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Une mélancolie arabe
Depuis le viol collectif auquel il a échappé en ce jour d’août, Abdellah, le garçon efféminé de Salé, court vers sa vie rêvée. Il court et tombe parfois, il meurt même. Puis renaît, se relève et repart vers d’autres lieux, d’autres amours. Salé, Marrakech, Paris, Le Caire : autant de cieux sous lesquels le corps de ce Marocain goûte, éprouve et chante sa mélancolie.
128 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
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1530 people want to read
About the author
Abdellah Taïa
34 books324 followersAbdellah Taïa is a Moroccan writer born in Salé in 1973. He grew up in a neighborhood called “Hay Salam” located between Salé and Rabat, where his father Mohammed works at the General Library of the capital. His mother M’Barka, an illiterate housewife, gives so much meaning to his days and accompanies his sleep with her nocturnal melodies. This son of a working-class district and second youngest of a household of ten children is the first Moroccan writer to publicly assume his homosexuality.
Abdellah Taïa has been living in Paris since 1999, where he obtained a doctorate in Letters at La Sorbonne University while managing to write 5 books. The last one, called “an Arabian melancholia”, was just published by “Seuil” on March 6th of 2008
Abdellah Taïa has been living in Paris since 1999, where he obtained a doctorate in Letters at La Sorbonne University while managing to write 5 books. The last one, called “an Arabian melancholia”, was just published by “Seuil” on March 6th of 2008
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 108 reviews
June 17, 2024
Le dernier chapitre wah….
June 28, 2016
Javier was there, in my body, in my skin, instead of me. I no longer knew what he wanted from me. I no longer knew what I wanted from him.
I wasn't myself anymore.
I had to find myself again. And to do that I let myself get lost on the streets of Cairo.
Taïa's short autobiographical novel takes you from growing up in Morocco, knowing he's interested in other boys who only want him back if they get to call him a girl, to life in exile in Paris, to movie shoots in Cairo (film, of course, is about shining through something to create an image that's both true and false), through near-death and near-rape experiences to heartbreaks and some sense of self-knowledge.
The prose is feverish, skittish, but still very self-assured. It's never a simple novel of Overcoming Homophobia or Surviving Racism, instead reading like a series of short breathless vignettes on the inextricable nature of infatuation, sex, fear, body, memory, culture. The fearful need of the fucker to feminize the fuckee, the need for absolute certainty of one's position in relation to others and oneself (the Biblical sense of "knowing" isn't just a linguistic gag). An extremely physical novel, as if the very existence of a gay African body were an important act of actively being oneself.
I turn the last page and wish there was more of it, that it didn't just stop. Then again, by the time it does, it's lobbed itself like a benevolent handgrenade at its reader, and doesn't offer a simple denouement. It continues being.
I wasn't myself anymore.
I had to find myself again. And to do that I let myself get lost on the streets of Cairo.
Taïa's short autobiographical novel takes you from growing up in Morocco, knowing he's interested in other boys who only want him back if they get to call him a girl, to life in exile in Paris, to movie shoots in Cairo (film, of course, is about shining through something to create an image that's both true and false), through near-death and near-rape experiences to heartbreaks and some sense of self-knowledge.
The prose is feverish, skittish, but still very self-assured. It's never a simple novel of Overcoming Homophobia or Surviving Racism, instead reading like a series of short breathless vignettes on the inextricable nature of infatuation, sex, fear, body, memory, culture. The fearful need of the fucker to feminize the fuckee, the need for absolute certainty of one's position in relation to others and oneself (the Biblical sense of "knowing" isn't just a linguistic gag). An extremely physical novel, as if the very existence of a gay African body were an important act of actively being oneself.
I turn the last page and wish there was more of it, that it didn't just stop. Then again, by the time it does, it's lobbed itself like a benevolent handgrenade at its reader, and doesn't offer a simple denouement. It continues being.
November 20, 2021
Such a huge of Abdellah Taïa’s writing. It’s a short autobiography that starts off in Morocco where his interest in other boys starts developing, to his life in Paris and finally to Cairo to be in a film. From a young age you get the sense that he wasn’t afraid of who he was, from near death experiences to a near rape experience and heartbreak. It’s not a simple autobiography, it is deep and told in a series of short vignettes that deals with a wide range of of issues.
‘Javier was there, in my body, in my skin, instead of me. I no longer knew what he wanted from me. I no longer knew what I wanted from him.
I wasn't myself anymore.
I had to find myself again. And to do that I let myself get lost on the streets of Cairo.’
‘Javier was there, in my body, in my skin, instead of me. I no longer knew what he wanted from me. I no longer knew what I wanted from him.
I wasn't myself anymore.
I had to find myself again. And to do that I let myself get lost on the streets of Cairo.’
