Angst and Rebellion in the Fiction of

Amin Zaoui
Farida Abu-Haidar

I
n a volume titled Algérie, a joint Franco-Algerian collaboration celebrat-
ing different aspects of Algerian history and culture, the name of Amin
Zaoui1 is given pride of place among writers of Arabic expression.
Referring to “une pléïade de romanciers et de nouvellistes” ‘a galaxy of nov-
elists and short-story writers,’ the authors proclaim Zaoui as one of the fore-
most writers of “la génération de 70” ‘the generation of 1970’ (171). They
go on to list Zaoui’s collection of short stories, And the Waves Come Surging 2
(172), along with some of the best works of Abdelhamid Benhedouga,
Tahar Ouettar, and Rachid Boudjedra, three of the foremost names in con-
temporary Algerian Arabic fiction.
The classification of Zaoui as a member of “the generation of 1970” has
no more than a certain chronological validity. Writers of Arabic expression
in Algeria have rarely constituted a particular “generation” or “school.”
They have, ever since the emergence of postindependence Arabic litera-
ture, followed separate paths, depending on their political persuasion or
their inclination to experiment with style and language. While
Benhedouga, for example, writes in a lucid, literary style that is relatively
free of linguistic innovation, Ouettar, who takes liberties with the Arabic
language and occasionally coins his own words, leaves the reader in no
doubt as to his Marxist/Socialist leanings. Boudjedra adopts the same icon-
oclastic tone he has become known for in his francophone writings,
expressing himself in an Arabic full of harsh-sounding gutturals, ono-
matopoeia, and alliteration. Zaoui, on the other hand, opts for a flowing
variety of standard literary Arabic that reflects Algerian reality and experi-
ence, and is at the same time free of overt political dogma. Despite his fre-
quent use of typically Algerian terms, his language is clear enough to be
accessible to a wide reading public outside Algeria. What Zaoui and other
writers of Arabic expression, among them Waciny Lârej and the late Amar
Bellahcène, have in common, however, is their use of an individually
fashioned secular language. It is a far cry from the rigidly classical idiom,
redolent of the language of the Quran, advocated by language purists and
men of religion. Another common denominator is the way the highly politi-
cized environment in which these writers find themselves is reflected in
their texts.
Amin Zaoui was born in 1956 in M’sirda near Tlemcen. He later moved
to Oran, the city he adopted and which is evoked in most of his works. At
the start of his literary career Zaoui chose to write in Arabic because he felt
that it was time Algeria became known as a country that produced Arabic
as well as francophone works. It was his first collection of short stories, And
the Waves Come Surging, published in Damascus, Syria, in 1981, and reprint-
ed two years later, which brought him to the immediate attention of an
Arabic-reading public. At that time Algeria was living through a period of

