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Pillars of Salt
Pillars of Salt is the story of two women confined in a mental hospital in Jordan during and after the British Mandate. After initial tensions they become friends and share their life stories.
256 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1996
22 people are currently reading
1737 people want to read
About the author
Fadia Faqir
14 books109 followersFadia Faqir (b. 1956) is a British Arab writer based in Durham, UK. Her work was translated into fifteen languages and published in eighteen countries. She is a Writing Fellow at St Aidan's College, Durham University, where she teaches creative writing.
Faqir’s work is written entirely in English and is the subject of much ongoing academic research and discussion, particularly for its ‘translation’ of aspects of Arab culture. It is recognised for its stylistic invention and its incorporation of issues to do with Third World women’s lives, migration, and cultural in-betweeness
Faqir’s work is written entirely in English and is the subject of much ongoing academic research and discussion, particularly for its ‘translation’ of aspects of Arab culture. It is recognised for its stylistic invention and its incorporation of issues to do with Third World women’s lives, migration, and cultural in-betweeness
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 84 reviews
June 16, 2022
Few readers will want to read this book. It’s a tale of two women in mid-20th century Jordan, both of whom are knocked down again and again by the men in their lives, until ultimately confined to a mental hospital for those same men’s convenience and thoroughly dehumanized. Though written in English, it feels like a translation, which is an astute choice, recreating the characters’ world and their thought patterns through their forms of speech. It’s told in the first person, primarily from the point-of-view of Maha, a young Bedouin woman from a small village who tries to build a life for herself despite the machinations of a brother cozy with the British. The other woman, Umm Saad (Haniyyeh), narrates her story to Maha in occasional short chapters. Finally, there are a smattering of chapters from a male storyteller, who relates a magical-realist version of Maha’s tale, in which she is a traditional villainess.
And the thing about this book is that it’s actually good, which I didn’t entirely want: I didn’t want to get caught up in these lives of characters obviously destined for tragedy! I’d almost have preferred a flat op-ed novel. But there is a texture to the characters and their lives that draws the reader in. This is particularly true for Maha; we don’t get to know Umm Saad quite as well, and even in the hospital, their friendship seems one-sided, consisting mostly of Maha providing emotional support to Umm Saad. I preferred Maha’s friendships with the community of women in her village, particularly the goat herder Nasra. Her devotion to her farm and orchard is also well-drawn, as are the horrifying lengths to which she’s willing to go to conceive a child, as demanded by her society.
The writing style made this slow reading for me, despite being a short book consisting of short chapters, and it’s anything but cheerful. But it is an effective work, looking at the lives of people most often ignored in fiction in favor of fantasies of overcoming the limits of one’s society (which, sadly, are often no more than fantasies). It’s well-written and brings the setting to life, psychologically as well as physically, and it’s a strong examination of the oppression of women, as well as colonialism and links between the two. Worth a read for the interested, but don’t expect to feel uplifted!
And the thing about this book is that it’s actually good, which I didn’t entirely want: I didn’t want to get caught up in these lives of characters obviously destined for tragedy! I’d almost have preferred a flat op-ed novel. But there is a texture to the characters and their lives that draws the reader in. This is particularly true for Maha; we don’t get to know Umm Saad quite as well, and even in the hospital, their friendship seems one-sided, consisting mostly of Maha providing emotional support to Umm Saad. I preferred Maha’s friendships with the community of women in her village, particularly the goat herder Nasra. Her devotion to her farm and orchard is also well-drawn, as are the horrifying lengths to which she’s willing to go to conceive a child, as demanded by her society.
The writing style made this slow reading for me, despite being a short book consisting of short chapters, and it’s anything but cheerful. But it is an effective work, looking at the lives of people most often ignored in fiction in favor of fantasies of overcoming the limits of one’s society (which, sadly, are often no more than fantasies). It’s well-written and brings the setting to life, psychologically as well as physically, and it’s a strong examination of the oppression of women, as well as colonialism and links between the two. Worth a read for the interested, but don’t expect to feel uplifted!
March 9, 2013
Oh, how to review this book? I was excited to read this book given that it was a "new international fiction emerging voices" book from Jordan. I love reading authentic voices from non-western countries, especially from the Middle East, where we get too many western voices trying to tell us how women, in particular, there supposedly experience life.
And, well, I guess this IS one voice. And it IS a legitimate voice. The truth is that there are a lot of women abused and subjugated by men, especially in villages, in the Middle East according to longstanding cultural beliefs, as well as so-called religious beliefs (uneducated men, totally uneducated in religion, believing that their misogynist cultural ideas are actually religion). And the book totally and completely focuses on this fact in its story, and it does it in a very lyrical, poetic manner. This, for me, was really the only strength of book (the quality of its poetic writing). There are three main voices in the book: two women and one storyteller. The two women represent women's voices, both totally and completely subjugated and destroyed by the men in their lives (one by her brother and the men in her village; the other by her husband and then her son's disloyalty to her). The storyteller is a disgusting voice that shows the reader, in all its (dis)glory, how the misogynist Arab male thinks about woman (they're dirty and temptresses and align themselves with black magic against men).
Throughout the book I did get to know the various characters. I appreciated Maha's attempts to build a life for herself, despite her brother's attempts to constantly keep her down. Her attempts to build a home (both a house and trees and crops and a community) and a family. And, yes, I greatly disliked her brother and all of the horrible things he did to Maha and the other women in her community. I also appreciated Um Saad's attempts to build a family and a marriage, despite the sheer weight of constant housework and the lack of love or appreciation from her husband. But somehow... I just never really grew terribly connected to any of these characters. Or invested in them. Not in the same way that I have with characters in other books that I have read.
I understand that books are not expected to cover ALL aspects of a society. Or cover all voices. And that the point of this author's book was to express the voice of suppressed, subjugated women in Jordan (in a particular time, the 1950s, before Jordanian independence). But what disappointed me was that in the West, we already hear from every single corner how, yes, Arab women are oppressed. Yes, they don't have voices. Yes, Arab men are misogynists and and just see women are human beings. And yes, Islam is to blame for all of this hatred towards Arab women from Arab men. So for an Arab woman to *confirm* all of these western beliefs... I think, just adds to a general lack of REAL understanding of the complexity of the Middle East. Because while YES, there is a ton of suppression of women in the ME, and yes, a lot of it is due to cultural beliefs and mid-educated religious beliefs, and yes, a lot of it is done by men, that is not the ONLY Middle East. And due to the lack of REAL education among the West regarding the Middle East, one more author not adding NUANCE to understanding the region to me... does everyone a disservice. Because the truth is that there are educated, practicing Muslim men who treat their wives with the love and respect that Islam demands of them. And fathers and brothers and community male leaders and religious leaders as well. And there are educated Muslims (and non-Muslim educated religion women such as Christians and Orthodox Christians and Jews) who are STRONG and opinionated and demand their rights (legal rights, religious rights, moral rights) from the men and women around them because they know it is their RIGHT to demand them. There are kind men, loving men, kind women and loving women, who all work together to raise beautiful, loving and compassionate boy and girl children to be leaders in their communities. Personally, I would like a more NUANCED book. In the village in this book, I know there were loving marriages, loving relationships, brothers and sisters who were friends to each other, etc. I just didn't need another book confirming western stereotypes (i.e. Arab women, throw off your veils and demand your rights! Leave your religion and become western and you'll be free, like us! See, even the Jordanian author, now living in England, raised in Jordan agrees!).
