Souviens-toi des abeilles

by Zineb Mekouar

«Un romanzo sensuale ed eloquente.»
Afrique Magazine

«Una storia di grande bellezza.»
France Inter

«Con una penna intrisa di empatia, Zineb Mekouar dà vita a personaggi umanissimi e commoventi, e racconta un mondo che si rifiuta di svanire. »
France info

Un antico villaggio nel Sud del Marocco. Un bambino costretto a crescere troppo in fretta. Un segreto di famiglia che pesa più di una maledizione. Quando le urla di sua madre risuonano per il villaggio, Anir vorrebbe tapparsi le orecchie e fuggire, lontano da casa e dalla cattiveria dei compagni che, dopo la scuola, gli tirano i sassi chiamandolo «figlio dell’indemoniata». Da quando è nato, infatti, sua madre vive alienata dal mondo, mentre suo padre si è trasferito in città, sperando di dare un avvenire più sereno alla famiglia. Così Anir trascorre gran parte delle sue giornate da solo, a inseguire le lucertole, a imitare il volo dei falchi o a giocare con l’argilla rosso vivo di quella regione arsa dal sole, alle pendici dell’Alto Atlante. Soprattutto, però, si sofferma vicino al grande apiario sacro, dove il nonno gli insegna a scacciare il dispiacere aggrappandosi alla terra, a prendersi cura delle arnie di famiglia e gli racconta la storia leggendaria di quel luogo antico e prezioso, che da generazioni dà sussistenza al villaggio e ne scandisce i ritmi. Finché un giorno le api non cominciano a morire e la terra a creparsi, e tra la gente si fanno sempre più insistenti le accuse contro quella forestiera che ha portato la maledizione degli avi su tutti loro. Tocca ad Anir, allora, difendere la madre, una donna che ha rinunciato a tutto per amore e la cui unica colpa è quella di convivere con un dolore troppo grande. Un dolore che sembra attenuarsi solo di notte, quando lei si reca di nascosto all’apiario sacro, custode di rimpianti e di segreti. E sarà proprio là, dove tutto è iniziato, che Anir troverà le risposte per curare non solo le api, ma anche il cuore ferito della sua famiglia. Una storia profonda e poetica, raccontata attraverso lo sguardo limpido e fantasioso di un bambino. Una favola che ci ricorda l’importanza dei legami famigliari e la forza che ci danno per superare ogni ostacolo.

Genres: Roman, France, Fiction, Novels

176 pages, Paperback

Published May 2, 2024

Reviews

[enzoreads · Rating 5 out of 5]

c’était si beau

[Lapeyre Mathilde · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ravie d'être la première personne à mettre une note et qu'elle soit aussi bonne. Je me suis absolument régalée à suivre une histoire de famille à Inzerki, au Maroc qui accueille le plus grand rucher du monde (allez voir des photos sur internet ça vaut le détour). J'avais déjà lu le premier roman de l'autrice mais là tout m'a plu. L'écriture est tellement jolie, le poids du secret de famille pèse sur nos épaules tout au long de cette histoire où j'ai été touchée par chacun des personnages. Très très belle découverte. Hâte de l'offrir autour de moi.

[Clotilde Rymarczyk · Rating 4 out of 5]

Dans le bourdonnement des abeilles la vie passe… puis c’est le silence! Le silence lourd des secrets de famille qui rendent fou.

[Sheena · Rating 3 out of 5]

Poetic, lyrical, hopeful. Thank you, Milkweed Editions, for the pre-publication galley.

[Alex-Mot-à-Mots · Rating 3 out of 5]

Connaissez-vous le Rucher du Saint du Maroc ? Le plus vieux rucher du monde. Un rucher très ancien fait de terre et de roseaux.

C’est là que vit Anir, sa mère et son grand-père Jeddi. Son père, Omar, est parti à Agadir tenter de gagner sa vie dans la supérette de son cousin.

J’ai eu de la peine pour Omar, exploité par son cousin qui lui fait miroiter un avenir meilleur, obligé de dormir sur 4 couvertures sans oreiller.