Vol. 30, No. 3, Fall 1999

 Farida Abu-Haidar 165

relative calm and intellectual freedom when writers felt secure enough to
move away from the theme of the War of Independence and to publish
works that were innovative in both form and content. Although some
writers thought that it was prudent to practice a certain amount of self-
censorship if they wanted to be published in Algeria, others preferred to
send their manuscripts to publishing houses in other parts of the Arab
world, particularly if their texts contained material that was too sexually
explicit or criticized national politics. Having one’s works produced by a
reputable publishing house in Beirut, Cairo, Damascus, or Tunis, more-
over, ensured their acceptance and wider circulation in Algeria. Zaoui
opted for the Damascus publishing house Al-Wathba 3 whose editor was a
man well-known for his liberal views. Little did the editor of Al-Wathba and
Zaoui know then that in a matter of a few years the climate of opinion
would change in both Algeria and Syria and that Zaoui’s books would be
burnt or banned, the author himself threatened with death, and the editor
dismissed from his post and imprisoned.4
Throughout the eighties, encouraged by the success of his first pub-
lished book, Zaoui, a professor of literature, continued to write fictional
works. His first novel, The Inordinate Passions of the Body,5 was published in
Damascus in 1985. The same year saw the appearance of his third collection
of short stories, as well as his highly acclaimed Arabic translation of
Mohammed Dib’s novel Habel. Zaoui was promoted to the post of director
of the Palace of Arts and Culture in Oran. Being the birthplace of Raï,6 and
the city that boasted of having one of the best theaters in the Maghreb,
Oran during the eighties prospered as a cultural center. Zaoui became a
prominent literary and media figure and took an active part in the creative
life of his adopted city. Before long he became known also as a leading
Algerian writer of Arabic fiction.
With the rise of Muslim fundamentalism in Algeria during the early
1990s, Zaoui, an ardent advocate of free speech, continued to write without
any kind of self-censorship. He finished a novel in 1989. Titled The Eighth
Heaven, it did not appear in print until 1993 when it was published by the
Palace of Arts and Culture of which he was still director. By that time reli-
gious fundamentalism had become widespread in Algeria. Atrocities attrib-
uted to members of the FIS (Front islamique du salut) and their followers
became frequent. Authors and journalists paid for their views with their
lives. On 26 May 1993, the well-known francophone writer Tahar Djaout was
assassinated in Algiers, the first “of a long list of intellectuals” (Matoub 291).
The following December the poet Youcef Sebti was killed also in Algiers.
Oran did not escape similar atrocities. On 10 March 1994, the playwright
and theater director Abdelkader Alloula was shot outside his theater.
Rushed to the hospital in Paris, he died four days later. After his death it
became public knowledge that Alloula was assassinated for promoting
drama in colloquial Algerian Arabic. According to Muslim fundamentalists,
drama, song, and dance are all art forms forbidden by Islam, and any lan-
guage that does not resemble the language of the Quran has to be
shunned. It was not long before two well-known representatives of Raï were
166 Research in African Literatures

also assassinated in Oran: the singer Cheb Hasni, on 29 September 1994,

and the music director Rachid Baba-Ahmed, on 15 February 1995.
Life in Oran, and in Algeria generally, was becoming extremely difficult
for Zaoui. Apart from witnessing the death of colleagues, friends, and other
Algerians who had made a mark in public life and of whom the religious
fundamentalists disapproved, Zaoui himself began to receive death threats.
His newly published novel, The Eighth Heaven, came in for a lot of criticism
because it contained material that was considered to be irreverent. Copies
of it were seized by members of the FIS in Sidi-Bel-Abbès and burnt.7 His
earlier novel, The Inordinate Passions of the Body, had been banned in Syria.
Following a failed assassination attempt on him when he was in the com-
pany of his young daughter, Zaoui felt it was time he left Algeria. In 1995,
with the help of the organization “Parlement international des écrivains,”
he and his family were taken to the northern French city of Caen, which in
recent years has been receiving dissident writers from troubled parts of the
world. Living away from Oran, Zaoui fell silent for a while before he even-
tually began to write again and to evoke the city he had left behind. Perhaps
Assia Djebar’s words are apt when describing this period in Zaoui’s life:
“Ecrire Oran . . . dans une langue muette, rendue enfin au silence. Ecrire
Oran ma langue morte” (48) ‘To write Oran . . . in a muted language,
finally made silent. To write Oran my dead language.’ It took Zaoui more
than two years to pick up the fragments of his life again and to return to
writing. But this time he chose to write in French, publishing two short nov-
els, Sommeil du mimosa and Sonate des loups, in one single volume bearing the
title of the former novel. The book appeared at the beginning of 1998, and
was followed almost immediately by another novel, La soumission, which was
published towards the end of 1998.
The present paper focuses on four of Zaoui’s novels, The Inordinate
Passions of the Body, The Eighth Heaven, Sommeil du mimosa and Sonate des loups.
In spite of the fact that the first two are written in Arabic and the last two in
French, the four novels, each narrated in the first person, represent four
different stages in the life of the author. At the same time they shed light
on the social and political history of postindependence Algeria, highlight-
ing two significant events: the War of Independence (1954-62) and the rise
of Muslim fundamentalism. In The Inordinate Passions of the Body the reader
is introduced to a young boy who reaches puberty in the first decades of
Algerian independence. In The Eighth Heaven the central character is a
grown man in his thirties. The events of the novel take place before the rise
of Muslim fundamentalism when Algeria was a country ready to exchange
ideas with the rest of the world and to welcome visitors from abroad. In
Sommeil du mimosa the narrator says at one point “j’ai quarante ans” ‘I am
forty’ (13). By that stage in the narrator’s life, bureaucracy and religious
fanaticism have begun to create obstacles for Algerians, although people
are still able to move about freely. In Sonate des loups life has become intol-
erable and killings are the order of the day. The novel ends with the narra-
tor left with no choice but to leave Algeria. Besides comprising a visible
autobiographical propensity, these four novels display an undeniable thematic
continuity. A character in one novel is sometimes introduced in passing in
 Farida Abu-Haidar 167