January 2, 2022
There is something hypnotising in the way Abdellah Taïa writes. It is not the semiautobiographical story in “An Arab Melancholia” which is so compelling. It is Taïa’s raw emotions that he shares with readers. He opens his heart without fear of being hurt, but with hope of being listened to, understood, accepted. And these emotions are what draws me back to his books. His appetite for life is enormous and so convincing. As Anaïs Nin wrote: “We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect”. I felt it here.
“An Arab Melancholia” is a story of love. A young boy, growing up in the 1980s in Salé in Morocco, who experiences bullying, sexual harassment, who falls in love easily and with wild abundance. A boy who gets hurt and abused but doesn’t give up on love, on his identity. Later in life, on the film sets in Marrakech and in Cairo, in Paris, where Taïa lives, he encounters love again, or rather - love follows him as he himself is often not sure what the difference between love and lust is. I found some passages and some experiences close to Sufi spirituality, and yet very sensual: “I needed to find someone, someone alive, in the flesh, someone real, someone visible, someone to save me. Someones to touch me. Someone to let me gaze upon him. Someone to carry me along. Someone who would make the decision for me about which path I ought to be following. Because I was now a hayèm, a wanderer in the desert, as in Ibn Arabi’s poetry. A vagrant. A man with no direction. A man with no God”.
Taïa lets himself be lost, be found and then be lost again. He invites men into his life on one condition: that they don’t hold back. Lukewarm emotions, lacklustre relationships do not satisfy him. Again, Anaïs Nin’s words describe Taïa brilliantly, I think: “I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.” This book has a beating heart, a warm, fragile yet strong heart, and I felt honoured to hold it between the pages.
“An Arab Melancholia” is a story of love. A young boy, growing up in the 1980s in Salé in Morocco, who experiences bullying, sexual harassment, who falls in love easily and with wild abundance. A boy who gets hurt and abused but doesn’t give up on love, on his identity. Later in life, on the film sets in Marrakech and in Cairo, in Paris, where Taïa lives, he encounters love again, or rather - love follows him as he himself is often not sure what the difference between love and lust is. I found some passages and some experiences close to Sufi spirituality, and yet very sensual: “I needed to find someone, someone alive, in the flesh, someone real, someone visible, someone to save me. Someones to touch me. Someone to let me gaze upon him. Someone to carry me along. Someone who would make the decision for me about which path I ought to be following. Because I was now a hayèm, a wanderer in the desert, as in Ibn Arabi’s poetry. A vagrant. A man with no direction. A man with no God”.
Taïa lets himself be lost, be found and then be lost again. He invites men into his life on one condition: that they don’t hold back. Lukewarm emotions, lacklustre relationships do not satisfy him. Again, Anaïs Nin’s words describe Taïa brilliantly, I think: “I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.” This book has a beating heart, a warm, fragile yet strong heart, and I felt honoured to hold it between the pages.
May 17, 2025
Libro de autoficción dividido en cuatro capítulos vagamente conectados y que se centran cada uno en una historia personal.
1 - Me acuerdo: dónde narra como fue descubrir y apropiarse de su sexualidad en un contexto hostil y homofóbico.
2 - Allá voy: una experiencia con un hombre del que se enamoró en el rodaje de una película.
3 - Huir: Sus recuerdos en un viaje a Egipto para el rodaje de otra película y sobre su relación con el mundo árabe desde que emigró a Francia.
4 - Escribir: Otra experiencia amorosa con un hombre con el que escribía un diario conjunto hasta que cortó con él.
El libro empieza bastante bien. El primer capítulo me parece lo mejor de la obra y con diferencia. Aquí el autor rememora sus primeras experiencias eróticas en Marruecos, entre ellas una bastante dura, una de abuso sexual, y que supondría un cambio rotundo para él.
Este primer capítulo me parece el más duro y a la vez el más complejo. El deseo se une a la marginalidad y a lo prohibido, tanto en la historia como en la prosa. En el capítulo se mezclan los contrarios, la opresion y la liberacion sexual, una imagen cruda de un abuso pero a la vez con carga erótica, en la que conviven el miedo y el deseo.
En el momento más crítico del abuso, es cuando el autor vive la apropiación de su sexualidad. Reclama su homosexualidad tanto a si mismo como a su abusador. Taïa va más allá de los prejuicios y condicionantes sociales, más allá de su etiqueta de niño afeminado o de la creencia de que solo una mujer puede desear a un hombre, y reclama que es un hombre que ama a otros hombres.
Después de este capítulo que me pareció tan contundente, tanto por lo descarnado que es como por la situación tan compleja que abarca, el libro pierde fuerza. Taïa tiende mucho al melodramatismo y a la autocomplacencia. Su visión del amor no dista mucho del romanticismo trillado, de los flechazos y de las pasiones huecas que pretenden ir de profundas.
En el segundo capítulo se enamora de un tal Javier y, a la vez que cuenta como se conocieron, el autor habla de su propia visión del romance. Que él es de pillarse facil y que va rápido en el amor, que necesita saber pronto a dónde va a llegar la relación. En este capítulo, Taïa se dedica a regodearse en su amor fallido y revolcarse en el charco de lágrimas.