J’ai eu de la peine pour la mère d’Anir, recluse dans sa chambre et criant certains soirs. Une mère que l’on dit possédée.

J’ai aimé la relation entre Jeddi et Anir, de grand-père à petit-fils : Jeddi lui explique comment prendre soin des abeilles.

Dans le premier chapitre, on devine qu’un drame a eu lieu, dont nous n’aurons l’explication qu’en fin de roman.

J’ai aimé Anir qui fait sortir sa mère tôt le matin, l’emmenant au rucher. Il la prend par la main et ce symbole fort reviendra plusieurs fois au cour du récit.

J’ai détesté les villageois bien sûr, que l’on voit peu au demeurant : ragots, mépris, ignorance.

La sécheresse est omniprésente et l’eau est un problème, même pour les abeilles.

J’ai aimé l’arganier centenaire sous lequel se repose Jeddi, en face des ruchers.

J’ai eu de la peine pour le grand-père qui ne sait pas parler à son fils.

Je ne me suis attaché qu’à Omar et son désir de faire vivre mieux sa famille.

L’image que je retiendrai :

Celle des abeilles jaunes, plus dociles, et des abeilles noires, plus rebelles. Les différentes races cohabitent dans ce rucher.

https://www.alexmotamots.fr/souviens-...

[Eugénie Hamot · Rating 5 out of 5]

La poésie de ce livre est indescriptible : l’environnement ensoleillé est à la fois une source de douceur mais aussi une épée de Damoclès. Ce deuxième roman prouve bien l’importance des relations familiales et plus encore celles entre grands-parents et petits enfants, une relation qui transcende le temps dans une intimité sans pareille. Merci à Zineb Mekouar de donner à lire des œuvre toutes aussi poignantes que significatives.

[Sarah · Rating 2 out of 5]

On se ballade au côté de ce petit garçon Anir, sur les flancs de cette montagne dans le Haut Atlas où se trouve un des plus anciens ruchers artisanal du monde, dans un village berbère du Maroc. On entend les abeilles faire bzz bzz, la chaleur nous brunir la peau et assécher la terre. Et en même temps, le poids lourd du silence de cette famille brisée par un événement tragique…

[Agathe Kempf · Rating 5 out of 5]

J'ai adoré et j'ai été émue aux larmes par ce 2eme roman de Zineb Mekouar - dont les thèmes forts d'amour maternel, de transmission, de conséquences de la crise climatique, d'inégalités entre villes et campagnes vont vous transporter.

[yelenska · Rating 4 out of 5]

Une jolie découverte même si je m'en suis légèrement lassée vers la fin. Une autrice à suivre je crois, c'est pourquoi je pense un jour lire son précédent et premier roman. Ah et jadore l'exipit : "Y a-t-il une autre musique possible, après le silence ?"

[Manon Nicollet · Rating 2 out of 5]

j'ai vrmt eu du mal à accrocher, les personnages ne m'ont pas du tout parlé, et j'ai l'impression de n'avoir rien retenu du livre, comme un rêve étrange avec des images décousues par-ci par-là. j'ai pas trop aimé le style d'écriture non plus, je passe à côté là deso

[Jen G · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a quiet and beautifully written novella set in the village of Inzerki in High Atlas Mountains of Morocco about a young boy, Anir, and his family. It explores themes of grief, mental illness, and displacement of small communities to urban centers due to climate change. The authors brings the Atlas Mountains and this family to life on the page. It is a very sad and tragic book, but so beautifully portrays this culture and traditions involving sacredness of the apiary.

Thanks very much to NetGalley and Milkweed Editions for the eARC.

Favorite quotes :

“In those moments, Anir can't stay in the classroom, surrounded by people who don't understand that his insides burst and break when he hears it-yes, that's it, everything shatters—so he closes his eyes and can already breathe a little easier with his eyes shut and his palms over his ears, even though he knows his palms are useless against the howling. "It's okay, it'll be okay," he tells himself as he walks, having learned over the years to make his way with his eyes shut. Most of the time he opens them just enough to see a sliver, really just shapes and his lashes like foliage between him and reality. Looking at life through this foliage of sorts helps too. He can't explain how or why, but from time to time we all rely on little things like this to keep us going, and for Anir, having his lids huddled close against his eyes with just a tiny gap between them and the foliage of his lashes, well, it comforts the deepest part of him. He clings to every lash, each one becoming a strong, powerful branch that keeps the screams at a distance and carries him, showing him the way out of class, out of school, and out of the village.”