another work, and some events elaborated on in earlier novels are referred
to in later works. In Sommeil du mimosa there is no mention of either “som-
meil” or “mimosa” in the text, yet both words occur more than once in
Sonate des loups where at one stage the narrator says, “Le mimosa perd son
sommeil” ‘the mimosa loses its sleep’ (144).
Zaoui’s first Arabic novel, The Inordinate Passions of the Body, introduces
the reader to rural life in Algeria during the last years of the War of
Independence and the early years of independence, with flashbacks to the
colonial era. The setting is a village in western Algeria, with an annually
flooding river running through it, resembling the surroundings Zaoui him-
self grew up in. The events and characters are seen through the eyes of the
narrator who “assumes the role of oral historian” (Mortimer 83). He is a
youth called Amin, the same name as the author. The choice of the author’s
first name is significant since it implies that the fictional content of the work
is heavily influenced by autobiographical recollections. In this way Zaoui’s
novel has a great deal in common with first novels by other Maghrebian
writers where in each case the author gives his central character/narrator
his own first name, as, for example, Driss in Driss Chraïbi’s Le passé simple,
Rachid in Rachid Boudjedra’s La répudiation, Azouz in Azouz Begag’s Le
gone du Chaâba and Paul in Paul Smaïl’s Vivre me tue.
In The Inordinate Passions of the Body, the young narrator Amin tries to
cope with the onset of puberty and the daily conflicts he has to live through,
witnessing tribal blood feuds locally, and more serious fighting nationally,
as Algeria becomes embroiled in the struggle for independence. Amin and
the numerous members of his immediate family, comprising six brothers,
fourteen sisters, his mother, and father when he is home from France, all
live in a cramped space. In summer they seek refuge from the heat in the
lime-washed stable where they keep their cow and donkey in winter. Amin’s
mother fills the cracks in the walls with bits of newspaper. She insists on using
Arabic newspapers, but being illiterate, she is sometimes unable to distin-
guish between Arabic and Cyrillic script, so she cuts pages from Russian news-
papers that were available in Algeria in the early days of independence.
In Maghrebian francophone literature the mother is invariably treated
with extreme reverence, her narrator-son bemoaning her fate and the cul-
ture that puts her at the mercy of her menfolk. According to Hédi Abdel-
Jaouad, “In many respects, the Maghrebian text in French—predominantly
an Oedipus searching for a Laius to kill—can in fact be seen as the vindi-
cation and glorification of . . . the figure of the mother” (18). In Arabic
literature, however, the mother often plays a minor role and, in some texts,
is altogether absent. Zaoui, in The Inordinate Passions of the Body, takes the
daring and novel step of showing the mother in a totally unfavorable light
where she is depicted as a cruel, scheming woman. She has little love for
her daughters, whom she considers to be a burden, and cannot wait to get
them married to be rid of her responsibilities of providing for them and
protecting their virginity. When one sister is afflicted by an illness that
leaves her lame, the mother is distressed to have an unmarried girl on her
hands for the rest of her life. When the girl dies, Amin cannot help but
notice that his mother is relieved. He even suspects that his mother may
168 Research in African Literatures