La historia de amor que presenta me parece bastante superflua y las reflexiones de Taïa dejan bien claro que, más que amar al tal Javier, lo que quería era algo a lo que amar. Después de todo, el mismo dice que lo que quería: «era amar y ser amado». Javier es más una excusa que otra cosa, algo donde volcar sus proyecciones.
De la tercera y cuarta parte no tengo ya mucho que decir. La tercera es un viaje donde reflexiona sobre su relación con su tierra natal y el cuarto es otro amorío con ese mismo tonito melodramático. En la carta del capítulo final habla de su relación obsesiva y de cómo su amante, un celoso de cuidado, le amaba demasiado y que sentía que no estaba a la altura de su amor. Estas dos partes no es que estén mal, pero tampoco son la gran cosa. Las reflexiones de Taïa no alcanzan mucha profundidad y sus experiencias se quedan un poco ahí, en lo anecdótico y en representar que es un alma atormentada, cuando a mí solamente me parece que, mas bien, es un tio bastante inmaduro.
En cuanto al estilo, me parece que tiene un regusto amateur. El autor abusa de los puntos para darle contundencia a las frases. Te las corta a mitad. Para dejar una palabra. Suelta. Y así darle más. Impacto. A esto también se le suma su gusto por la adejtivacion encadenada, es decir, poner cuatro adjetivos sinónimos seguidos y entre comas, y sus redundancias, donde te pone lo mismo que te ha dicho en la frase de antes pero con otras palabras.
Tampoco me parece que tenga una prosa destacable. Es adecuada; simple y directa. Tiene algo de pretensión poética, pero no cuaja. Cuando quiere echarle un poco de arte al estilo, cae alguna que otra vez en el lugar común.
Me parece un libro que pasaría con más pena que gloria de no ser por ese primer capítulo, que me ha parecido brillante.
1 - Me acuerdo: dónde narra como fue descubrir y apropiarse de su sexualidad en un contexto hostil y homofóbico.
2 - Allá voy: una experiencia con un hombre del que se enamoró en el rodaje de una película.
3 - Huir: Sus recuerdos en un viaje a Egipto para el rodaje de otra película y sobre su relación con el mundo árabe desde que emigró a Francia.
4 - Escribir: Otra experiencia amorosa con un hombre con el que escribía un diario conjunto hasta que cortó con él.
El libro empieza bastante bien. El primer capítulo me parece lo mejor de la obra y con diferencia. Aquí el autor rememora sus primeras experiencias eróticas en Marruecos, entre ellas una bastante dura, una de abuso sexual, y que supondría un cambio rotundo para él.
Este primer capítulo me parece el más duro y a la vez el más complejo. El deseo se une a la marginalidad y a lo prohibido, tanto en la historia como en la prosa. En el capítulo se mezclan los contrarios, la opresion y la liberacion sexual, una imagen cruda de un abuso pero a la vez con carga erótica, en la que conviven el miedo y el deseo.
En el momento más crítico del abuso, es cuando el autor vive la apropiación de su sexualidad. Reclama su homosexualidad tanto a si mismo como a su abusador. Taïa va más allá de los prejuicios y condicionantes sociales, más allá de su etiqueta de niño afeminado o de la creencia de que solo una mujer puede desear a un hombre, y reclama que es un hombre que ama a otros hombres.
Después de este capítulo que me pareció tan contundente, tanto por lo descarnado que es como por la situación tan compleja que abarca, el libro pierde fuerza. Taïa tiende mucho al melodramatismo y a la autocomplacencia. Su visión del amor no dista mucho del romanticismo trillado, de los flechazos y de las pasiones huecas que pretenden ir de profundas.
En el segundo capítulo se enamora de un tal Javier y, a la vez que cuenta como se conocieron, el autor habla de su propia visión del romance. Que él es de pillarse facil y que va rápido en el amor, que necesita saber pronto a dónde va a llegar la relación. En este capítulo, Taïa se dedica a regodearse en su amor fallido y revolcarse en el charco de lágrimas.
La historia de amor que presenta me parece bastante superflua y las reflexiones de Taïa dejan bien claro que, más que amar al tal Javier, lo que quería era algo a lo que amar. Después de todo, el mismo dice que lo que quería: «era amar y ser amado». Javier es más una excusa que otra cosa, algo donde volcar sus proyecciones.
De la tercera y cuarta parte no tengo ya mucho que decir. La tercera es un viaje donde reflexiona sobre su relación con su tierra natal y el cuarto es otro amorío con ese mismo tonito melodramático. En la carta del capítulo final habla de su relación obsesiva y de cómo su amante, un celoso de cuidado, le amaba demasiado y que sentía que no estaba a la altura de su amor. Estas dos partes no es que estén mal, pero tampoco son la gran cosa. Las reflexiones de Taïa no alcanzan mucha profundidad y sus experiencias se quedan un poco ahí, en lo anecdótico y en representar que es un alma atormentada, cuando a mí solamente me parece que, mas bien, es un tio bastante inmaduro.