Description from Bookshop.org

https://bookshop.org/p/books/remember...

In an ancient Moroccan apiary, a young boy's inheritance of bees is endangered by climate change, family secrets, and the silence surrounding grief.

High in the Atlas Mountains of Morocco, surrounded by valleys once rich with lavender and thyme, stands a centuries-old complex of communal beehives. Here, Anir's dreams of becoming a beekeeper like his grandfather are realized when he is entrusted with his own colony--an inheritance and a responsibility far greater than he ever could have imagined.

In this idyllic place, the land is changing in disturbing ways. With temperatures soaring, flowers disappear and springs run dry. As the bees struggle to survive, Anir begins to uncover hidden fractures within his own family. His father has left for the city to earn money and secure a future that feels increasingly distant. His mother is trapped in a mysterious illness--or perhaps a curse--that reduces her voice to a single lullaby and a piercing cry that echoes through the village. Guided by the stories of his beloved grandfather, Anir delves deeper into the mysteries of his family's past and eventually comes to understand how the fate of the bees and the land are inseparable from it. What once filled the valley with music now demands healing, memory, and courage.

The luminous debut in English by award-winning Moroccan author Zineb Mekouar, Remember the Bees is a deeply empathetic novel--a revelatory parable about inheritance, loss, and the fragile bonds that hold families and communities together.

[Frey · Rating 2 out of 5]

J’aurais voulu aimer ce roman que j’attendais de lire avec un peu d’impatience. Pourtant, je n’ai rien à en dire ; c’est un roman de terroir maghrébin, l’impression d’entendre un nouveau cycle de malheur poussé par des gens qui aiment leur artisanat, malgré le malheur de la colonisation, du climat, de la folie et du capitalisme. Joliment écrit, mais ça n’a rien éveillé en moi, ni intérêt, ni surprise, ni émerveillement.

[Jen · Rating 4 out of 5]

"C’est tout petit, une abeille, tout petit, ça ne devrait pas mourir pour une histoire de terre qui s’assèche, ça ne devrait pas mourir, une abeille ; c’est comme un enfant malade, une mère qui ne reconnaît plus son fils, ça ne devrait pas exister, ces choses-là ; des injustices qui brisent tout à l’intérieur, qui nouent le ventre et nous laissent sans souffle. Impuissants."

[Nathalie J · Rating 4 out of 5]

Un livre tendre et délicat.
Nous sommes au Maroc dans un village berbère où se trouve le plus vieux rucher du monde.
Entre abeilles et secrets de famille, une douce lecture pleine de poésie.

Après le magnifique "la poule et son cumin", quel plaisir de retrouver l'écriture de Zineb Mekouar.

[améline · Rating 5 out of 5]

absolument sublime tant sur le fond que sur la forme

[Ines C. · Rating 4 out of 5]

C’est trop pour mon coeur

[Caroline Staget · Rating 5 out of 5]

Splendide

[Master Oogway · Rating 3 out of 5]

Un très beau texte, bien écrit. Un joli décor bien posé. Des personnages attachants.. tout ce qu’il faut pour faire un roman magnifique..
Malheureusement, le récit est pauvre et la trame inexistante! Des boucles non-bouclées.. des balles perdues ici et là, des intrigues initiées et puis tout de suite oubliées… c’est dommage!
Je donne quand même 3 pour la qualité du texte.

[Sara Pena · Rating 4 out of 5]

J’ai trop aimé ce livre, touchant, écrit tel un enfant en colère
Nos problèmes paraissent alors si futiles par rapport au fait de prendre soin des abeilles, soin de nos enfants et de préserver cet équilibre pour les futures générations 🍀

[Mélitine · Rating 4 out of 5]

Douceur des paysages marocains, du miel et de l’écriture. L’histoire n’en reste pas moins dure et pesante pour ses personnages qui portent un secret de famille les rongeant tous à leur manière.