Me, I'd rather read some books written by Jordanian authors about the untold Jordanian women fighting for their rights, changing their communities, running schools for hundreds and thousands of girls, running for and winning elections, starting businesses, and yes, the Arab men working alongside them, with them, believing in their sisters' and mothers' and daughters' and wives' rights as well. Because YES, those are stories of Jordan as well.
And, well, I guess this IS one voice. And it IS a legitimate voice. The truth is that there are a lot of women abused and subjugated by men, especially in villages, in the Middle East according to longstanding cultural beliefs, as well as so-called religious beliefs (uneducated men, totally uneducated in religion, believing that their misogynist cultural ideas are actually religion). And the book totally and completely focuses on this fact in its story, and it does it in a very lyrical, poetic manner. This, for me, was really the only strength of book (the quality of its poetic writing). There are three main voices in the book: two women and one storyteller. The two women represent women's voices, both totally and completely subjugated and destroyed by the men in their lives (one by her brother and the men in her village; the other by her husband and then her son's disloyalty to her). The storyteller is a disgusting voice that shows the reader, in all its (dis)glory, how the misogynist Arab male thinks about woman (they're dirty and temptresses and align themselves with black magic against men).
Throughout the book I did get to know the various characters. I appreciated Maha's attempts to build a life for herself, despite her brother's attempts to constantly keep her down. Her attempts to build a home (both a house and trees and crops and a community) and a family. And, yes, I greatly disliked her brother and all of the horrible things he did to Maha and the other women in her community. I also appreciated Um Saad's attempts to build a family and a marriage, despite the sheer weight of constant housework and the lack of love or appreciation from her husband. But somehow... I just never really grew terribly connected to any of these characters. Or invested in them. Not in the same way that I have with characters in other books that I have read.
I understand that books are not expected to cover ALL aspects of a society. Or cover all voices. And that the point of this author's book was to express the voice of suppressed, subjugated women in Jordan (in a particular time, the 1950s, before Jordanian independence). But what disappointed me was that in the West, we already hear from every single corner how, yes, Arab women are oppressed. Yes, they don't have voices. Yes, Arab men are misogynists and and just see women are human beings. And yes, Islam is to blame for all of this hatred towards Arab women from Arab men. So for an Arab woman to *confirm* all of these western beliefs... I think, just adds to a general lack of REAL understanding of the complexity of the Middle East. Because while YES, there is a ton of suppression of women in the ME, and yes, a lot of it is due to cultural beliefs and mid-educated religious beliefs, and yes, a lot of it is done by men, that is not the ONLY Middle East. And due to the lack of REAL education among the West regarding the Middle East, one more author not adding NUANCE to understanding the region to me... does everyone a disservice. Because the truth is that there are educated, practicing Muslim men who treat their wives with the love and respect that Islam demands of them. And fathers and brothers and community male leaders and religious leaders as well. And there are educated Muslims (and non-Muslim educated religion women such as Christians and Orthodox Christians and Jews) who are STRONG and opinionated and demand their rights (legal rights, religious rights, moral rights) from the men and women around them because they know it is their RIGHT to demand them. There are kind men, loving men, kind women and loving women, who all work together to raise beautiful, loving and compassionate boy and girl children to be leaders in their communities. Personally, I would like a more NUANCED book. In the village in this book, I know there were loving marriages, loving relationships, brothers and sisters who were friends to each other, etc. I just didn't need another book confirming western stereotypes (i.e. Arab women, throw off your veils and demand your rights! Leave your religion and become western and you'll be free, like us! See, even the Jordanian author, now living in England, raised in Jordan agrees!).
Me, I'd rather read some books written by Jordanian authors about the untold Jordanian women fighting for their rights, changing their communities, running schools for hundreds and thousands of girls, running for and winning elections, starting businesses, and yes, the Arab men working alongside them, with them, believing in their sisters' and mothers' and daughters' and wives' rights as well. Because YES, those are stories of Jordan as well.
January 8, 2018
“Stalpi de sare” este cel de-al doilea roman al Fadiei Faqir, care exploreaza povestile a doua femei arabe aflate sub presiunile sociale si religioase ale societatii in care traiesc. Romanul urmareste povestile tragice a celor doua femei care se intalnesc intr-o institutie psihiatrica condusa de englezii aflati in timpul Mandatului din Iordania. Faqir foloseste personajul Maha, o femeie beduina, ca narator a propriei povesti, care, in capitole consecutive asculta povestea de viata a colegei de camera, Um Saad.
https://dianashamaablog.com/2018/01/0...
https://dianashamaablog.com/2018/01/0...
May 17, 2022
Clar 5 stelute din 5. Mi-a placut foarte mult si m-a tulburat, in acelasi timp. Recenzia mai jos.
http://stildescriitor.ro/blog/2020/02...
http://stildescriitor.ro/blog/2020/02...
November 11, 2011
Nothing pleases me more in reading than to find something astonishing from a part of the world whose literature I know nothing about, doubly if the writer is a woman, still rare in many places. Fadia Faqir's "Pillars of Salt" is a story from Jordan under and just after the British Mandate. Two women, one a young Bedouin, the other an older resident of Amman, reside in a room in a psychiatric hospital and once they overcome the city dweller's prejudice, tell each other their stories. The Bedouin Maha is slowly deprived of everything she loves, the land and even her son. But her voice isn't passive in the slightest; she is a fierce defender of the little that she has--family, her beloved orchard, her belief in who she is. Faqir's well-honed anger spares no one, as Maha is continually betrayed by every authority, religious, military, cultural, medical and familial. She's endures a folk treatment for barrenness that is horrifying. Um Saad the city-dweller's fate is in at least one way even crueler, as she is denied even the tragically short loving marriage that Maha has when her father takes her to a marriage before telling her that she is the bride. Um Saad suffers from sharing a novel with the incomparably vivid Maha; Maha even tells Um Saad's story, although largely by reciting what the older woman tells her. As if all this were not enough,Maha's narration is shadowed by a traditional storyteller, who tells Maha's story as a patriarchal folk tale, magic realism in cruelly misogynistic hands. This is a hard book, because of its unflinching vision and its rejection of the exercise of power masquerading as God's will.
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August 23, 2020Διαβάστε και την ελληνική κριτική στις βιβλιοαλχημείες.
I have this quirk when it comes to international literature. Some criteria let's say.
I want to read for example a book from Jordan.
To be an 100% Jordanian book the author has to be born in Jordan, to live in Jordan, write in Arabic, and write about Jordan.
With this book we are at 60-70%.
Fadia Faqir was born in Jordan but now lives in Durham, UK.
She writes about Jordan but in English.
So I might need to read one more from Jordan, originally written in Arabic by an author who mainly lives in Jordan.
Ito Ogawa's book The Restaurant of Love Regained was at 100%.