have been responsible for his sister’s death (72). With his father away in
France, employed first as a laborer at Citroën and later as a miner in north-
ern France, Amin is certain that his mother is having a sexual relationship
with her father-in-law, Amin’s paternal grandfather, and that his eldest
brother is in fact his grandfather’s son, born during the time his father was
away a whole year. He often finds his mother sitting on his grandfather’s lap
and the old man feeding her, which causes a great deal of resentment
among the other women of the clan. Every time Amin’s father gets ready to
return to Algeria, the grandfather writes him urging him to stay another
year to save up more money. When the much loved family cow is found
drowned in the river, Amin’s father is asked to continue working in France
for another year so that the family can buy a new cow. Amin suspects that
his grandfather may have drowned the cow as an excuse to keep his father
in France so that he can continue his relationship with his daughter-in-law.
Although the father is represented as being severe with his womenfolk,
not allowing them to learn to read, and sending his wife away to her family
in anger every time she gives birth to a daughter, Amin loves him and wants
him to return to the family. The father, a patriot and an admirer of Messali
Hadj (80), was accused of anticolonial activities and detained in Tlemcen
prison before independence (19). Amin describes in detail the yellowing
books his father owns and his mother is proud to dust every day, including
some well-known classical Arabic works of literature, four Qurans carefully
wrapped in cloth, and a Bible, donated by a French cardinal who had been
sent to the region to “spread the Christian message” (29). No one else in
the village possesses any books, a fact that makes neighbors and members
of Amin’s family, including his mother, refer to his father as “Sidi” ‘Master.’
This is reminiscent of “Seigneur,” the title Chraïbi’s central character in Le
passé simple uses when referring to his own father. Amin’s father’s books,
together with illustrations of scenes from the Quran, including a picture of
Joseph with Potiphar’s wife, and a picture of the then Egyptian President
Nasser whom the grandfather revered, are the only accessories the family
owns, apart from basic everyday cooking utensils and mats to sleep on.
In Maghrebian fiction it seems to be quite commonplace to focus on
female sexuality “wherein the mother is assigned a central role,” as Abdel-
Jaouad observes (15). In both The Inordinate Passions of the Body and The
Eighth Heaven the central character’s mother’s sexuality is brought to the
fore. In the former work the young Amin witnesses his parents having inter-
course and is certain that his mother has a sexual relationship with his
grandfather. In the latter novel the adult Mustafa catches his mother naked
in the presence of a strange man. Yet in the second novel she is favorably
portrayed, her narrator son believing that no one is capable of love more
than a mother (77). Apart from the mother, there is also constant mention
of a much loved aunt who is passionately in love with her nephew, the cen-
tral character’s older brother.
The Eighth Heaven opens with the central character, Mustafa, having a
discussion with a group of Germans and a Spanish professor of Islamic phi-
losophy who are all visiting Algeria. The relationship between the Germans
and Mustafa is not developed, and there seems to be some misunderstanding
 Farida Abu-Haidar 169