En cuanto al estilo, me parece que tiene un regusto amateur. El autor abusa de los puntos para darle contundencia a las frases. Te las corta a mitad. Para dejar una palabra. Suelta. Y así darle más. Impacto. A esto también se le suma su gusto por la adejtivacion encadenada, es decir, poner cuatro adjetivos sinónimos seguidos y entre comas, y sus redundancias, donde te pone lo mismo que te ha dicho en la frase de antes pero con otras palabras.
Tampoco me parece que tenga una prosa destacable. Es adecuada; simple y directa. Tiene algo de pretensión poética, pero no cuaja. Cuando quiere echarle un poco de arte al estilo, cae alguna que otra vez en el lugar común.
Me parece un libro que pasaría con más pena que gloria de no ser por ese primer capítulo, que me ha parecido brillante.
January 12, 2013
As the previous reviewer pointed out there is no triumph in this book. This is not a classic love story or a traditional tale of the protagonist overcoming obstacles to come into himself. All you will find is honesty and madness in equal measure This is a beautifully written book that shocked me with its naked emotions, conveyed in poetic words, filtered through a layer of mysticism. I enjoyed the read, even if I didn't always agree with the way the narrator acted, behaved or thought - I wanted him to be stronger or defiant, but I realized that those are the demands I put on myself and was annoyed with those traits because they reflected me in a way. In retrospect, I think Abdellah is strong because he allows himself to fall in love easily and fully, even though he knows it might hurt, he is a rebel by refusing to accept the mundane reality of the world, infusing it instead with an other worldly quality. It was an incredible insight into the mind of a gay Arab and the Arab world in general.
July 1, 2022
Oh I did not like this.
Abdellah Taïa is a trailblazer, being the first openly queer writer in Morocco (I think?). I was really looking forward to his memoir about grappling with his sexuality and his eventual immigration to France, but I just hated the writing style. In addition to cringey discussions of "the Arab," he describes his romantic experiences in an overly-dramatic way that made me roll my eyes. Perhaps it would be better in the original French.
Abdellah Taïa is a trailblazer, being the first openly queer writer in Morocco (I think?). I was really looking forward to his memoir about grappling with his sexuality and his eventual immigration to France, but I just hated the writing style. In addition to cringey discussions of "the Arab," he describes his romantic experiences in an overly-dramatic way that made me roll my eyes. Perhaps it would be better in the original French.
November 3, 2012
"I was running. Fast, fast. Fast, fast." An Arab Melancholia is a sweetly written exposition of being gay in the Arab world. It goes a bit further actually, and to pigeon-hole it as a gay novel would be a bit unfair, but this is what it is presented as and it does frame the novel in a particular way, which I talk about later on. Autobiographical and written as a stream-of-consciousness with little in the way of a firm chronological narrative, the time and location of the novel is sometimes a little hard to follow - but this is part of the pace of the novel - running, jumping and darting around. Putting an understanding of the politics of sexuality and gender into a kind of queer literature is really neat, and Taïa does a great job in articulating themes - class division, poverty, the postcolonial, migration, patriarchy, the family and religion - which acutely fragment the social and cultural fabric of the Arab world at large. I'm quite interested in this kind of (post-national?) literature which uses a particular region (in this case the Middle East and North Africa) as framing its geographical boundaries. It seems as though Taïa would see his experiences of sexual subjugation and repression as common to the lower classes throughout the entire Arab world, hinting at a protest against the inequalities of power structures, and the upper classes which thrive in a corrupt and unequal political economy. This to me is where the writing succeeds, and by framing it in an autobiographical way the queer themes of the novel (to a queer reader) form a thread which connects these larger critiques. The descriptions of alienation and loneliness in seeking relationships I'm sure are familiar to most and more than anything suggest to me that this novel is an excellent way of understanding that although relationships between people are acutely framed by their background, people who are romantically inclined tend to have a tough time in a world which is pretty ruthless. I also liked the way Taïa frames mobility - running is the pace at which the narrative unfolds - between Marrakech, Paris and Cairo. Though the way that Taïa queers Arab politics as a critique of power is a resounding success, some of the autobiographical aren't entirely developed as well as they could. I would have preferred a slightly longer novel with a bit more autobiographical content, more generous and descriptive in its tone than some of the relatively disjointed and unconnected sequences in the book. But as a novel it works, and it works nicely. Not just because its a novel by an openly gay author from the Arab world - it works because it uses queer politics as an excellent method of criticising hegemonic power and oppressive structures, and offers a way out of it. And that's important.
September 17, 2025
Beautiful, emotional, disturbing, unexpected
April 27, 2025
cru, sensible et doux.
la lettre et le poème de fin sont là pour m'achever ou ?
j'ai beaucoup aimé.
la lettre et le poème de fin sont là pour m'achever ou ?
j'ai beaucoup aimé.
