#Dima mikhayel matta

[slipperymeteor]

Ohh this anthology just sings to my heart. And I really didn’t expect this, not being an Arab myself. Also I had just read a couple of good books when I picked it up so surely the law of averages would work against it. Plus with virtually any anthology, the level of quality typically varies wildly from one entry to another.

But the first essay was a really strong essay by Mona Eltahawy. “I am writing this almost exactly ten years after I died. The Mona I used to be died on 24 November 2011, on a street called Mohamed Mahmoud, near Tahrir Square, Cairo.” She wrote of coming into an understanding of herself, and much of it resonated with me. “When Y and I had penis-to-vagina sex I stopped reading the Quran. I could not stand reading the word ‘fornicators’ repeated again and again.” She wove her personal experiences with her reading of Adrienne Rich, Ursula Halligan, Bareed Mista3jil—an edited volume of women experiences in Lebanon, and June Jordan. She quoted Jordan, “Bisexuality means I am free.”

She admitted to a man in a queer club in Bosnia in 2016 that she too, is a bisexual. This after in 2013 her not using any label and did not explore her attraction to women, and in 2015 email exchange not ready to say that she is not only polyamorous but also bisexual. I felt triumphant reading her progression and my heart warmed so much.

This was followed by Salem Haddad, writing about his return to Beirut. When he learned of the explosion he was at the gym in Lisbon. “I stood in the center of the gym for a long time, examining the photos and sending messages to friends. Around me, the world continued as normal. The gym attendant scolded me for not wiping the kettlebell after I used it. It was impossible to grieve from afar.” When he got to Beirut, he hooked up with a lover. “I am reminded of why I have spent eighteen months pining for him, why I wrote and published an entire story inspired by him: because something about him — his eyes, his smile, his calves — reminds me of home, my childhood, Mediterranean beaches and hot, humid summers.”

“In this moment though I feel estranged from so many things, I feel at home in my desire; it is a return of sorts, to live in the moment, to bring the encounter to the light, devoid of shame. It is a sort of homecoming, a return to oneself.”

I can go on for nearly each and every essay. Dima Mikhayel Marta’s story of his father (‘promises to cumin are not kept’), Amrou Al-Kadhi’ clash with their mother.

Danny Ramadan’s essay paved the path for what is the most resonant essay in the collection for me: Anbara Salam’s Unheld Conversations. Ramadan: “There is a tendency among the audiences of marginalized authors to assume that every piece of writing is a reflection of real-life events that the author went through.”

Salam: “just before my second novel, Belladonna, was published, I have each of my parents an advance proof copy. They had both read my first book. But unlike my first novel, Belladonna is written in the first person, and the narrator is a queer Arab woman.

And so, as I handed over the soon-to-be-published book to my parents, it was with a certain anticipation, maybe trepidation. I left them to read the novel and waited for the conversation about my sexuality that we had always avoided. Both of my parents read the book. We never had a conversation. The special flavour of disappointment I felt is hard to express. Yes, the terror of facing this confrontation had been removed, but I’d prepared, I was ready. The fight music was playing but the match was called off, and I had to walk away.”

I’ve now used Salam’s essay as a crutch to understand and interpret my own experiences coming out to others and a public coming out of a sort that were followed with its own Unheld Conversations, which brings its identical disappointment.

This was an amazing collection, well worth the read. Maybe I needn’t be surprised that the essays were really really good, most of the contributors are themselves writers with accolades aplenty. 5/5 stars, instant recommendations.