when the Germans are unable to grasp fully Mustafa’s answers to their ques-
tions. He resents the fact that they think of Algerians as bloodthirsty, even
in the preparation of a national dish, mechoui, which involves the slaughter
of a sheep (10). The relationship with the Spanish professor takes on a dif-
ferent dimension when he and Mustafa spend a night together in a hotel
room, an incident Mustafa is deeply ashamed of and prefers to forget after-
wards. The Spanish professor, who is a married man, does not want to let
the matter drop and reminds Mustafa that some of the best classical Arabic
poetry has been motivated by the poets’ homosexuality and their descrip-
tions of the young men they are in love with (12). He invites Mustafa to
Spain and offers him an administrative job to allow him to leave Algeria.
The Eighth Heaven is a novel that can be read on several levels. Although
a first-person narrative, Zaoui occasionally includes short extracts related in
the third person when he wants to highlight certain events. There are pro-
found observations throughout the work on global current events, human
nature generally, bureaucracy in Algeria, and world literature, with the
author citing several classical and modern literary figures, among them Ibn
Khaldun, Shakespeare—whom he calls “a racist” (34), Moravia, García
Márquez, Taha Hussein, Malek Haddad, and Boudjedra. One of Mustafa’s
friends is an admirer of Barthes and Kristeva (149), while he himself likes
Derrida and Butor (151). He refers with pride to Tarik ibn Ziyad who con-
quered Spain, and says that he was “the only Berber who could change the
course of history” (20). He praises the Maghreb’s Berber heritage and is of
the opinion that the Berbers were practical people before they were con-
quered by the Arabs who brought them only “classical odes, moaning and
weeping, and nostalgia for the past” (26).
Dialogue between the characters is sparse and occurs more often as
reported speech in the course of the narration. The central character occa-
sionally interrupts himself to address his readers directly or to ask them
questions, as when he says that his father is dead and then asks: “Do you want
to know how my father died?” (68), or when he mentions someone and says:
“I am going to tell you about her” (77), and then assumes the role of the
storyteller. The characters move in urban settings, whether in Oran,
Cordova, or Rome, where Mustafa goes on a brief visit. The majority are
aware of what is going on in the outside world. This is in sharp contrast to
the predominantly rural setting of the earlier novel where the cosmopoli-
tanism of urban Algeria is totally lacking. In The Eighth Heaven Mustafa
stresses the importance of knowing other languages besides Arabic. He him-
self speaks fluent French, can get by in German, and has mastered Spanish
in a matter of three months. He also understands Italian. He strongly
believes that, despite Arabization, French will remain predominant and
indelible in the Algerian psyche, however hard Algerians try to eradicate
it (140).
In the majority of Algerian Arabic texts, the old themes and content
patterns change and become diffused, but stock values continue to be
present. The father absent in France, the power and authority bestowed on
a male, the “shame” surrounding a female from birth to death, and the
suspicious dislike of non-Muslim foreigners are brought firmly into focus.
170 Research in African Literatures

Zaoui’s works are no exception. He dwells on the subject of male

supremacy and female subjugation in both rural and urban Algeria. In a
moving description in The Eighth Heaven, Mustafa is saddened when his
intelligent sister, who had hoped to become a doctor or a teacher, is forced
to leave school and to stay at home. The reason for that, he discovers, is that
his sister, who was able to move gracefully, was told by her teacher that she
could become a dancer. Afraid that she should follow the teacher’s advice,
her mother insists that the girl should not continue her education (107).
When another sister marries, Mustafa feels very disturbed, believing the
traditional wedding night to be a time of mourning the fate of the bride,
rather than rejoicing with the rest of the clan. Mustafa wishes the wedding
celebrations could take place without his sister being present (110).
Zaoui, more than any other Algerian writer of Arabic expression, excels
in his descriptions of nature. In The Inordinate Passions of the Body Amin
paints a vivid picture of the rolling fields stretching as far as the eye can see.
Every year after planting time, the birds sweep down on the fields and eat
the seeds (90). There are descriptions of the river that floods more than
once every year, causing destruction and sometimes death. Although it is
greatly feared, the river is also highly valued. Children of both sexes learn
at an early age to swim in it and find comfort in its cool waters. Amin
describes the elegance and beauty of the lithe bodies of young men and
women in the water. He is able to identify most of the grasses and flora that
grow in the river and on its banks. In The Eighth Heaven Mustafa describes
the once fruit-laden orange trees and vines. He is saddened that after inde-
pendence the orange groves and vineyards were neglected and the crops
were allowed to wither (60).
A number of dissident writers who have continued to speak freely have
been imprisoned, executed, or forced to leave their countries. Many of
those who find themselves in exile, however, feel unable to continue to
write. Zaoui, after a brief period of silence, was able to return to writing,
and decided to do so in French. When Nuruddin Farah was asked why
he wrote in English, he said that he did so in order “to continue to be
heard . . . otherwise I would be easily silenced” (qtd. in Harding 14). This
is similar to what Zaoui was reported as saying in the French press, after
the publication of his recent French works, Sommeil du mimosa and Sonate
des loups, two moving short novels that focus on the situation in Algeria
before his departure to Caen.
Mehdi, the central character and narrator of Sommeil du mimosa, is a
forty-year-old man who, like Zaoui, was born in M’sirda, but moved to
Oran. Mehdi lives in a third-floor apartment resembling a “bocal” ‘jar’
(12). Directly below him lives a widow who works in a neighboring phar-
macy. She is in the habit of drinking wine when she is alone, and hides the
wine in a plastic jerrycan so her two daughters, aged sixteen and fourteen,
do not find it. Mehdi works in a government office where deaths are
recorded: “Dieu donne les vies, et moi je donne les tombes!” ‘God gives life
and I provide the tombs!’ (39). Zahra, the secretary, refuses to register
deaths on the computer because she feels that it is not respectful to do so
on a mere machine with no soul (47). Mehdi leads a tedious existence
 Farida Abu-Haidar 171