Ito Ogawa was born in Japan, lives in Japan, the book was written in Japanese, and takes place in Japan.
All these of course are statistical quirks. They make a book more authentic but that doesn't downgrade in no way the importance of a book like Faqir's «Pillars of Salt» if it's at 60%.
Kazuo Ishiguro was 5 when he arrived in the UK, hence he is a British author.
Fadia Faqir was 28 when she arrived in the UK, so that makes her both British and Jordanian author.
But as I said these are interesting facts and quirks for a registrar kind of person like me, one who always keeps records of births, descents, and dates.
---------------------------
Okay enough with the above, let's move to the actual review of the book.
It is a tale that takes place in Jordan during the early 20th century.
We have two narratives. The present and the past.
The present takes place in a mental hospital and two women narrate to each other their lives.
Their narrations of the past comprise the second narrative, that of the past.
There's also a third narrative which is more symbolic and brief, from the point of view of an omniscient male unnamed yet misogynist narrator, a narrative that interrupts once in a while the main narratives of the two women.
Two women that suffered for different reasons.
A book in which we see the lives of women and Jordanians in general during the British Protectorate (Emirate of Transjordan).
One more country that the British were brutally "protecting" under their imperialistic wings.
Even though this book was a first time experience about life in Jordan for me, I found it a bit slow and again, just like the previous book (Carol) I wasn't able to connect and feel anything more than sympathy for the protagonists.
March 9, 2024
Author Fadia Faqir, a Ajramieh and a Circassian is light years ahead of her time. This is one of the boldest novels I’ve read about Jordan. Lyrical and poetry-like writing. The struggle against patriarchal and colonial norms, the changes in the new-born country and such a strong awareness of the self the main character has were beautiful to experience despite the great suffering she and others endure because they’re women. Love, tenderness, dreams, and friendships are also here.
A lot of people expect NGO-ish “representation” or a documentary, this is not. If you have a background on Jordanian literature (in English too!) this work needs to be experienced.
A lot of people expect NGO-ish “representation” or a documentary, this is not. If you have a background on Jordanian literature (in English too!) this work needs to be experienced.
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October 7, 2022„Mă simțeam obosită în seara aceea, ca și cum mâinile și picioarele mi-ar fi fost făcute din mușchi de copac. Nu aveam deloc energie, nu aveam voința de a mai trăi și a mai vedea încă un răsărit.”
„Allah a creat o oamenii cu o gaură în piept. Oamenii plâng când își amintesc momentele triste, plâng când își amintesc momentele fericite, plâng când își dau seama că nu au trăit nici momente fericite, nici momente triste de care să-și amintească. Blestemată fie viața asta.”
„Viața mea e asemenea făinii împrăștiate pe un camp cu ciulini.”
„Allah a creat o oamenii cu o gaură în piept. Oamenii plâng când își amintesc momentele triste, plâng când își amintesc momentele fericite, plâng când își dau seama că nu au trăit nici momente fericite, nici momente triste de care să-și amintească. Blestemată fie viața asta.”
„Viața mea e asemenea făinii împrăștiate pe un camp cu ciulini.”
December 4, 2017
A disturbing, haunting story of two women who have very little in common - just their daring to oppose their treatment, and the punishment that follows. Lyrical, intense, and painting a dark image of a country regaining its identity.
March 29, 2017
Very torn about whether to go with three stars or four stars, though I'm going with four in the hopes that GoodReads may start recommending me books that actually sound interesting.
Fadia Faqir (who since this book published has definitely "emerged" onto the literary stage) has written a fascinating book focusing on the lives of two Jordanian women who meet in a mental hospital--though that last is used mostly as a framing device.
There were three shifting perspectives: First the male storyteller who claims to have witnessed most of Maha's story and heard her reciting the rest; then Um Saad, an older woman from Amman who grew up in the city and tells the story of her life; and finally Maha, whose family struggles comprise the largest portion of the book.
The differences are obvious: male and female perspectives, city and rural lives, a liar and two people who the reader trusts to tell the truth. All three tell their stories from the first person, but all of them take a slightly different approach. The storyteller's is very traditional, going so far as to insert elements of folklore, religion, history, and superstition to support the narrative. These aspects are only incidental to Maha and Um Saad's lives, even as they are incredibly prevalent in the background.
I had a bit of trouble trying to figure out when the story was set, even with the help of a timeline of Jordan's occupation at the front. There were radios but no televisions, airplanes and Land Rovers but telephones were unfamiliar, plastic sandals but almost no other outside goods described in the village. I wasn't too bothered by this, though. Still, it's part of the reason I'm not adding this book to the "great world-building" shelf--that and the fact that I think I would have had far less idea what the village might have looked like if I hadn't stayed in a rural village in Morocco (clearly even the images I imagined with that influence could be wildly wrong!).
I also appreciated the realism of Maha and Um Saad's situations. When bad things happened, they sometimes didn't even think of revenge because they were so aware that the consequences would be disastrous. As much as this book is a commentary on the place of women in society, matters of feminism are almost never spoken of directly--in situation rather than in wishing they had the same rights as men. Many aspects of the culture were valued and appreciated, even as many of them were implicitly rejected.
I'm making this sound very detached and scholarly, but the stories really drew me in and made me care about Maha, Um Saad, and the supporting characters. Nasra was an especial delight and Maha's brother Daffash was, frankly, terrifying. The only place I struggled was with the very last chapter from the storyteller, which described an almost apocalyptic future for Maha's village (apparently the Dead Sea is, in fact, on a fault line) and seemed to switch focus entirely from the evil man-hating Maha to a more hopeful future. I'll have to keep thinking about that one.
Quote Roundup
4) I am the storyteller.
My box is full of tales.
Yes, the yarn-spinner.
I spin and spin for days.
Looking at this now, I realize that for all Maha spends so many hours spinning, she never finishes the carpet her mother began. I can't even remember her working on it. A representation of her life, left unfinished when she was shipped off to the mental hospital? A larger statement about Jordan's occupation, which disrupted so much of the region to such an extent that its natural development could never be resumed?
37) My father would stop fighting the French, and then he might leave me and my mother alone. I did not like my father, but I really hated the French who made him restless and dirty.
Don't quite get how having the father around the house is going to make life more peaceful, but this could just be Um Saad relating her childhood thoughts.
44) All the members of the tribe would wait outside the door for proof of my virginity. Young girls, young boys, half-naked children, toothless old men, and horsemen were all thirsty for my blood. My heart started beating fiercely. What would he do? I was about to lose some blood. Was it like an ordinary period?
The juxtaposition between the obsession with "virginity" and the lack of knowledge about what it is astounded me. On a larger note, I really liked this scene. Maha's quick thinking and her new husband's gratitude for her help was my first hint that maybe their marriage was going to be all right, at least for a while.
55) Dew and light, the sisters of the bedouins, gave me a hand and helped me see Hakim with his crooked back, black goat, and long stick. My father had assured me that Hakim, the embodiment of Arabs' anger and resistance, never stopped breathing, would never die, and would always roam the deserts and mountains of Arabia. Many sought his blood, but he managed to survive.
A bittersweet passage considering the ongoing fighting in the MENA region.
