مع أن أقصوصات الليلة المتوحشة مأساوية غالبا إلا أنها نفيض نورا مسجلة عودة مـحمد ديب إلى بلده الأصلي يتخذ بعضها حرب اللإستقلال خلفية بينما يندرج بعضها الاّخر ضمن الواقع المعاش اليوم في أقصوصات الليلة المتوحشة يعيد مـحمد ديب الحائز جائزة الفرانكفونية الكبرى من الأكاديمية الفرنسية أواصر العلاقى مع جزائر من لحم ودم فيشهد على ماّسيها ونزاعاتها وفكرة ثابتة تختلج في صدره : عدم الفصل بين (الكتابة الروائية والمسئوليه الأخلاقية) كما كتب في ملحق الكتاب
Algerian poet and novelist. Born in Tlemcen, Dib held various jobs as a teacher, accountant, weaver and rug designer, interpreter, and journalist before turning to full-time writing. In 1959 he moved to France, where he has continued to reside, although he returns regularly to Algeria.
With the death of Kateb Yacine in 1989, Dib became the undisputed doyen of Algerian literature. He was not only one of the first Maghrebian francophone authors of the post-World War II renaissance, publishing poems as early as 1947, but also continued to be both prolific and innovative. Unlike some of his contemporaries, Dib has constantly sought to renew and revitalize his writing. Besides being Algeria's foremost living novelist, he is a major poet.
Dib was, with Feraoun, Mammeri, and Kateb, a member of the ‘Generation of 52’, so dubbed because of the appearance in 1952 of important first novels by Dib (La Grande Maison) and Mammeri (La Colline oubliée) and sometimes renamed the ‘Generation of 54’ to refer to the major political event of modern Algerian history, the outbreak of the war of independence.
La Grande Maison, the first volume of a loosely knit trilogy (L'Algérie), is a naturalistic description of life in the streets and housing projects where the poor live. In this work the main characters are, in Zolaesque fashion, subordinate to the looming allegorical presence of Hunger. The remaining volumes (L'Incendie, 1954; Le Métier à tisser, 1957) continue to reflect Dib's left-wing social and political commitments during the 1940s and 1950s. His early novels have been widely read in Algeria and have been introduced into the school and university curricula.
Dib's work took a dramatic turn in the early 1960s when he forsook the naturalistic, ‘ethnographic’ novel for a more interiorized and oneiric discourse. His best known novel, Qui se souvient de la mer (1962), ostensibly deals with the Algerian War, but is particularly remarkable for its many-layered, surreal, and futuristic imagery. In a liminary note, Dib acknowledges the importance to his creative vision of Picasso's Guernica and science fiction, but we also find evidence of the influence of Freud and Jung in the subterranean and oceanic worlds where the action unfolds as well as in the mythic portrayal of the woman and the mother.
Dib also published, at this time, the first of a series of brilliant collections of poetry. Ombre gardienne (1961), although highly rarefied, provides an early link to the novels, for several of the texts in the collection first appeared as songs inserted into the trilogy. If the prose has evolved over the years, the poetry has, on the contrary, remained fairly consistent in style, perhaps because, as Dib once remarked, he is unable to practise spontaneous automatic writing in writing his novels—even when the result seems oneiric—whereas he often uses such procedures in composing the poems.
Dib's many novels may be divided roughly into four groups: the early naturalistic trilogy; the interiorized psychological, oneiric novels, usually set in Algeria (Qui se souvient de la mer; Cours sur la rive sauvage, 1964; La Danse du roi, 1968; Habel, 1977); the two novels of an unfinished trilogy about Algeria during the years of crisis in the early 1970s (Dieu en Barbarie, 1970; Le Maître de chasse, 1973); and the ‘nordic novels’ set in Algeria, Finland, and France (Les Terrasses d'Orsol, 1985; Le Sommeil d'Ève, 1989; Neiges de marbre, 1990). Some works defy easy classification, however, being transitional, such as some of the early short stories in Au café (1955) and Le Talisman (1966) and the at-once realistic and psychological Un été africain (1959), in which the identity quest of a young girl unfolds before the muted sounds and imagery of the Algerian War.
Dib's poems in Formulaires (1970), Omneros (1975), Feu beau feu (1979), and Ô vive (1987) are hermetic and derive much of their power from their linguistic virtu
I don’t feel I can rate this. Such an incredible show of writing, and in turn, translation. Now I’m learning about translation myself, I cannot help but be in awe when I note the difficulty of such abstract language and ideas in translation.
This collection centres on the theme of violence and humanity. It offers insight into perspectives that challenge moral narratives of right and wrong - can we really judge those who are fighting oppressive forces in the same way we would judge the oppressive force? Can we hold them to the same moral standards? In these works, violence seems to be an integral part of the human condition; a way of responding to trauma, inciting change, seeking revenge and solidifying one’s beliefs.
I often find violence is not something I like to read. Not in a sheltered sense, rather I find graphic descriptions can sometimes cheapen a piece of writing, as it seems an easy way to invoke a shock in the reader. I prefer to read something that impacts me with the way it will reflect on violent events, and in this way, this collection of stories I found interesting rather than grotesque.
I will say, it is not easy reading. I had to break up these stories significantly - the writing is so elaborate that I often struggled to concentrate and found myself drifting from plot. I did find the pace and my own interest picked up in the second half. My favourites were ‘Life today’ and ‘Butterflies’.
Overall, a dark and gruelling collection of stories I would recommend to anyone interested in Algerian history. I don’t think it could be described as an enjoyable read, but certainly rewarding (especially Dib’s afterword, and the translators introduction, both of which included some very interesting insights on the responsibility of the writer, and the art of creating narratives).