moving backwards and forwards between his apartment and the office. He
tries to alleviate the tedium by treating himself occasionally to good French
red wine.
Although written in French, Sommeil du mimosa has a number of sim-
ilarities with the author’s Arabic works. The art of storytelling is constantly
evoked in this novel also, as when Mehdi says: “Je vais vous lire une histoire”
‘I am going to read you a story’ (19), or when he wants to relate to his
neighbor’s daughter “une histoire sans queue ni tête qui s’allonge jusqu’à
l’aube” ‘a story without an end or a beginning which goes on until dawn’
(39), similar to the stories in the One Thousand and One Nights. Mehdi first
heard the stories from his mother who spoke only Berber (32). In the first
Arabic novel, when mentioning the story of Joseph in the Quran, the cen-
tral character, Amin, says that Joseph must have been effeminate, otherwise
he would not have resisted the charms of Potiphar’s wife. In Sommeil du
mimosa, Mehdi reads the relevant surah in the Quran and concludes: “Je
détestais ce Joseph!” ‘I detested that Joseph!’ He may have been handsome,
but he was certainly “glacé, malade, peureux, lâche et frigide” ‘icy, sick, fear-
ful, cowardly and frigid’ (51). Apart from the Quran, the books he has in
his apartment and which he likes to read include Mohammed Dib’s
L’incendie. What makes this novel different from Zaoui’s Arabic works, how-
ever, is the gruesome descriptions of the bodies whose deaths Mehdi has to
register. It is not difficult for him to know who has died naturally and who
has been put to death viciously, especially when one finds “des corps sans
têtes et des têtes sans corps” ‘bodies without heads and heads without
bodies’ (40). He mentions the assassinations of President Boudiaf (63) and
Abdelkader Alloula, and quotes verbatim the press release about the latter’s
death (56).
In Sommeil du mimosa there is a certain calm, despite the daily killings.
Mehdi goes to work every day, as does his neighbor. Mehdi invites his sec-
retary together with a few friends to a dinner party in his apartment. Life is
gradually becoming difficult in Oran, but it is still bearable. In Sonate des
loups, a novel dedicated to Rachid Mimouni, Zaoui’s writing acquires a lyri-
cal, yet somber tone. He uses short sentences, at times almost like gasps, giv-
ing the impression that the first-person narrator has no time to waste and
is obliged to relay everything in a hurry. The short, rushed sentences give
the content poetic imagery, especially in the descriptions of Oran “ville de
la chanson raï” ‘the city of the Raï song’ (125): “Un ciel légèrement couvert
mais lumineux. Un matin d’Oran. Oran le matin” ‘a sky covered by a thin
layer of cloud, yet bright. An Oran morning. Oran in the morning’ (109).
The narrator must get away, to escape from the city he loves where “les
minarets d’Allah parlent trop ces jours-ci” ‘Allah’s minarets talk too much
these days’ (83), and where Friday, the Muslim holy day, has become
“pesant et mort” ‘heavy and dead’ (100), and even “un jour aigre, de
prêche, de haine et de sang” ‘a sour day of preaching, hatred and blood’
(101). And all this in a city which has “les terrasses, les beaux cafés-bars où
je me rendais pour assouvir ma soif et savourer l’écoulement mielleux et
sucré du temps oranais” ‘the terraces, the lovely coffee-bars where I used to
go to quench my thirst and relish the balmy, sweet Oran time passing by’
172 Research in African Literatures