58) Maha - "bitter Indian fig" the people of Hamia used to call her - started working with a newly acquired enthusiasm on the farm. She would spend most of her time watering, weeding, ploughing, and even rubbing the oranges until they glowed in the sun. Why do you think? Can any of you tell me why? No, not because she was a hardworking peasant woman. The reason behind what she did was graver than that. The land. Yes, my masters, THE LAND. The source of all greed and every conflict.
-- She started farming vigorously as if the orchard belonged to her, not to her poor brother Daffash. Woman's cunning is great. A treasure, she thought, which she would inherit one of those days. If you divided the greed inside her it would have been enough for all our hearts. Allah's cunning devours the worshippers' cunning.
A perfectly reasonable love of hard-worked family land becomes sinister in the Storyteller's point of view. Nevertheless, that beautiful image of Maha tending each orange makes it through the bile. Not quite sure what to make of that last sentence...
86) Allah created the jinn out of fire, and if they get burnt to mud they become human beings like us. They lose their powers, grow old then die.
A note of interest for my badly languishing Moroccan-inspired story.
119) "He who gives birth is never dead."
My mind immediately started playing with this statement. Frankenstein's creature came to mind quickly, though I was also amused at the idea that almost all men would never have the immortality implicitly granted to most women by this statement. Which is pretty ironic, considering it's said in relation to a father instead of a mother. You have to work at playing with language, ignoring the usual use of the phrase "give birth", if you want to apply this phrase to a man as a "giver" of birth.
131) "Maha, shall I tell you how to plant Iraqui jasmine?"
-- "I am a peasant and I know how to plant the damn jasmine."
I got a much-needed laugh from Maha's snappishness.
150) "Songs became shorter and lighter. When I was young, we used to sing about spring, crops, meadows, and life. By your life, all the songs nowadays are about love. For the younger generation, nothing is important except love and lust. When you cannot get something, you keep thinking of it all the time."
I think Um Saad and I would get along.
155) The pasha turned his head and smiled, "Do you like jasmine?"
-- "Yes."
-- He looked at my face for the first time. Really looked at my face and saw me, saw that I was a woman who loved jasmine flowers. Before, I was sure, I was for him one of the black tents roaming the valley.
172-173) My father loved Mubarak, loved me, and always stroked my hair with his flaky fingers and said, "My daughter, you are better than that scoundrel brother of yours. I wish you were a man because the land must go to its ploughman."
If this book had been written by an American, that would be the technicality that saved the day: Maha's not a man, but since she tends the land, it goes to her. Happily ever after. A very different kind of story.
181) I did not know how to pray so I aped Tamam who kept hissing incomprehensible words, bowing, kneeling, then prostrating.
This interested me because Muslims' prayer sequence is fairly generally known (or at least, I know what it looks like even if I don't know the exact pattern of standing, kneeling, and bowing). Is there a variation of the usual order for this particular occasion? Do styles of prayer vary the way styles of taking communion vary? Or is the emphasis on prayer itself rather than the formula for it, a la the Protestant Reformation? (Sorry I compare Islam to Christianity so much--it's my background.)
191) The shrine dominated the east side [of the town of Hamia] and the mansion the west. Samir Pasha on one side and Imam Rajab on the other. The village was besieged by sounds from the minaret and the noise from the mansion. Allah-u-Akbar. The husky music of the English.
Not exactly subtle, but a powerful image nonetheless.
Fadia Faqir (who since this book published has definitely "emerged" onto the literary stage) has written a fascinating book focusing on the lives of two Jordanian women who meet in a mental hospital--though that last is used mostly as a framing device.
There were three shifting perspectives: First the male storyteller who claims to have witnessed most of Maha's story and heard her reciting the rest; then Um Saad, an older woman from Amman who grew up in the city and tells the story of her life; and finally Maha, whose family struggles comprise the largest portion of the book.
The differences are obvious: male and female perspectives, city and rural lives, a liar and two people who the reader trusts to tell the truth. All three tell their stories from the first person, but all of them take a slightly different approach. The storyteller's is very traditional, going so far as to insert elements of folklore, religion, history, and superstition to support the narrative. These aspects are only incidental to Maha and Um Saad's lives, even as they are incredibly prevalent in the background.
I had a bit of trouble trying to figure out when the story was set, even with the help of a timeline of Jordan's occupation at the front. There were radios but no televisions, airplanes and Land Rovers but telephones were unfamiliar, plastic sandals but almost no other outside goods described in the village. I wasn't too bothered by this, though. Still, it's part of the reason I'm not adding this book to the "great world-building" shelf--that and the fact that I think I would have had far less idea what the village might have looked like if I hadn't stayed in a rural village in Morocco (clearly even the images I imagined with that influence could be wildly wrong!).
I also appreciated the realism of Maha and Um Saad's situations. When bad things happened, they sometimes didn't even think of revenge because they were so aware that the consequences would be disastrous. As much as this book is a commentary on the place of women in society, matters of feminism are almost never spoken of directly--in situation rather than in wishing they had the same rights as men. Many aspects of the culture were valued and appreciated, even as many of them were implicitly rejected.
I'm making this sound very detached and scholarly, but the stories really drew me in and made me care about Maha, Um Saad, and the supporting characters. Nasra was an especial delight and Maha's brother Daffash was, frankly, terrifying. The only place I struggled was with the very last chapter from the storyteller, which described an almost apocalyptic future for Maha's village (apparently the Dead Sea is, in fact, on a fault line) and seemed to switch focus entirely from the evil man-hating Maha to a more hopeful future. I'll have to keep thinking about that one.
Quote Roundup
4) I am the storyteller.
My box is full of tales.
Yes, the yarn-spinner.
I spin and spin for days.
Looking at this now, I realize that for all Maha spends so many hours spinning, she never finishes the carpet her mother began. I can't even remember her working on it. A representation of her life, left unfinished when she was shipped off to the mental hospital? A larger statement about Jordan's occupation, which disrupted so much of the region to such an extent that its natural development could never be resumed?
37) My father would stop fighting the French, and then he might leave me and my mother alone. I did not like my father, but I really hated the French who made him restless and dirty.
Don't quite get how having the father around the house is going to make life more peaceful, but this could just be Um Saad relating her childhood thoughts.
44) All the members of the tribe would wait outside the door for proof of my virginity. Young girls, young boys, half-naked children, toothless old men, and horsemen were all thirsty for my blood. My heart started beating fiercely. What would he do? I was about to lose some blood. Was it like an ordinary period?
The juxtaposition between the obsession with "virginity" and the lack of knowledge about what it is astounded me. On a larger note, I really liked this scene. Maha's quick thinking and her new husband's gratitude for her help was my first hint that maybe their marriage was going to be all right, at least for a while.
55) Dew and light, the sisters of the bedouins, gave me a hand and helped me see Hakim with his crooked back, black goat, and long stick. My father had assured me that Hakim, the embodiment of Arabs' anger and resistance, never stopped breathing, would never die, and would always roam the deserts and mountains of Arabia. Many sought his blood, but he managed to survive.
A bittersweet passage considering the ongoing fighting in the MENA region.