June 30, 2015
J'ai beaucoup apprécié ce tout petit roman autobiographique. Il se lit vite, est très bien écrit et très poétique malgré le sérieux du sujet traité.
Abdellah Taïa est un jeune homosexuel qui est né et a grandi au Maroc.
Il nous explique qu'il a rapidement su qu'il était homosexuel : déjà enfant dans les rues de sa ville natale du Maroc, les enfants le désignaient comme "Léïlah". Il échappe de peu à un viol collectif de la part des gamins des quartiers voisins. Une jeunesse difficile...
Aujourd'hui en France, ce jeune Marocain essaie de trouver l'équilibre, de construire un couple avec un homme qu'il aime. Mais ce n'est pas si simple (de construire un couple qui marche et d'être homosexuel, même en France) et son témoignage est très touchant.
C'est une jeune auteur dont je lierai avec plaisir les futurs ouvrages et qui a, à mon avis, un très bel avenir d'écrivain.
Abdellah Taïa est un jeune homosexuel qui est né et a grandi au Maroc.
Il nous explique qu'il a rapidement su qu'il était homosexuel : déjà enfant dans les rues de sa ville natale du Maroc, les enfants le désignaient comme "Léïlah". Il échappe de peu à un viol collectif de la part des gamins des quartiers voisins. Une jeunesse difficile...
Aujourd'hui en France, ce jeune Marocain essaie de trouver l'équilibre, de construire un couple avec un homme qu'il aime. Mais ce n'est pas si simple (de construire un couple qui marche et d'être homosexuel, même en France) et son témoignage est très touchant.
C'est une jeune auteur dont je lierai avec plaisir les futurs ouvrages et qui a, à mon avis, un très bel avenir d'écrivain.
April 6, 2012
Taia, a gay man born and raised in Morocco, writes about liberation from his culture and religion and then his ultimate need to be liberated from his own personal demons. What I liked best about this book is that, by the end, you are not really focused on the culture and the religion that stifled his sexuality. His experiences transcend culture, religion, and sexuality. He writes about the difficulty of overcoming unrequited love and the need for spiritual re-birth. Readers of any background can relate to these experiences. Taia has a poetic style that makes the reading experience all that much more enjoyable. Highly recommended!
June 28, 2022
Utanför värnhems fönster ljuder orientaliska toner som försvinner längre och längre bort. Med örat som klistrat mot fönstret ber jag ljudet Komma tillbaka till mig å mina öron för att Kasta mig in i det arabiska vemodet där jag får flörta med döden längtan ångesten att förföra, förföras, sätta gränser säga jag heter inte Leila jag heter abdalah och jag gillar pojkar.
Sorgen i att återupptäcka sig själv fem nummer större i spegeln att dö återfödas återupptäcka sig själv på olika platser i världen sen åter smal som en utmärglad gatuhund i Kairos bakkvarter, å ändå förbli samma i känslan inuti, att va kär bland molnen i nån; som inte är det tillbaka. Alltid samma sak.
Sorgen i att återupptäcka sig själv fem nummer större i spegeln att dö återfödas återupptäcka sig själv på olika platser i världen sen åter smal som en utmärglad gatuhund i Kairos bakkvarter, å ändå förbli samma i känslan inuti, att va kär bland molnen i nån; som inte är det tillbaka. Alltid samma sak.
January 26, 2013
"Il futuro eravamo io e te, insieme, ventre contro ventre, cuore a cuore, in uno stesso respiro."
Pura poesia.
Nei quattro racconti dal forte sapore autobiografico l'autore si fa a pezzi e si regala al lettore, ogni parte connessa alla successiva da una morte scampata e un amore sfiorito. E l'illusione, ogni volta, di rinascere più forte, salvo poi ricadere negli stessi errori, perché non è mai possibile uscire dall'amore.
Un libricino piccolo, leggero, eppure capace di espandersi fino ad abbracciare l'universo intero.
Pura poesia.
Nei quattro racconti dal forte sapore autobiografico l'autore si fa a pezzi e si regala al lettore, ogni parte connessa alla successiva da una morte scampata e un amore sfiorito. E l'illusione, ogni volta, di rinascere più forte, salvo poi ricadere negli stessi errori, perché non è mai possibile uscire dall'amore.
Un libricino piccolo, leggero, eppure capace di espandersi fino ad abbracciare l'universo intero.
October 21, 2017
First published in Paris in 2008, Abdellah Taïa’s ‘Une Mélancolie arabe’ is a lyrical continuation of his earlier autobiographical texts where he chronicles in powerful and terse prose the voyage of self-discovery of a young gay Moroccan man lost between contrasting identities. Suffused with pathos and melancholy, Taïa’s novel is a powerful piece of literature where each ellipsis brings about a subtle aperture into the unbridgeable gap between individuals. A masterpiece.