[Mathilde Hours · Rating 4 out of 5]

Do, do, da, grave, grave, aigu... la mélodie lancinante que fredonne Aïcha accompagne chacune des pages du livres. Le grave, le silence, l'aigu, le bourdonnement des abeilles...
Dans les montagnes du Haut Atlas, Anir, petit garçon de 10 ans, apprend le langage des abeilles. Entre son grand-père qui s'essouffle de plus en plus et tremble de voir le village se vider, sa mère que tout le monde dit possédée et semble vivre dans un autre monde, son père qui a fui pour la ville et attend de venir le chercher, il observe l'orchestre qui anime la ruche.

Ce petit livre est un condensé de poésie triste, un hymne à la nature et un cri contre l'exode rural et la disparition des campagnes.
Une jolie parenthèse de lecture, très émouvante.

[Lilas · Rating 4 out of 5]

La poésie m’a transportée, dépaysée et même touchée.
L’autrice sait poser des mots pour décrire l’amour et la peur du chez-soi ainsi que la plénitude qu’apporte la Nature.
Le récit se perd peut-être un peu ?

[Daniela · Rating 4 out of 5]

Triste, delicato, colmo di speranza. Unica nota negativa la quasi completa mancanza di dialoghi e questo rende la narrazione lunga. La storia rimane comunque molto bella. Da leggere.

[Melisa Yilmazturk · Rating 3 out of 5]

très beau livre mais j’aurais aimé quand même un peu avoir le point de vue de la mère :(
sinon tout les personnages sont touchants !! j’ai vraiment aimé mais bon on s’y attendait pour le plot

[Damien Travel · Rating 5 out of 5]

The night had been short and restless. The altitude, jet lag, and the cramped, noisy dormitory had all combined to limit my hours of sleep. After a quick breakfast at 4:30 a.m., we left the refuge, bundled up against the cold, and began the ascent by the light of our headlamps. I followed our guide, choosing a cautious but steady pace. Ahead of us, we could see a string of other lights climbing the mountain. The path was steeper than the day before, and I was alert for any signs of altitude sickness.
Little by little, as the night gave way to dawn, I gained confidence and enjoyed the light that was beginning to spread across the mountains. Yellow and ochre colors appeared, the outlines of the rocks became clearer, and I could hear the murmur of the little stream we were following. The sun rose behind a mountain range as we reached the pass from which we could finally see the summit of Jebel Toubkal, at 4,167 meters, the highest mountain in North Africa. Another half hour of effort and we would be there.
I rediscovered this sense of wonder at being at the heart of the nascent dawn while reading the superb novel “Souviens-toi des Abeilles” (Remember the Bees – not yet available in English) by the young Moroccan author Zineb Mekouar. I came across this book a few days after climbing the Toubkal, in a bookshop in the Kasbah of the Oudayas in Rabat. I devoured it in a few hours.
Anir, a ten-year-old boy, loves to leave his house at dawn to go to Taggart's apiary, a collective apiary just outside their village in the High Atlas Mountains. Sometimes he accompanies his mother, Aïcha, sometimes he walks there alone, enjoying the silence before the bees and the village wake up.
It was his grandfather Jeddi who introduced him to the life of bees and the rituals of the apiary. He lives with him in this village with its ancestral customs and rules, but whose survival is threatened by drought. Omar, Anir's father, has left for Agadir, where he transports and empties crates in a convenience store to provide for his family and try to find and pay for a doctor who could cure his wife Aïcha, who has been living as if possessed, between prostration and screams, since a terrible night at the apiary.
Omar would like to take his wife and son to Agadir, but Anir wants to stay in the village, close to his grandfather and the apiary. “Souviens-toi des Abeilles” is a spellbinding novel about the transmission of knowledge, as well as pain across generations. It is also a splendid ode to the beauty of the Atlas Mountains and villages, described with accuracy and emotion.

https://www.travelreadings.org/2025/1...