58) Maha - "bitter Indian fig" the people of Hamia used to call her - started working with a newly acquired enthusiasm on the farm. She would spend most of her time watering, weeding, ploughing, and even rubbing the oranges until they glowed in the sun. Why do you think? Can any of you tell me why? No, not because she was a hardworking peasant woman. The reason behind what she did was graver than that. The land. Yes, my masters, THE LAND. The source of all greed and every conflict.
-- She started farming vigorously as if the orchard belonged to her, not to her poor brother Daffash. Woman's cunning is great. A treasure, she thought, which she would inherit one of those days. If you divided the greed inside her it would have been enough for all our hearts. Allah's cunning devours the worshippers' cunning.
A perfectly reasonable love of hard-worked family land becomes sinister in the Storyteller's point of view. Nevertheless, that beautiful image of Maha tending each orange makes it through the bile. Not quite sure what to make of that last sentence...
86) Allah created the jinn out of fire, and if they get burnt to mud they become human beings like us. They lose their powers, grow old then die.
A note of interest for my badly languishing Moroccan-inspired story.
119) "He who gives birth is never dead."
My mind immediately started playing with this statement. Frankenstein's creature came to mind quickly, though I was also amused at the idea that almost all men would never have the immortality implicitly granted to most women by this statement. Which is pretty ironic, considering it's said in relation to a father instead of a mother. You have to work at playing with language, ignoring the usual use of the phrase "give birth", if you want to apply this phrase to a man as a "giver" of birth.
131) "Maha, shall I tell you how to plant Iraqui jasmine?"
-- "I am a peasant and I know how to plant the damn jasmine."
I got a much-needed laugh from Maha's snappishness.
150) "Songs became shorter and lighter. When I was young, we used to sing about spring, crops, meadows, and life. By your life, all the songs nowadays are about love. For the younger generation, nothing is important except love and lust. When you cannot get something, you keep thinking of it all the time."
I think Um Saad and I would get along.
155) The pasha turned his head and smiled, "Do you like jasmine?"
-- "Yes."
-- He looked at my face for the first time. Really looked at my face and saw me, saw that I was a woman who loved jasmine flowers. Before, I was sure, I was for him one of the black tents roaming the valley.
172-173) My father loved Mubarak, loved me, and always stroked my hair with his flaky fingers and said, "My daughter, you are better than that scoundrel brother of yours. I wish you were a man because the land must go to its ploughman."
If this book had been written by an American, that would be the technicality that saved the day: Maha's not a man, but since she tends the land, it goes to her. Happily ever after. A very different kind of story.
181) I did not know how to pray so I aped Tamam who kept hissing incomprehensible words, bowing, kneeling, then prostrating.
This interested me because Muslims' prayer sequence is fairly generally known (or at least, I know what it looks like even if I don't know the exact pattern of standing, kneeling, and bowing). Is there a variation of the usual order for this particular occasion? Do styles of prayer vary the way styles of taking communion vary? Or is the emphasis on prayer itself rather than the formula for it, a la the Protestant Reformation? (Sorry I compare Islam to Christianity so much--it's my background.)
191) The shrine dominated the east side [of the town of Hamia] and the mansion the west. Samir Pasha on one side and Imam Rajab on the other. The village was besieged by sounds from the minaret and the noise from the mansion. Allah-u-Akbar. The husky music of the English.
Not exactly subtle, but a powerful image nonetheless.
May 5, 2014
While Fadia Faqir’s novel, Pillars of Salt, gives the reader an unsettling view of the over-powering forces of patriarchal control on the women of Jordan, the book also resounds with poignant language and powerful imagery in her Bedouin protagonist, Maha’s narrative. Faqir’s skillful weaving of three different narratives also contributes to the rich fiber of the text.
Set in a mental hospital in Jordan, two women from different social classes and cultural circumstances involuntarily share a room in the mental hospital, during and after the British colonization of Jordan. Maha, a peasant from the Jordan valley, near the Dead Sea, and Um Saad, a city dweller from Amman, make the unlikeliest of roommates, but gradually overcome their differences in acts of feminine solidarity. The narratives of these two women, framed by the mental institution reveal the parallels of a patriarchal society that lead to both women’s incarceration. Maha’s love for her father and her husband meet with tragedy in the English colonizer and in her brother who embodies both the foreign oppressor’s wrath as well as the abusive norms of his country’s patriarchy in its disregard for its women. Um Saad, married off to a much older man, endured his physical abuse, managed his home, and gave him nine sons, only to find that her husband has taken a new, younger wife. A third narrative, in the form of the Storyteller, frames the novel from an outsider’s perspective. This outsider, who watches Maha from afar, echoes the voice of patriarchy in his sensational, Orientalist interpretation of the peasant woman’s narrative.
Faqir takes to task the abuse of women by a society that has long ago accepted the crimes against women as commonplace. The storyteller represents the universal voice of patriarchy. His outrageous and erroneous interpretations from his voyeuristic perch hark back to ancient, secular and religious myths that paint women as agents of evil, in narratives of shape-shifting succubuses who devour men’s souls. Faqir uses his outrageous claims and viewpoints to point to the outrageous picture outsiders see in Jordan’s mistreatment of its women.
The women’s narratives show the resilience of women and the therapeutic role of the oral tradition in women’s lives, under a patriarchal system and the colonizer’s regime. As the women share their lives with each other, they take on caregiver roles, acting as anchors for each other in listening to each other’s stories and in the treatments imposed on them in the mental hospital. While these narratives are not pretty, Faqir’s language and imagery keep the reader thoroughly engaged in the women’s stories. The personification of the natural world in Maha’s narrative and her connection to it paint a romantic picture of Maha’s simple existence and her great love for her husband. In Maha’s story of her life with Harb, a story of true love envelops the narrative. This love story, playing against the grain of a patriarchal society, entices the reader with its depiction of reciprocal love and gender equality in a world gone mad.
Yet, amid the atrocities of society and the horrors of war, Faqir’s hauntingly poetic imagery, in a simple, but powerful love story stay with the reader, overpowering the injustices of the world.
Read
January 10, 2020Pillars of Salt is a story about two women, locked away in mental institution. Their diagnosis? Womanhood, inconvenience, courage to express their opinion. The author is weaving their sad histories in very dreamlike style, transferring the reader to the banks of Dead Sea and Jordanian desert, smelling the heavy scent of oranges and cardamon. I rather enjoyed it, although sometimes I struggled to understand the message as the character´s monologues kept changing focus on different things and exclaiming in between. Maybe it´s caused by the translation or completely my fault, as I do not have much experience with Middle East style of communication.
I quite enjoyed this book, it showed me yet another unknown corner of world, teeming with cultural differences and at the same time - familiarity. Women suffer in each society, there is no exception to name. The only difference is in how they bear this suffering and how the society allows them to express themselves.
Read as a part of Around the world in books challenge - month of January dedicated to Jordan.
I quite enjoyed this book, it showed me yet another unknown corner of world, teeming with cultural differences and at the same time - familiarity. Women suffer in each society, there is no exception to name. The only difference is in how they bear this suffering and how the society allows them to express themselves.