(102). He mentions those who have died, like Jamila, the woman he was in
love with, and then the radio interrupts the transmission of a program to
announce the assassination of Youcef Sebti (99).
After Jamila’s funeral he buries himself more in his books, preferring
to read Derrida, Foucault, Kundera, Edward Said, and Adonis, among
others (98). He thinks of Camus, Roblès, and Sénac (104), who, like him,
at one time lived in Oran and loved it. He also mentions Mohammed Dib
and Kateb Yacine. He recalls talking with fellow Algerian writer Amar
Bellahcène shortly before he died (103). And again the murder of innocent
people comes to his mind, like that of the young girl whose headless body
the concierge finds in an elevator that had been out of use since the days
of the OAS in 1961 (105). Just as in Sommeil du mimosa where he likens his
apartment to a jar, here he feels that the claustrophobic room he lives in
resembles a matchbox or a sardine can. “J’étouffe!” ‘I am suffocating!’
(115), he cries out. He realizes that he is dying bit by bit, a slow, continu-
ous, tortured death, with Oran constantly descending into Hell while
witnessing “le ‘courage’ barbare des barbus” ‘the barbaric “courage” of the
bearded men’ (122). He concludes, “Chez nous on meurt depuis quinze
siècles” ‘People in our country have been dying for the past fifteen cen-
turies’ (125). His mother, who helps him take care of his young daughter,
insists that he should leave. She has seven gold coins that his father had
saved up and given her after working in France for seven years. She insists
that he should take them. The mother here is “d’une bonté extraordinaire”
‘of an extraordinary goodness,’ which leads him to believe that “toutes les
mamans sont faites de miel et de sucre” ‘all mothers are made of honey and
sugar’ (130). He realizes that he has to take his mother’s advice and leave.
He makes his way to the airport stealthily, terrified of the officials, of all the
men in blue, and of everyone else he comes across. When the plane takes
off, he tries to catch a glimpse of Oran for the last time, but all he can
see is the vast cemetery of El-Aïn El-Beïda “couvrant tous les horizons”
‘covering all the horizons’ (155).
In his most recent work, La soumission, also narrated in the first person,
Zaoui goes back to his early childhood recollections and themes already
explored in The Inordinate Passions of the Body. The setting of La soumission is
also a village in western Algeria, similar to the one Zaoui himself was born
in. Younes, the central character, describes it as “un douar si loin de Dieu,
si proche de la peur et de la souffrance” ‘a village so far away from God
(and) so near to fear and suffering’ (34). Like many a central character in
a francophone novel, Younes loves his mother dearly (28) but dislikes his
father, or as he puts it, “Face à mon père je sentais toujours une révulsion,
un sentiment d’horreur” ‘Towards my father I always felt revulsion, a sense
of horror’ (107). La soumission evokes traditional Arabic storytelling. The
author starts his novel with the following opening words: “Kane ya ma kane”
‘Once upon a time.’ He ends it with the formula “Avec l’aide de Dieu, le
Miséricordieux, le Compatissant, et le salut sur son prophète, je finis mon
histoire, avant que la nuit ne débouche sur la lumière du jour” ‘With the
help of God, the Merciful, the Compassionate, and salutations upon his
prophet, I end my tale, before night turns to daylight.’ Throughout the
 Farida Abu-Haidar 173