May 31, 2020
Apart from a few haunting passages this was disappointingly bland and superficial.
November 21, 2025
A quick and breezy read, but ultimately one that had very little to say. Talking about one’s life simply for the sake of talking about oneself. Nothing was truly explored, or if it was it was only done superficially, which is a shame because of the rich themes the book is pregnant with. Taïa writes openly about his adolescence, his desires, and his dislocations between Morocco and Europe yet these episodes feel more confessional than considered reflections. Even scenes that hints at the colonial mentality and the desire for Western validation seemed too internalized/subconscious and unexamined to be intentional and purposive of some higher order.
It is evident that Taïa prioritizes immediacy and vulnerability over analysis, but it is precisely this that becomes his handicap. Even within that form, many writers manage to shape their fragments into a sharper emotional or intellectual arc. Here the scattered fragments accumulate without depth. While certainly a sincere work, in the end the book neither fully becomes a probing self-interrogation nor even a simple living document, but instead it reads as a series of pleas, a medium through which the author begs to be seen, a projection of the lonesome more than a critical work with something to offer.
(It must be noted that while this book deals with Arab identity, it is written in the Western world through Western lens. This book almost says nothing about the Arab world of any substance whatsoever, for it does not deal with it at all.)
It is evident that Taïa prioritizes immediacy and vulnerability over analysis, but it is precisely this that becomes his handicap. Even within that form, many writers manage to shape their fragments into a sharper emotional or intellectual arc. Here the scattered fragments accumulate without depth. While certainly a sincere work, in the end the book neither fully becomes a probing self-interrogation nor even a simple living document, but instead it reads as a series of pleas, a medium through which the author begs to be seen, a projection of the lonesome more than a critical work with something to offer.
(It must be noted that while this book deals with Arab identity, it is written in the Western world through Western lens. This book almost says nothing about the Arab world of any substance whatsoever, for it does not deal with it at all.)
January 14, 2025
Un primer capítulo que me ha hecho pensar, ojalá fuera por una buena razón pero no, en mi querida Camila Sosa Villada, por su narración de su violación por parte de unos policias cuando era pequeña.
Abdellah Taïa empieza de buen pie su libro pero luego su escritura se vuelve demasiada repetitiva, y sobre todo, anecdotica.
Ya he leido varios libros parecidos, con tan solo escasos capitulos realmente interesantes, y la verdad es que es un agobio y a la vez una pena porque hubieran podido ser mejores si los autores hubieran elegido no contar su vida de manera tan directa, como si estuvieramos leyendo su diario intimo. Añadir algo que nos hiciera pensar a su vez en nuestras vidas, que es ni más ni menos una de las metas de la literatura: identificarse con lo que leemos. O sí se nos hace imposible, empatizar con los protagonistas, ponernos en su lugar. No es posible todo el rato pero sí que me sigue pareciendo crucial para fomentar intéres en lo que estamos leyendo.
Abdellah Taïa empieza de buen pie su libro pero luego su escritura se vuelve demasiada repetitiva, y sobre todo, anecdotica.
Ya he leido varios libros parecidos, con tan solo escasos capitulos realmente interesantes, y la verdad es que es un agobio y a la vez una pena porque hubieran podido ser mejores si los autores hubieran elegido no contar su vida de manera tan directa, como si estuvieramos leyendo su diario intimo. Añadir algo que nos hiciera pensar a su vez en nuestras vidas, que es ni más ni menos una de las metas de la literatura: identificarse con lo que leemos. O sí se nos hace imposible, empatizar con los protagonistas, ponernos en su lugar. No es posible todo el rato pero sí que me sigue pareciendo crucial para fomentar intéres en lo que estamos leyendo.
December 29, 2024
Más allá del contenido que quizá no guste a todos, e incluso pueda ser considerado como una mera autobiografía más, considero muy importante que existan este tipo de testimonios y literatura por autores abiertamente homosexuales en el Medio Oriente. Pues teniendo en cuenta los aspectos positivos y negativos, todos podemos vivir las emociones del amor y el deseo de una manera similar, que nos haga sentir identificados a nivel de lector y persona.
April 11, 2025
je vois pas l'intérêt de ce livre, la prose est faiblarde pour ne pas dire amateur, la structure est bringuebalante, le propos confus. l'auteur balance des réflexions au hasard mais n'approfondit rien, ne développe rien, ne raconte rien. moins de 150 pages mais j'ai vraiment eu du mal à le finir car ON SE FAIT CHIER bordel
June 13, 2024
Not for the light-hearted. Truly a heartbreaking book that delves into the struggles of being lgbtq as someone outside fo the western world. Alongside the effects that the character goes through captivating all their relationships is truly saddening. A short, emotional read.