Read as a part of Around the world in books challenge - month of January dedicated to Jordan.
July 30, 2015
Pillars of Salt by Fadia Faqir shows how prominent patriarchy is in Muslim societies. In the book two women, Um Saad and Maha, are both put in a British mental hospital during the British mandate. They, both feeling abandoned and alone, confide in each other with the stories from their lives prior to the mental hospital. The book is written in mostly the perspective of Maha, but there is also a Story Teller who tells Maha's life through a different lens. Both women went through a great deal in their lives but have stayed strong despite their struggles.
Maha grew up with a reckless brother who disappointed their father. After Maha's mother died her father was left to raise the two children and their farm. Before Maha gets married her brother rapes her friend. He justifies his rape by claiming she tempted him with the music she played. The father was upset with his son but says to her friend she should not have tempted him. When Maha is married she is in love with her husband and could not be happier. Maha wants to give her husband a son, but they have a very hard time getting pregnant. She decides to go to a doctor to help her conceive a child. She endures a lot of pain in order to have a child with her husband. Shortly after Maha becomes pregnant her husband dies at war. She is left to raise this son on her own. Her brother Daffash, allows her to come back home but treats her with verbal and physical abuse as he did before. Maha is put into a mental hospital and Daffash is left to take care of her son.
Um Saad is forced into a marriage by her father to an older man. She ends up having eight kids with him, but he decides to marry another woman. Um Saad becomes angry because she is now treated as a servant. Her anger sends her into the mental hospital.
This book shares how truly strong both of these woman are. Muslim woman are controlled by their fathers and husbands, making them subordinate to male figures. Each of these woman, even though they are controlled, are still powerful and strong. This book really showed how hard life is for women in those societies and I think it did a great job showing the struggles.
Maha grew up with a reckless brother who disappointed their father. After Maha's mother died her father was left to raise the two children and their farm. Before Maha gets married her brother rapes her friend. He justifies his rape by claiming she tempted him with the music she played. The father was upset with his son but says to her friend she should not have tempted him. When Maha is married she is in love with her husband and could not be happier. Maha wants to give her husband a son, but they have a very hard time getting pregnant. She decides to go to a doctor to help her conceive a child. She endures a lot of pain in order to have a child with her husband. Shortly after Maha becomes pregnant her husband dies at war. She is left to raise this son on her own. Her brother Daffash, allows her to come back home but treats her with verbal and physical abuse as he did before. Maha is put into a mental hospital and Daffash is left to take care of her son.
Um Saad is forced into a marriage by her father to an older man. She ends up having eight kids with him, but he decides to marry another woman. Um Saad becomes angry because she is now treated as a servant. Her anger sends her into the mental hospital.
This book shares how truly strong both of these woman are. Muslim woman are controlled by their fathers and husbands, making them subordinate to male figures. Each of these woman, even though they are controlled, are still powerful and strong. This book really showed how hard life is for women in those societies and I think it did a great job showing the struggles.
September 4, 2019
This is a very interesting book in terms of the narrative perspective. There are three--one is the Storyteller, who clearly mythologizes the story of the second narrator, Maha, and does so with a clear bias toward the men's view of the way things are or should be. Then there's Maha, a compelling storyteller whom we are very inclined to trust, but who has been incarcerated in a mental hospital (in her version, not because of anything she has done), and who is clearly either lying or delusional about one important thing, but who is nevertheless very sympathetic. The third point of view is from Um Saad, also incarcerated in the mental hospital, but who has no voice of her own. We get her story filtered through Maha, who speaks for Um Saad. It's easy to read this book as a horror story of the way women have been treated in Jordan, but there are a few little notes which seem to undermine that vision just a bit--not enough to bring it down, but enough to make us question how we ever know what version of a story to believe.
September 12, 2014
Told through the perspective of two women, a young Bedouin living in the Jordan Valley, and a 'city woman' from Amman, as well as a male storyteller, Pillars of Salt is an interesting novel set in Jordan during and right after the British Mandate.
I really enjoyed the writting style (a lot more than Fadia Faqir's My Name is Salma), the story and the characters. I particularly enjoyed the use of multiple perspectives, as well the use of the fairy tale technique in the storyteller's perspective.
Here is my full video-review of this book:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BQ-A...
I really enjoyed the writting style (a lot more than Fadia Faqir's My Name is Salma), the story and the characters. I particularly enjoyed the use of multiple perspectives, as well the use of the fairy tale technique in the storyteller's perspective.
Here is my full video-review of this book:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9BQ-A...
April 27, 2009
Not only a fascinating exploration of the kind of life many arab women face, it was also a page-turning, good read. I'd definitely recommend this book to anyone looking to get into woman-centric Arab literature, and to those in love with literary criticism. It seems easy on the surface, but this novel is an incredibly complex exploration of truth, lies, and whether we can ever really separate the two.
Read
October 25, 2013As far as I am concerned,this novel was one of the best I have read.What I liked most was Fadia Faqir use of code-swithing,particularly lexical borrowing and tranforming from Arabic,as a way of finding a "new English",a language between two languages.This mixed new English seeks to encompass both her new home and ancestral one in order to enable her to participate in both words.
January 6, 2009
I read this for my Arab American Women Writers class. I don't really remember what the book was about. Something about an Arab woman escaping the clutches of her cruel brother, finding love, losing love, blah blah blah. The usual romantic stuff, except it was in Arabia in the early 20th century.
February 13, 2024
Heart-wrenching and angering with a set of characters you are pained to experience their lives with. You are forced into the perspective of those who cause the most pain while wanting nothing more but to remove these beautiful protagonists from their torment.
A very important book, but one that is difficult to read, not due to its pacing or incongruence, but its believable waves of joy and loss.
Please read this book if it crosses your path, its use of poetic and figurative language is enough to cement this as a work of art difficult to avoid.
A very important book, but one that is difficult to read, not due to its pacing or incongruence, but its believable waves of joy and loss.
Please read this book if it crosses your path, its use of poetic and figurative language is enough to cement this as a work of art difficult to avoid.
May 26, 2021
Around the World Reading Challenge: JORDAN
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This was a super interesting read! The style was quite lyrical and the structure was really interesting, with chapters alternating between Maha's past story of how she got to the asylum, Um Saad (her roommate) telling Maha in present time about how Um Saad got to the asylum, and a male "Storyteller" who presents a fictionalized account of Maha's story painting her as an evil sorceress instead of a victim of patriarchy, colonialism, and oppression.
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This was a super interesting read! The style was quite lyrical and the structure was really interesting, with chapters alternating between Maha's past story of how she got to the asylum, Um Saad (her roommate) telling Maha in present time about how Um Saad got to the asylum, and a male "Storyteller" who presents a fictionalized account of Maha's story painting her as an evil sorceress instead of a victim of patriarchy, colonialism, and oppression.
February 20, 2022
Really loved this closer look into Jordan, through both an Amman-based woman and Bedouin woman's eyes, during the British Mandate years (1920s - 40s). Three stars because it was a little hard to get into based on the writing and folkloric/oral tradition foundation and references, but fascinating once you do.