novel Zaoui describes with disdain how women in his community are under
the yoke of men, and young people at the mercy of their elders.
It is not difficult to see why Zaoui’s Arabic fictional works are now
banned in Algeria. Feeling the need to express himself without being
restrained, he writes honestly about the hypocrisies that plague his society.
Lust, extramarital sexual activity, incest, homosexuality, and youths’ sexual
experimentation with animals are all themes that receive a mention in his
novels. He feels that if they actually occur, then there is no need for any
cover up or prudery. He speaks with derision of the importance accorded
to males. In The Inordinate Passions of the Body, the grandfather says that had
his child by Amin’s mother been born a girl, they would have killed it to
spare themselves any shame. But because it turned out to be a boy, and the
first male of his generation in the family, the boy was spared. He is fed on
food that is hard to come by, like boiled eggs and dried meat, which his sis-
ters are deprived of (45). Zaoui does not pay lip service to Arab sentiments.
He is happy to praise equally the Arab and Berber cultural heritage of
Algeria. Through his central character Amin, he mocks some Algerians’
attitudes towards the West, as when the grandfather and father constantly
refer to France as “the land of infidels and heretics” (64). In his Arabic as
well as his francophone works he feels at ease in both the Arab-Islamic and
Western-Christian cultures, referring, even in his Arabic works, to the Bible,
as when Musatafa, in The Eighth Heaven, quotes from Matthew 22.21
“Render, therefore, unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s” (149).
Amin Zaoui is a writer who is able to portray the Algerian dilemma in
a language that is distinctly his own. Like Chraïbi, the French he uses is “no
longer the language of the French” but of all “those who are willing to
refashion it in their own image” (Marx-Scouras 143). His style is lucid, his
meaning clear on the surface. Yet deep beneath the surface, and especially
in his Arabic works, is a hidden dimension that can be subjected to differ-
ent readings and interpretations. That he is a chronicler of Algerian society
and the developments that have claimed the lives of so many of his country-
men and women and sent others, like himself, into exile, cannot be denied
or overstated. But Amin Zaoui’s novels are more than a chronicle of their
time and environment. They are authentic documents of a nation in crisis,
and as such shed light globally on any nation and people who are trying
to keep alive and sane in a situation that has been forcefully imposed
upon them.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

I am deeply indebted to Amin Zaoui for the help he gave me in the

preparation of this paper. Apart from answering all my questions, he very
kindly supplied me with press cuttings and photocopies of some of his
works that are now out of print.
174 Research in African Literatures

NOTES

1. This is the way Zaoui has now standardized the spelling of his name. In Algérie it
is given as “Zaoui Lamine,” translitered from Arabic with his last name appear-
ing first.
2. All English translations of Arabic titles are mine.
3. The word Al-Wathba in Arabic means “the daring enterprise” or “the bold
undertaking.”
4. Amin Zaoui himself relayed this information to me in a letter he wrote me on
28 Feb. 1998.
5. The literal translation of this title is “the neighing of the body.”
6. Raï is a type of popular Algerian music that is now internationally known. Being
the direct descendant of folk music from the Oran region, it combines tradi-
tional Algerian rhythms with Western pop music. Raï uses both Western instru-
ments, like the electric guitar, saxophone, trumpet, organ, and synthesizer, and
traditional Algerian instruments, which include the oud (lute), bendir (drum),
and qanun (zither). The lyrics are bold and unconventional, dealing with erotic
and political themes. Disapproved of by the authorities, Raï has had to go
“underground.” The first singers of the Oranese folksong, the predecessor of
Raï, were men, each adopting the title Cheikh (“[wise] old man”). They were
soon joined by women and the feminine term Cheikha was coined. The Raï
music that is now widely known dates from the late 1970s and early 1980s, and
is influenced by heavy metal and reggae music. The singers are currently known
by the titles Cheb (“young man”) and Cheba (“young woman”).
7. Personal communication with the author.

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