January 3, 2025
Tellement moyen !!!!! On ne réinvente rien du tout dans ce livre, surtout pas avec un style aussi poussif …
le dernier chapitre is giving here’s my side of the story yall — I cringed so hard
le dernier chapitre is giving here’s my side of the story yall — I cringed so hard
June 24, 2025
Raw, brave, vulnerable and although a bit all over the place, still an important work highlighting Moroccan/arab gay experiences
August 6, 2025
Interested in Morocco? Forbidden love? Culture and family? This is a combination of all 3.
September 6, 2025
This is the second time I read this brief work (only 140 pages but the French literary/publishing tradition is, or maybe was, for an author to produce and publish many, but short, works. See for example the many short works of Herve Guibert) and I do so because of the author's absence from the much ballyhooed 2022 anthology 'The Arab is Queer'. Of course I don't know if Abdellah Taia's exclusion from that anthology was his or the editors decision but I couldn't help noticing that unlike most of the contributors in 'The Arab is Queer' Taia was actually born and grew up in an Arab country, was from a very poor, lower class family and wrote his books in French not English. To be honest amongst the contributors to 'The Arab is Queer' Abdella Taia would have stood out like one healthy tooth in a mouthful of rotted stubs.,
Abdellah Taia is a wonderful writer because he isn't writing in English, so he is triply distant from those of us who don't read French, and are not Arab or Muslim (unlike the editors of 'The Arab is Queer' Abdellah Taia certainly doesn't confuse being Arab with being Muslim). If you read 'An Arab Melancholia' through a prism/prison of Western gay coming out narratives, i.e. breaking away from family, tradition and religion and 'accepting' and 'acknowledging' his 'gayness' then you are imposing that narrative on another culture. I have read far to many second generation and hyphenated 'Arabs' speaking, not to other Arabs, but other Western, English speaking readers. Unlike Taia most of these writers are culturally more attuned to their non-Arab, non-Muslim, Western readers. Unlike Taia they didn't grow up poor, among ten siblings, barefoot and obsessed with Sabah and Souad Hosni or finding solace in djinns and saints such as Sayyed Zeinab aka Our Lady of Cairo. Of course I doubt if many of those in 'The Arab is Queer' would know who these people are.
To be simplistic Abdellah Taia is a Morrocan writer who is part of the French tradition of Edouard Louis, though of course Louis post dates Taia and cannot in any way be a formative influence on him. But that the voices of Taia and Louis, emerge from outside the dominant metropolitan French cultural/literary/intellectual backgrounds is significant. Their distance from any English language culture, particularly the dominant American one, is even more absolute. You cannot read Taia, even in English, and attempt to wrap him up in anglophone traditions.
'An Arab Melancholia is about Taia coming to terms with being a gay man, a Moroccan, an Arab and Muslim. They are not things he needs to escape, trying to read his life as if was the story of, for example, an Irish, Catholic, gay man rejecting Catholicism and a parochial nationalist view what being Irish means doesn't even begin to scratch the depth or complexity of what Abdellah Taia is attempting to do.
Although I have not seen it mentioned in any of the English language GR reviews the key to understanding 'An Arab Melancholia' is to be found in the journey Taia goes on between his dealings, at the beginning of 'An Arab Melancholia', as a child on the verge of adolescence in Sale near Rabat in Morocco with Chouaib and Slimane in Paris at its end. To understand what Taia has to say you need to open up and listen so you understand how he can be united with an Christian refugee from Dafur more than with an Arab lover from Southern Algeria. You need to hear his struggle to understand being queer as both part of the physical relations his has with Javier but less and potentially more. This is not a simplistic narrative of falling in love and joining hetero-normative world in the suburbs.
A splendid, beautiful book which has vastly more to tell us then most of the derivative pap being doled as 'gay' stories today.
Abdellah Taia is a wonderful writer because he isn't writing in English, so he is triply distant from those of us who don't read French, and are not Arab or Muslim (unlike the editors of 'The Arab is Queer' Abdellah Taia certainly doesn't confuse being Arab with being Muslim). If you read 'An Arab Melancholia' through a prism/prison of Western gay coming out narratives, i.e. breaking away from family, tradition and religion and 'accepting' and 'acknowledging' his 'gayness' then you are imposing that narrative on another culture. I have read far to many second generation and hyphenated 'Arabs' speaking, not to other Arabs, but other Western, English speaking readers. Unlike Taia most of these writers are culturally more attuned to their non-Arab, non-Muslim, Western readers. Unlike Taia they didn't grow up poor, among ten siblings, barefoot and obsessed with Sabah and Souad Hosni or finding solace in djinns and saints such as Sayyed Zeinab aka Our Lady of Cairo. Of course I doubt if many of those in 'The Arab is Queer' would know who these people are.
To be simplistic Abdellah Taia is a Morrocan writer who is part of the French tradition of Edouard Louis, though of course Louis post dates Taia and cannot in any way be a formative influence on him. But that the voices of Taia and Louis, emerge from outside the dominant metropolitan French cultural/literary/intellectual backgrounds is significant. Their distance from any English language culture, particularly the dominant American one, is even more absolute. You cannot read Taia, even in English, and attempt to wrap him up in anglophone traditions.