May 5, 2023
J’ai du le lire pour un cours…
C’était pas ouf mais y’avait des rebondissements i guess
C’était pas ouf mais y’avait des rebondissements i guess
February 3, 2020
This book has quite a few things going for it. The story is written beautifully, with an interesting perspective shift. I like the fact that there is another narrator we cannot trust. I liked to read about the cultural aspects and the hardships of life at the time. The character of Maha is pretty well constructed.
I wish there was a bit more nuance though to give more power to the story, which is pretty basic - women are oppressed by a patriarchal society. It reminded me a bit of A thousand splendid suns, another book that mostly delivers misery in the most beautiful writing possible.
Overall it was a good read, pretty short and accessible. I might check out the author again in the future.
I wish there was a bit more nuance though to give more power to the story, which is pretty basic - women are oppressed by a patriarchal society. It reminded me a bit of A thousand splendid suns, another book that mostly delivers misery in the most beautiful writing possible.
Overall it was a good read, pretty short and accessible. I might check out the author again in the future.
July 29, 2015
The fiction novel Pillars of Salt by Fadia Faqui is part of series known as the “International fiction emerging voices.” These books focus on sharing stories from countries outside their original borders. Fadia Faqui writes Pillars of Salt to share the live of women in anti-feminist countries. This novel takes place during the 20th century, when the British Mandate was in rule in the Middle East. Within in the book, there are three storytellers. Two of them, Maha and Um Saad, are Muslim women who are in a British mental hospital. While they are there, they become acquainted with each other, and eventually tell each other the story of their lives. As for the other narrator, a male storyteller shares another side of the story. He usually tells the other side of Maha, because the novel mainly focuses on her. Each narrator focuses on the sexism that occurs in the Muslim communities.
If only one word could be used to describe this novel, “freedom” would cover the basis. Throughout the novel, all of the characters are seeking freedom. The main character, Maha, is seeking refuge from the sexism in her community. Her brother rapes one of her best friends which sparks something deep insider her. Throughout Maha’s life, her brother tries to control her, by downgrading her and abusing her. Eventually Maha is married and falls in love with her husband. To please her husband and to keep the family going, Maha tries to have a child. Both the storyteller and Maha tell different point of views of the experience of Maha and her husband. Maha’s story seems to show happiness and that she is finally free. As for the storyteller, he tells it with Maha husband being in control of everything. After several months Maha realizes she unable to conceive a child, so she visits a doctor. Making sure that she can please her husband, Maha endures countless days of pain, which almost brings her to the point of death. When Maha is finally able to have a child, her husband dies in battle, leaving Maha as a single mother. Within in the Muslim culture this is looked down upon, so Maha receives judgment from the town she lives. Trying to regain her freedom from the oppression of her town, Maha moves back with her father. Both her and her son are now in danger because of Maha’s brother. After countless day of beatings and fear, Maha’s brother gathers his friends and forces the British to take his sister to mental hospital. This leaves Maha’s son to be raised by her brother, resulting in the son to become the same man her brother is. Maha is then placed in the mental hospital where she meets Um Saad. Like Maha, Um Saad was also trying to regain her freedom.
Within the Muslim cultures, husbands are able to have more than one wife. Um Saad experienced what that lifestyle feels like. Originally, Um Saad had eight children. However, her husband decided to marry another girl. Um Saad describes her as being ‘the women in green who liked the side of her mouth like a snake.” Eventually, Um Saad is placed into the mental hospital. There she obtains lice, resulting in her loosing her hair. While she is at the hospital, the doctors force her into doing things she is not confortable doing. Like Maha, all she wanted was her freedom.
Pillars of Salt by Fadia Faqui shows what life is like for Muslim women. Most Westerns do not realize the amount of freedom that these women have. It is part of the daily culture, that women are being raped, abused, and forced into actions. By reading Fadia Faqui’s novel, the voices of the countless women are finally heard.
If only one word could be used to describe this novel, “freedom” would cover the basis. Throughout the novel, all of the characters are seeking freedom. The main character, Maha, is seeking refuge from the sexism in her community. Her brother rapes one of her best friends which sparks something deep insider her. Throughout Maha’s life, her brother tries to control her, by downgrading her and abusing her. Eventually Maha is married and falls in love with her husband. To please her husband and to keep the family going, Maha tries to have a child. Both the storyteller and Maha tell different point of views of the experience of Maha and her husband. Maha’s story seems to show happiness and that she is finally free. As for the storyteller, he tells it with Maha husband being in control of everything. After several months Maha realizes she unable to conceive a child, so she visits a doctor. Making sure that she can please her husband, Maha endures countless days of pain, which almost brings her to the point of death. When Maha is finally able to have a child, her husband dies in battle, leaving Maha as a single mother. Within in the Muslim culture this is looked down upon, so Maha receives judgment from the town she lives. Trying to regain her freedom from the oppression of her town, Maha moves back with her father. Both her and her son are now in danger because of Maha’s brother. After countless day of beatings and fear, Maha’s brother gathers his friends and forces the British to take his sister to mental hospital. This leaves Maha’s son to be raised by her brother, resulting in the son to become the same man her brother is. Maha is then placed in the mental hospital where she meets Um Saad. Like Maha, Um Saad was also trying to regain her freedom.
Within the Muslim cultures, husbands are able to have more than one wife. Um Saad experienced what that lifestyle feels like. Originally, Um Saad had eight children. However, her husband decided to marry another girl. Um Saad describes her as being ‘the women in green who liked the side of her mouth like a snake.” Eventually, Um Saad is placed into the mental hospital. There she obtains lice, resulting in her loosing her hair. While she is at the hospital, the doctors force her into doing things she is not confortable doing. Like Maha, all she wanted was her freedom.
Pillars of Salt by Fadia Faqui shows what life is like for Muslim women. Most Westerns do not realize the amount of freedom that these women have. It is part of the daily culture, that women are being raped, abused, and forced into actions. By reading Fadia Faqui’s novel, the voices of the countless women are finally heard.
May 8, 2016
First and foremost, read this book. It’s beautifully written. It’ll break your heart. Faqir writes the love between Maha and her husband on their first night together so tenderly perhaps that alone is worth the read. It’ll do what all good books do (in my opinion) which is mess you up a little but ultimately help you see the world for the better.
This book centers around two women- Um Saad and Maha- in a mental institution. Put their by their male relatives, they are subject to a variety of “treatments” (shock therapy, tranquilizing meds) which suppress their voices. Despite this, however, they still manage to do the work of telling their stories. Much like the mythological Scheherezade, they wait until night time, when it is dark, to enter into a world of their own through recounting their lives and sharing details of themselves with one another. While Um Saad is from the city, Maha is a Bedouin woman from a more rural area near the Dead Sea. Both women tell stories of the suffering which led them to their captivity within the hospital, painting pictures of marriages and families from which they are now separate.
Fadia Faqir’s language is downright heartbreaking as she details Maha’s relationship with her brother, her garden, and her husband Harb. In between pieces of her and Um Saad’s stories are chapters of text from a male storyteller - whose voice often distorts and reconfigures Maha’s story through misogynistic and Orientalist views. The opening chapter, confusing in its narrative structure, is written from the perspective of this voice. While the scenes in the mental hospital are hard - knowing both women’s voices are subdued and interned by the institution - Faqir’s craft of the text is beautiful, making it well worth the read.