[Briann · Rating 4 out of 5]

Remember the Bees is an engaging story about trauma, memory, traditions, silence, and healing.

Favorite Quotes:

🐝 “Every time the grandfather and the boy carefully tend to the traditional, cylindrical hives made of woven reeds, every time they envelop them in a cloud of smoke to open them and inspect the bee colonies, everyone who has come before them performs the gesture through them, with them, and the grandfather and the boy become all the fathers and all the sons in the world—a world which exists for a fleeting moment outside of time itself.”
🐝 “Bees are so small, so very small. They shouldn’t die because the earth dries out; bees shouldn’t die at all. It’s like a sick child or a mother who no longer recognizes her son. Things like that—bees dying, a child who doesn’t recover, a mother with metallic eyes—shouldn’t exist. Such injustices shatter everything inside us, tie our stomachs in knots and leave us fighting for breath. Powerless. How will he explain it to Anir? How?”
🐝 “Then Omar spots the yellow pajamas, not far off, just there, by the hive to the right of the entrance. The sight spurs him to action, giving him the strength to drag himself, on hands and knees, toward the piece of cloth with its countless buttons, one of which will forever remain too close to the baby’s neck. The man reaches the pajamas and begins to dig with his fingers, clawing at the ground with his nails. He digs next to the hive, the one just to the right of the entrance. He digs and digs. The earth lets him, roots make way, worms and ants flee, so the father digs, tears streaming down his face as he allows himself to cry, for a moment, just a moment, because no one is there yet, because no one is there to tell him that men don’t cry… Omar digs and digs then stops, out of breath. He buries the yellow pajamas and the button that will forever be too close to the boy’s neck. He buries that night as deep as he can in the Inzerki dirt, and then hurries…to hide this window into his private life, to fill this crate in the ground with as much sand as his hands, palms, and nails can carry.”
🐝 “Omar hopes that now that the secret has been revealed, something in her will fall back into place. He’s made yet another desperate, absurd cry for help to this woman… Omar says nothing. Anir says nothing. The boy stares at the small mound of earth surrounded by little stones. He doesn’t look at Aisha. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t see her, and that’s the moment she chooses to look right at him.”

Plot Summary (for my own records) : The story opens with a mother and her feverish baby. In a desperate attempt to save him, she feeds the baby honey. Throughout the story, it is revealed that the baby died and that the mother fed him honey from a hive of black bees that did not belong to her family. The black bees are considered more aggressive and dangerous than the yellow and black bees. There is stigma attached to the black bees. Furthermore, the village believes that stealing honey from another family’s hive often leads to divine retribution. The woman’s father-in-law revealed to the village that the woman stole the honey, and she has been ostracized since then. She also goes crazy from her grief and is unable to cope. Besides the baby dying, it is revealed he was a twin. The other twin survived and grew up clinging to his grandfather’s side, learning all about the bees. The boy’s father has left the village and gone to the city to provide a new life for his family. Eventually, the grandfather dies, and the boy’s family history is revealed to him. Only when the past, with its trauma, is acknowledged is the family able to heal and move forward.

[ness · Rating 5 out of 5]

+/- à la moitié du livre :
je suis venue mettre 5 étoiles alors que je n’ai même pas encore fini le livre, c’est pour dire à quel point il est poignant.


update après l’avoir terminé :
je maintiens GRANDEMENT les 5 étoiles que je lui ai mis. j’ai dévoré ce roman comme rarement, il m’a touchée, m’a happée dès ses premières pages et ne m’a plus jamais laissée m’en échapper jusqu’à ce que je le referme.
on suit une petite famille, une petite maison, un petit village, dans un maroc presqu’ancestral et dont les descriptions ne vous laissent d’autre choix que de vous y immerger pleinement.

on a un grand-père, un doyen ancré dans ses traditions mais terrassé par cette vie et cette inégalité des chances que l’on sent bien peser au-dessus de chacun des hommes ayant grandi sur cette terre. on le sent empli de regrets mais toujours miroir de positivité et de légendes à transmettre.

