Men first, then women and children
IN THE COUNTRY OF MEN<br>by Hisham Matar<br>Penguin Books pp249, ISBN 9780141030449
In the Country of Men both woman and child are appropriated, shadows in their own society. Yet the boy child is man to be, and is aware that he needs to live up to that which he is to become. With a father who is often not at home, left on such occasions to be man of the house at only nine years of age, Suleiman interprets with his young eyes what it is to be a man in a socio-political reality comprehensible only to adults.
Thus it is that the "country of men", Libya in the turbulent days of 1979, is painted in relay through the narrative voice of adult Suleiman who deciphers this reality through the distorted childhood images of his and his mother's world. It is only as adult readers that we can understand the symptoms of his mother's "illness", linking them to the underhand way she procures bottles of grappa from the bakery, and the coincidence of their recurrent incidence during Baba's absence. The cruelty of the truths laid on to burden Suleiman-the-child's understanding, seems even harsher in the light of the reality of Um Suleiman's (mother of Suleiman) illness.
It is only as adults that we can capture the truth behind Baba's appearance in Martyr's Square at a time when Suleiman believed Baba to be on one of his many trips abroad. Readers have access to the same clues the child does: Enigmatic references to Gaddafi as the Guide, as well as an abundance of the colour green.
The political severity of that particular society painted by the author seems to justify the lies heaped onto this young boy; but we experience with Suleiman both the emotional trauma he lives through as he imagines a reality even more disturbing than the one his parents are hiding from him, as well as the betrayal he feels they have committed towards him. Drawn in to the child's psychological turbulence, reminded of our misguided interpretation of the inconceivable truths of our parents' reality, we cease to excuse this emotional decision, which has its material consequences on his parents too.
In the Country of Men is more a depiction of the psychological reality lived by a family nucleus than a discussion on Libya's politics at large. The latter emerge only through the intense portrayal of their effect on these particular relationships. Matar focuses on the dynamics lived by Suleiman's family, and together with the microcosm of relationships played out by the neighbourhood children who are somehow aware of their parents' affinities, manages to bring out the values central to this country of men: protection and loyalty. The betrayal experienced by Suleiman in its many forms, only serves to underline the fundamental value awarded to loyalty.
In all this, it is the universality of parental emotion that emerges forthright. Um Suleiman is a woman who, aware of the cruelty bestowed upon her as a female living in a patriarchal society, is ready to forget if only to live now for her son. Baba is a man who reconciles himself with undermining his loyalty and manliness if only to preserve the future of his son. This is the reality understood by the adult voice of Suleiman in the book's conclusion, a truth that is gradually grasped by the reader who undertakes the journey of this book.
Libya is close enough to Malta for the author to mention sighting our little island on a clear day, perhaps in the way we are always on the lookout for Sicily's skyline, yet the cultural reality that is depicted is foreign enough to us to constitute estranged reading. In any case, the narrative voice of the persona and the sensual detail of the environment, manage to draw us into a deeply absorbing reality.
• Ms Ghirlando holds a Masters degree in Critical and Cultural Theory from Cardiff University. She is currently a teacher, freelance writer, and visiting lecturer at the University of Malta.
• A review copy of this title was provided by Books Plus of Bisazza Street, Sliema.
Thus it is that the "country of men", Libya in the turbulent days of 1979, is painted in relay through the narrative voice of adult Suleiman who deciphers this reality through the distorted childhood images of his and his mother's world. It is only as adult readers that we can understand the symptoms of his mother's "illness", linking them to the underhand way she procures bottles of grappa from the bakery, and the coincidence of their recurrent incidence during Baba's absence. The cruelty of the truths laid on to burden Suleiman-the-child's understanding, seems even harsher in the light of the reality of Um Suleiman's (mother of Suleiman) illness.
It is only as adults that we can capture the truth behind Baba's appearance in Martyr's Square at a time when Suleiman believed Baba to be on one of his many trips abroad. Readers have access to the same clues the child does: Enigmatic references to Gaddafi as the Guide, as well as an abundance of the colour green.
The political severity of that particular society painted by the author seems to justify the lies heaped onto this young boy; but we experience with Suleiman both the emotional trauma he lives through as he imagines a reality even more disturbing than the one his parents are hiding from him, as well as the betrayal he feels they have committed towards him. Drawn in to the child's psychological turbulence, reminded of our misguided interpretation of the inconceivable truths of our parents' reality, we cease to excuse this emotional decision, which has its material consequences on his parents too.
In the Country of Men is more a depiction of the psychological reality lived by a family nucleus than a discussion on Libya's politics at large. The latter emerge only through the intense portrayal of their effect on these particular relationships. Matar focuses on the dynamics lived by Suleiman's family, and together with the microcosm of relationships played out by the neighbourhood children who are somehow aware of their parents' affinities, manages to bring out the values central to this country of men: protection and loyalty. The betrayal experienced by Suleiman in its many forms, only serves to underline the fundamental value awarded to loyalty.
In all this, it is the universality of parental emotion that emerges forthright. Um Suleiman is a woman who, aware of the cruelty bestowed upon her as a female living in a patriarchal society, is ready to forget if only to live now for her son. Baba is a man who reconciles himself with undermining his loyalty and manliness if only to preserve the future of his son. This is the reality understood by the adult voice of Suleiman in the book's conclusion, a truth that is gradually grasped by the reader who undertakes the journey of this book.
Libya is close enough to Malta for the author to mention sighting our little island on a clear day, perhaps in the way we are always on the lookout for Sicily's skyline, yet the cultural reality that is depicted is foreign enough to us to constitute estranged reading. In any case, the narrative voice of the persona and the sensual detail of the environment, manage to draw us into a deeply absorbing reality.
• Ms Ghirlando holds a Masters degree in Critical and Cultural Theory from Cardiff University. She is currently a teacher, freelance writer, and visiting lecturer at the University of Malta.
• A review copy of this title was provided by Books Plus of Bisazza Street, Sliema.