Bloomsbury,
1999
ISBN: 0-7475-4563-4 |
Reviewed
by Maya Mirsky
he
Map of Love, by Ahdaf Soueif, is a story of love stories. A
young English widow intrigued with the country that killed her husband
goes to Egypt for the first time. She enters the occupied Egypt
of the turn of the 19th century as a decorous and correct, if exceptionally
curious, visitor. Slowly, however, she is drawn to the true
Egypt, most especially in the person of the ardent nationalist Sharif
Pasha al-Baroudi. Close to our own time, a young American woman,
Isabel, becomes intrigued by her past. She meets and is attracted
to Omar, a controversial and charismatic Egyptian conductor, and
through this connection the two stories come together. Isabel has
a trunk full of souvenirs of the past, journals and trinkets belonging
to her great-grandmother Lady Anna Winterbourne, who married an
Egyptian. Isabel takes herself and the trunk to Egypt, to Omars
sister Amal, who begins to piece together the narratives.
The stories in
The Map of Love
develop slowly and in parallel, but the similarities are not heavy
handed. Rather, you happen upon parallels one at a time, like coming
across small trinkets on a journey. Both stories have, essentially,
two themes: love and politics. Annas story is fairly straightforward,
even traditional, in its romanticism. Anna falls in love and so
does Sharif; its a meeting of souls. Their acquaintance originates
from a less-than-plausible accident, a perfect romantic catalyst
in the style of Wilkie Collins. In fact, the path of Anna and Sharifs
love very much follows the literary traditions of their day. In
some ways this is appropriate, yet the book itself is so obviously
a book of our time that I found myself amazed that the well-drawn
characters of Anna and Sharif would live such a simplistic life.
Their love is unshakeable and true, almost perfect, although they
hardly know each other. Various hardships of daily life in no way
try their relationshiptheir love is end-of-the-book love,
with all the problems smoothed out. Annas assimilation into
Egyptian life, which she accomplishes with ease, is equally unbelievable.
She is so willing to embrace Egypt that everything suits her. She
complains perhaps once of misunderstanding, but touchingly apologizes
when she understands the basis for Sharifs behavior. I would
have believed her more if she had manifested any of the poignant
difficulties of assimilation. Her desire to love everything made
me feel for her; that she is chattering with the family, wearing
traditional clothes and weaving Egyptian tapestries with such gay
abandon startled me. The opportunity was missed here for the subtletiesor
should I say, realitiesof two cultures meeting.
Just as Annas is Edwardian in
tone, the modern day love story, that of Isabel and Omar, is a truly
contemporary tale. Throughout Isabels story we are conscious
that blind love is not always returned, and that even when you get
what you want you dont truly know what you are getting. Isabels
hopeful take on facts and events is familiar to any one who has
had an obsessive crush. In this story there is no remarkable
meeting, just a simple acquaintanceship from a dinner party. And
the affection that exists between the two is never on a very secure
footing. Yet it, too, is a love story, and Isabels stubborn
determination to love Omar is realistic and touching. The parallels
with Annas story are deftly interwoven. Isabel, too, has been
married before (although she is simply divorced) to a man of her
own kind, but it is the Egyptian who captivates her
heart.
The axis for the twin wheels of the
plot is Omars sister, Amal. She lives alone, purposefully,
and it is her solitary voice we hear most often. She takes the trunk
from Isabel to piece together the story of Anna and Sharif, and
the reader learns it as Amal unravels the history. Even though the
narrative sticks close to Amal, she is more of a mystery than any
of the other characters. She is strangely vacant, thinking often
of her sons but doing little in her everyday life. Isabels
intrusion wakes Amal up, but neither the reader nor Amal is sure
what she is awakened to. Nevertheless, it is through Amal, rather
than through Omar, that Isabel is able to see the modern version
of the true Egypt.
That the Egyptian characters care
deeply about politics is appropriate and interesting. I had no problem
with the mine of information Ms. Soueif brings to light, both in
the 19th and 20th century stories. Yet there was something less
than pleasing, in literary terms, about the way in which the political
lessons were delivered. I found myself comparing the book to
A
Passage to India, Forsters tale of a young woman who wants
to see the real India. The agony of impotence and the
frustration of culture that animate
A Passage to India are
nowhere in
The Map of Love. Instead Anna comes, sees, hears,
understands and loves. In a way she becomes a partisan. My attention
was held because the story of Egypt is not a regular subject for
literature, but I cannot help but feel the informational
style adversely affects the book as a whole.
What the novel gains in its presentation
of history and politics it loses in tone and characterization. Anna
and Isabel are such strangely passive and willing receptacles for
the politics of their lovers. Both women come to Egypt like blank
pages: ready, even eager, to be written upon. Some of the minor
characters seem to exist simply to be the good British
who understand the real situation and do everything
they can for Egypt. Although their actions are unquestionable, as
characters they are mannequins used to bulk out the good
side. The bad men are, strangely, more real, perhaps because it
was harder for Ms. Soueif to animate characters whose views are
so obviously opposite to her own. At any rate, moral ambiguity made
them more interesting. In addition, while the love elements of both
stories only mirrored each other in subtle ways, the politics of
both stories were almost the same. Perhaps this was intended; but
again, the lyric fluidity of Ms. Soueifs imagination took
second place to teaching. Occasionally the politicking ran into
the ridiculous; we are expected to believe that Israeli agricultural
experts are the cheapest because they are scheming to do Egypt harm
and need to get in the country. However, in the end the black-and-white
politics only slow down the narrative a little. Our attention is
still kept by the quintet of main characters.
The narrative voice in the book switches
constantly between Annas journal, Sharifs sisters
journal, Amals inner musings or a simple third person narrator.
This inconsistency marks the pace of the book. Like Amal sorting
through Annas keepsakes, we put
The Map of Love together
from fragments. A few fragments materialize from a sort of magic
realism, although comparisons of the book with M‹rquez are, I believe,
unfounded. Ms. Soueifs touches of fantasy are like a few delicate
dabs of giltthey highlight the picture but by no means provide
a base color. What is pleasing about the book is the authors
light touch, which is consistent throughout the work, with the exception
of occasional moral stiffness. The book was shortlisted for the
1999 Booker Prize, and one of its best features is the language.
I was impressed by the way the author blended Arabic and English
in a way that infused her language with a sense of Egypt while avoiding
the trite or merely quaint and colorful. The dreamy tone of the
book overlays and joins together Amals clean, precise sentences,
Annas journal musings and Isabels dynamic Americanisms.
As a love story/history/travelogue,
The Map of Love is a
rich and flowing narrative with an intriguing and touching tale
to tell.