on a un père, qui a tout abandonné pour donner une meilleure vie à sa famille, qui se démène pour un avenir plus beau, plus lumineux pour ceux qu’il aime. un homme qui ne s’autorise pas de pleurer mais dont toute la fragilité suinte de son corps.

on a un fils, un enfant sensible et avide de savoir, qui admire son grand-père et s’imagine un futur tout tracé près des abeilles, dont l’insouciance est extrêmement touchante.

enfin, on a une mère, un cœur qui a tout donné pour son enfant, qui a littéralement succombé à ce que le sacrifice maternel demande de chaque maman de ce monde. une mère incomprise, qui ne se comprend peut-être pas elle-même au final, mais qu’on a quand même un peu compris malgré nous.

et surtout, on a une terre presque sacrée, un arganier centenaire, de jolies abeilles dont le bourdonnement incessant berce le sommeil de notre attachante famille, un âne mâchant sa paille et un sol aride et craquelé dont il faut connaître chaque fissure afin de les soigner par sa douceur.

une leçon de vie sur les changements climatiques, les classes sociales, les liens forts liant les membres d’une même famille, l’espoir et l’équilibre.

un roman si bien écrit que je ne voulais pas en sortir, comme si finalement je faisais, moi aussi, partie de cette famille aux secrets qui rapprochent autant qu’ils imposent un silence douloureux.

“Les yeux de l'enfant, l'expression figée de son visage, l'effondrement de l'espérance — jeunesse déconcertée devant le chaos du monde.”
“Y-a-t-il une autre musique possible, après le silence ?”

[⊹♡ Sonder Wonderer ♡⊹ · Rating 3 out of 5]

Thank you to Milkweed Editions, Zineb Mekouar, and Netgalley for sending me this book to review!

This book had such a strong promise in the beginning but I found that the plot of the story jumped around a lot but it did have well developed characters. I did find it a bit repetitive as well. However I will say, the way that Mekouar writes about the land and people of Inzerki was done very beautifully. This story is so touching yet so deeply filled with melancholy at the same time.

Remember the Bees made me cry through and through. The strength of Amir will always be at the back of my mind when I see bees now.

The only critique I would say is I wished the story was longer, had less repetitive parts, and the ending left me a bit unsatisfied and saddened. I would have loved to see more of what happens for the future of this family and I just hope they got their happy ending or at least some form of peace and relief. Overall I would recommend this book if you are struggling with grief and need a story to help give you strength.

[Rebecca · Rating 5 out of 5]

Remember the Bees is such a tender, heartbreaking story. I really connected with Anir, especially the way he’s forced to grow up while dealing with his mother’s suffering, his father being away, and the cruelty of the other children who call him the “son of the possessed woman.” His relationship with his grandfather and the sacred apiary was my favorite part—the bees, the land, and the stories passed down through generations give the book such a strong sense of place.

I also loved how the mystery of the dying bees becomes tied to the family’s own pain. As the villagers start blaming Anir’s mother for bringing a curse, Anir is determined to protect her and understand what is really happening. The scenes of his mother secretly visiting the apiary at night were especially moving, and I liked how the answers he finds there help him understand her grief rather than simply seeing her as the woman everyone else fears. A beautiful story about childhood, family, grief, and the healing power of finally understanding where you come from.

[Coralie · Rating 3 out of 5]

Un très beau récit sur le Taddart, le rucher du Saint au Maroc, le plus vieux rucher du monde ; et aussi sur Anir et sa famille.
J'ai été touchée par les personnages, dont le passé tragique hante les pages du livre ; par leur inquiétude du futur aussi, quand leur avenir est mis en péril par la sécheresse, et qu'aucune piste n'est envisageable pour soigner la mère d'Anir.
Je trouve cependant que le rythme est un peu lent. Certaines révélations arrivent un peu tôt, ce qui faire perdre de l'enjeu et du rythme à la lecture.
L'écriture est par contre magnifique et très poétique, un vrai voyage dans cette famille d'apiculteurs.