Hassan Blasim’s editorial call in Iraq + 100, originally suggested to him by his publisher, is a fascinating one—“imagine Iraq a hundred years after the US occupation, through short fiction”—and it has engendered a must-read anthology. In his Foreword, Blasim makes a number of interesting observations as he relates the challenge of getting stories for this project. “Perhaps unsurprisingly,” he says, “it was difficult to persuade many Iraqi writers to write stories set in the future when they were already so busy writing about the cruelty, horror and shock of the present, or trying to delve into the past to reread Iraq’s former nightmares and glories.” The significance of the achievement on hand becomes clear a few paragraphs later: “Iraqi literature suffers from a dire shortage of science fiction writing and I am close to certain that this book of short stories is the first of its kind, in theme and in form, in the corpus of modern Iraqi literature.” It’s certainly my first experience with contemporary Arabic science fiction and fantasy, and I’m grateful it exists. Kudos also to the translators of specific stories.
Blasim provides two possible reasons for the dearth of Arabic science fiction: “inflexible religious discourse” and “pride in the Arab poetic tradition.” It makes perfect sense, then, that the ten writers featured herein, including Blasim himself, would revolt against religious oppression and the tyranny of the past, and revolt they do, with vigor. These ten stories demonstrate a range of styles and themes, and several—like Mortada Gzar’s short but densely surreal “The Day By Day Mosque,” which kicks off with a description of a 99-year-old vinegar produced by “the National Snot Bank”—are completely sui generis. Yet there is a common thread of transgression and an explicit confrontation of Iraq’s violent past. Questions of identity, actual truth vs. political spin, the continuity of history, the ravages of disease and extreme poverty, are consistently illuminated through graphic horrors, acerbic parables, or combinations thereof. If this stuff doesn’t make you uncomfortable, you’re probably not reading it right.
Hassan Abdulrazzak’s “Kuszib” unquestionably hit me the hardest. It’s the most obviously science-fictional, in that it features an alien invasion, but its tone is notably measured. The story kicks off with a low clerk’s excitement at the prospect of taking his wife Ona to the elite, invitation-only “Feast,” which offers “a chance to sample the Sector’s finest gastronomical delights; the opportunity to mix with the cream of society; and introductions to the kind of people you’d never normally encounter as a mere sorting clerk.” The story brilliantly reframes the grotesque as the commonplace, testing our limits at the normalization of genocide, and culminates in an utterly devastating final line. “Kuszib,” one of the most extreme stories I’ve read in years, is not for the faint of heart. I’m just glad I don’t eat meat.
In Zhraa Alhaboby’s “Baghdad Syndrome,” another standout, a sick architect planning a special project for a public square of historical significance becomes haunted by strange dreams that lead him to Scheherazade. Hassan Blasim’s lushly inventive “The Gardens of Babylon,” also one of my favorites, chronicles the struggles and strange experiences of a “story designer” working on his latest “smart game,” and features such memorable oddities as “psychedelic insects” attached directly to the skull, and the difficulties of external point-of-view narration in stories featuring suicide. It’s a psychological tour-de-force, in direct conversation with literary classics, and its world is richly textured. The opening story, Anoud’s “Kahramana,” chronicles, in a sort of faux journalism, the story of a woman who escapes marriage to a ruthless dictator; though first celebrated for her act of bravery and defiance, she soon learns that the tides of political favor push both ways.
Diaa Jubaili’s “The Worker,” in which a Governor’s rhetoric adroitly manipulates the people, unflinchingly examines the horrific day-to-day tasks necessary during a time of destitution and disease, but crams too many historical references into its closing section to maintain its focus. Ali Bader’s “The Corporal,” a transliteration of the story of the People of the Cave, overtly referenced, presents a man displaced through time. Despite the irony of a future America becoming an extremist state overrun by religious intolerance, and the sting of its closing line, I found it too didactic to fully satisfy.
The three remaining stories all contain memorable images. In Khalid Kaki’s “Operation Daniel,” political dissidents of a Chinese leader who has taken over Kirkuk are “archived”: that is to say, incinerated and compressed into diamonds that will adorn the leader’s clothing. In Jalal Hassan’s “The Here and Now Prison,” Samir and his girlfriend Hala sneak into the Old City, at whose center lie mysteriously “massive columns of an enduring building, holding up a huge gold-colored dome,” and ensuing lessons in history. Ibrahim al-Marashi’s pilgrimage story, “Najufa,” features many wonders, including finger-embedded passports and droids who have earned the right to be called by their official job titles through an AI revolution, but geo-political extrapolations and insights into complex family dynamics lie at its core.
If you appreciate the discovery of new voices and new perspectives—one of the things that drew me to science fiction in the first place—you won’t want to miss this anthology, though it may repeatedly put you off while you’re reading it. It’s a one-of-a-kind excursion into histories, geographies and cultural values little known to Western readers. Many of the stories are brutal and bleak, but reading them is a mind-stretching experience, and it’s hard to ask more from fiction than trying to reshape the very way in which we view reality.