'An Arab Melancholia is about Taia coming to terms with being a gay man, a Moroccan, an Arab and Muslim. They are not things he needs to escape, trying to read his life as if was the story of, for example, an Irish, Catholic, gay man rejecting Catholicism and a parochial nationalist view what being Irish means doesn't even begin to scratch the depth or complexity of what Abdellah Taia is attempting to do.
Although I have not seen it mentioned in any of the English language GR reviews the key to understanding 'An Arab Melancholia' is to be found in the journey Taia goes on between his dealings, at the beginning of 'An Arab Melancholia', as a child on the verge of adolescence in Sale near Rabat in Morocco with Chouaib and Slimane in Paris at its end. To understand what Taia has to say you need to open up and listen so you understand how he can be united with an Christian refugee from Dafur more than with an Arab lover from Southern Algeria. You need to hear his struggle to understand being queer as both part of the physical relations his has with Javier but less and potentially more. This is not a simplistic narrative of falling in love and joining hetero-normative world in the suburbs.
A splendid, beautiful book which has vastly more to tell us then most of the derivative pap being doled as 'gay' stories today.
May 27, 2013
FROM THE WORLD LITERATURE FORUM CONTEMPORARY WORLD WRITERS SHOWCASE SERIES VIA GOODREADS —-ROBERT SHEPPARD, EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
Robert Sheppard‘s insight:
World Literature Forum recommends looking into the works of Moroccan novelist Abdellah Taïa, including his recent Une mélancolie arabe, the story of a vulnerable young man whose sexual life stretching from Morocco to France to the world of Egyptian cinema is tinged with an impulse of self-destruction which nonetheless may open latent possibilities of regeneration and rebirth.
Robert Sheppard
Editor-in-Chief
World Literature Forum
http://robertalexandersheppard.wordpr…
Author, Spiritus Mundi Novel
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17…
Copyright Robert Sheppard 2013 All Rights Reserved
Robert Sheppard‘s insight:
World Literature Forum recommends looking into the works of Moroccan novelist Abdellah Taïa, including his recent Une mélancolie arabe, the story of a vulnerable young man whose sexual life stretching from Morocco to France to the world of Egyptian cinema is tinged with an impulse of self-destruction which nonetheless may open latent possibilities of regeneration and rebirth.
Robert Sheppard
Editor-in-Chief
World Literature Forum
http://robertalexandersheppard.wordpr…
Author, Spiritus Mundi Novel
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17…
Copyright Robert Sheppard 2013 All Rights Reserved
April 22, 2018
3.5 étoiles. Il y avait quelques parties que j'aimais bcp (surtout la 1er et la 4ème partie), mais en général j'avais l'impression de lire un journal intime et incomplet... c'est-à-dire que le narrateur parle dans un façon pas clair. C'est comme si le narrateur soi-même essaie à clarifier ses opinions en écrivant ce roman. Peut-être c'est un style qu'on aime, mais ce n'est pas pour moi.
Je crois que le meilleur façon de résumer ce roman est avec les mots d'une copine: "'Une arabe mélancolique' serait un titre plus juste."
**Pardonnez-moi pour mon français si j'ai fait des erreurs. L'anglais est ma langue maternelle. J'ai choisi à écrire ma critique en français parce que j'ai lit le livre en français (pas la traduction anglais).
Je crois que le meilleur façon de résumer ce roman est avec les mots d'une copine: "'Une arabe mélancolique' serait un titre plus juste."
**Pardonnez-moi pour mon français si j'ai fait des erreurs. L'anglais est ma langue maternelle. J'ai choisi à écrire ma critique en français parce que j'ai lit le livre en français (pas la traduction anglais).
December 3, 2012
the author captured a damned good memoir. I enjoyed its short vignettes from different aspects of his life. I think he captured the longing that many experience when looking for love. it's incredibly raw, and is brutally honest. I believe that it crosses many cultural/racial/sexual boundaries and aptly embodies nostalgia. the author took a great stride in adding to glbt literature of other (albeit a small amount) queer, Arab authors.
August 3, 2017
A well-written semi-autobiographical story of a young gay, muslim, Moroccan man. The writing style was alright, but I just got tired of how he went on and on about how in love he was, whether it was reciprocated or not.
Still, it was interesting reading something non-Western for once, especially as it was an LGBT book, so I'll definitely try to broaden my perspectives with literature from all over in future.
Still, it was interesting reading something non-Western for once, especially as it was an LGBT book, so I'll definitely try to broaden my perspectives with literature from all over in future.
October 1, 2017
Providing a unique insight in the life of a gay Moroccan who resides in Paris, I feel that this book could have been longer and more thorough. Basically, this book covers one childhood memory, and then two love affairs. All of it fairly superficially noted down. The writing style is very short, sharing mainly his thought process. It's good, but I wasn't satisfied after putting down the book after 3 hrs.
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