How many of us grow up promising ourselves that no matter what happens in life we should never be the people our mothers were, or our fathers? To begin on the back foot, is what I've always called it, to be driven by the conviction to not be what they were to you.
It's a terrible place to start your own life, I should know. You have no map, no benchmark, and most often than not have never experienced the alternative you're so hell-bent on living, so you have no idea what it should look like or feel, all you know is what you don't want .
"Nobody ever starts again from zero. Not even the Arabs who invented it." These are the closing lines of Faïza Guène's Men Don't Cry. The saying is attributed to Big Baba, the head of an immigrant family from Algeria living in the seaport city of Nice, Southeast of France.
The words, which sum up the entire book, take me back to my reading of Chinweizu's The Anatomy of Female Power a couple of years ago, which first opened my eyes to how women condition their children's responses to the world. Essentially a man marries a woman who emulates his mother, they used to say.
The architect of lives here is Maman. Wife to Big Baba, mother to Dounia, Mina, and Mourad. The woman is overbrearing, prone to guilt-tripping stunts that involve feigning pulpitations and complaints of ungratefulness, and yet her love language is preparing elaborate meals and giving gifts to her kin.
We read their lives as narrated using Mourad's humourous, yet reserved voice, which grows with him beginning the year Dounia walks out of their lives. She turns her back on family, tradition, familiarity, and lineage, in search of a fresh start, her zero.
Yet we come to realise, that even if a decade goes by, we are never able to escape the conditions of our upbringing, worse if we try. We are doomed if we don't get to their core and learn to live with them in a healthy fashion that allows actual progression, without the double-consciousness.
Men Don't Cry speaks to how we are taught to deny ourselves as children, and how we ourselves perpetuate this throughout our lives, even when the plan is not to. It does this from the viewpoint of a number of characters living in the "new world" while their roots remain in the "motherland".
I'm particularly interested in a character named Mehdi Mazouani, a popular student at the school Mourad's is a teacher - not in the positive sense though. He's the biggest and oldest in his class, doesn't want to be there, and spends his time being a menace. It is only when we are introduced to his father, an immigrant factory worker, that we realise how he comes to be who he is. The interest that his French teacher has in him is evident of how lives can change when faced with alternatives to what they know.
Mourad moves in with his cousin Miloud, who has taken up with an his older, haute bourgeoisie girlfriend, Liliane, and they have a butler named Mario and remains the one I'm most curious about. Mario is from Italy and is as stoic as they come. Always on duty, standing around the house like a statue, he is meticulous at his role, attentive to the needs of everyone in the house, yet barely speaks and no one knows anything about him. Mario breaks my heart a little, makes me think back to the two buttlers at Buckingham Palace and Kew in the Netflix series Queen Charlotte, and how in the end the one is no where to be found in the narrative, scrapped off the surface of the earth after dedicating his life to the King, and never missed.
"It’s the contradiction I find shocking… I mean, to be fully French, you have to deny part of your heritage, part of your identity, part of your history, part of your beliefs, and yet even when you succeed in achieving all of that, you’re still endlessly reminded of your origins…. So what’s the point?"
I'm not going to do this book justice by trying to get into the many themes it deals with and the interesting ways in which they are brought to our attention. I'll ruin it for everyone. What I will write is that I'm extremely grateful to Cassava Republic Press for putting such a poignant piece of literature to print, and more so for getting it translated for the benefit of the English reader. It is witty, and funny, and worth every page turned, because it makes you think so deeply about your own origins.