They emerge well-rounded, reminding me of people I know in real life – or amusing caricatures of them.
By focusing his story on a family, Mahfouz is able to explore the repercussions of a nation’s political instability on a family. The book, I think, is sensitive about this matter. It manages to portray the way the members of the family cope with the reality of occupation and revolution – which of course brings about disagreements, irritations, reflections. Amina somewhat too naively remarks on how rude it would be to chase the British away from Egypt – which to her is similar to driving out guests from her home. Then there are lengthy passages describing Kamal’s feelings – mostly of disappointment and confusion – about the ‘incorrectness’ of his friendship with the British soldiers stationed just outside the family house. The irony is evident that one of Kamal’s soldier friends is also one of the soldiers that detain Al-Sayyid Ahmad on his way home one night. To Kamal the soldiers are fascinating: different, yet the same. They like songs, just like he does; they like the way he sings. They speak to him, even if their speech sounds funny in his ears. They don’t look like most people Kamal knows, but are capable of conversing and laughing all the same. How can he be expected to understand the concept of revolutions, national occupations, or independence? The business of significations is after all a very adult business. To a child’s eye people are people; songs are songs; a laugh is a laugh; a friendship is what it is.
I liked the book for its sensitivity and humour, although the feeble plot makes me hesitate to pick up the other books in the trilogy.