One of the recurring themes which I enjoyed was Maha’s love of her land and garden. She often remarks on her henna and radish beds and her devotion to the land demonstrates her deep connection to home. It is through this Faqir explores themes of exile and infertility - and breathes life into Maha’s character. The title is a reference to Abrahamic religious texts and the story of Lot’s wives (who against God’s orders turned around to look back on their hometowns as they left and, as a punishment from God, were turned to pillars of salt). The title also communicates this rootedness in home as it reflects the pain of women leaving their homeland. The women in the text similarly struggle with having to leaving home - whatever spaces (bodies, kitchens, marriage beds, gardens) they may have found safety. The beauty of the text comes from the looking back, from their ability to tell their stories and find a new space within those words.
This book centers around two women- Um Saad and Maha- in a mental institution. Put their by their male relatives, they are subject to a variety of “treatments” (shock therapy, tranquilizing meds) which suppress their voices. Despite this, however, they still manage to do the work of telling their stories. Much like the mythological Scheherezade, they wait until night time, when it is dark, to enter into a world of their own through recounting their lives and sharing details of themselves with one another. While Um Saad is from the city, Maha is a Bedouin woman from a more rural area near the Dead Sea. Both women tell stories of the suffering which led them to their captivity within the hospital, painting pictures of marriages and families from which they are now separate.
Fadia Faqir’s language is downright heartbreaking as she details Maha’s relationship with her brother, her garden, and her husband Harb. In between pieces of her and Um Saad’s stories are chapters of text from a male storyteller - whose voice often distorts and reconfigures Maha’s story through misogynistic and Orientalist views. The opening chapter, confusing in its narrative structure, is written from the perspective of this voice. While the scenes in the mental hospital are hard - knowing both women’s voices are subdued and interned by the institution - Faqir’s craft of the text is beautiful, making it well worth the read.
One of the recurring themes which I enjoyed was Maha’s love of her land and garden. She often remarks on her henna and radish beds and her devotion to the land demonstrates her deep connection to home. It is through this Faqir explores themes of exile and infertility - and breathes life into Maha’s character. The title is a reference to Abrahamic religious texts and the story of Lot’s wives (who against God’s orders turned around to look back on their hometowns as they left and, as a punishment from God, were turned to pillars of salt). The title also communicates this rootedness in home as it reflects the pain of women leaving their homeland. The women in the text similarly struggle with having to leaving home - whatever spaces (bodies, kitchens, marriage beds, gardens) they may have found safety. The beauty of the text comes from the looking back, from their ability to tell their stories and find a new space within those words.
September 27, 2023
"Hold your forehead high. Let him shoot us. Better than living without honor."
A book of poetic lessons, soft tears, and clenched fists, "Pillars of Salt" stands alone. I went into this book not knowing what to expect. To say that I was surprised in the best and worst ways! Faqir captures the interwoven stories of three main perspectives. The Storyteller, Maha, and Um Saad. Each providing their own point of view, a powerful yet haunting story begins to unfold. Who's telling the truth? That's for you to find out.
"Pillars of Salt" depicts the crushing weight of hushed women in a culture ruled by men, the anger of justice never served, and the embrace of the strength of women everywhere. If you enjoy a story with historical accuracy, a story aimed to push your preconceptions, and a story that makes you so frustrated and engaged that you have no choice but to keep reading—"Pillars of Salt" is definitely for you.
Though there have been critiques about unprovided nuance—specifically for the various demographics in the Middle East, I believe that this is a story that must be told. It is true that the circumstances in this story are not everywhere in the Middle East. However, this story is truth in its own way. Go into it understanding that this is not to make a generalization, and allow Faqir's story to challenge you.
The depth and rawness in each chapter is powerful. The setting, the characters, and the plot is solid. "Pillars of Salt" is staying on my bookshelf, and if I could rate it more than 5 stars I would!
A book of poetic lessons, soft tears, and clenched fists, "Pillars of Salt" stands alone. I went into this book not knowing what to expect. To say that I was surprised in the best and worst ways! Faqir captures the interwoven stories of three main perspectives. The Storyteller, Maha, and Um Saad. Each providing their own point of view, a powerful yet haunting story begins to unfold. Who's telling the truth? That's for you to find out.
"Pillars of Salt" depicts the crushing weight of hushed women in a culture ruled by men, the anger of justice never served, and the embrace of the strength of women everywhere. If you enjoy a story with historical accuracy, a story aimed to push your preconceptions, and a story that makes you so frustrated and engaged that you have no choice but to keep reading—"Pillars of Salt" is definitely for you.
Though there have been critiques about unprovided nuance—specifically for the various demographics in the Middle East, I believe that this is a story that must be told. It is true that the circumstances in this story are not everywhere in the Middle East. However, this story is truth in its own way. Go into it understanding that this is not to make a generalization, and allow Faqir's story to challenge you.
The depth and rawness in each chapter is powerful. The setting, the characters, and the plot is solid. "Pillars of Salt" is staying on my bookshelf, and if I could rate it more than 5 stars I would!
March 2, 2018
Let me start by just stating a fact which is that Fadia Faqir is a brilliant writer. Her style of writing just proves it every single time I read one of her novels. I just love her way of writing and you will know what I am referring to if you have read her books. Every time I read one of her novels, I’m fascinated by her way of writing.
This novel and her previous novels tend to focus on women in a way that gives the reader a very clear idea of their lives with utmost amount of details that I find it very pleasing to read. Usually when the author provides a high level of details, the reader tends to get bored quickly but the amount of details that Fadia provides is crystal clear and creative in its own way that it does not bore the reader putting in mind the fact of the excessive details and descriptions provided in her novels.
Also, her novels tend to focus on more than one character so we notice that the narrative is told from different characters sharing different points of view as we saw in this book.
I have read all of Fadia’s novels except her first novel and I am currently on the hunt for it.
5 out of 5 with no doubt.
This novel and her previous novels tend to focus on women in a way that gives the reader a very clear idea of their lives with utmost amount of details that I find it very pleasing to read. Usually when the author provides a high level of details, the reader tends to get bored quickly but the amount of details that Fadia provides is crystal clear and creative in its own way that it does not bore the reader putting in mind the fact of the excessive details and descriptions provided in her novels.
Also, her novels tend to focus on more than one character so we notice that the narrative is told from different characters sharing different points of view as we saw in this book.
I have read all of Fadia’s novels except her first novel and I am currently on the hunt for it.
5 out of 5 with no doubt.
February 24, 2013
It was a joy to read this book. I find it almost similar to the Joy Luck Club, but rather with less characters and more in-depth. In the book there are three characters, which are Maha, Um Saad, and The Storyteller. Maha is the protagonist as she is one of the patients at a mental hospital. Um Saad is the second main character who is also in the same hospital as Maha. The Storyteller (which I somewhat despised) would place false rumors or images of Maha as a woman who seduces men and was sexist. Maha and Um Saad shared the stories of how their lives came to be and how they ended up in the mental hospital. Um Saad was the talker, so she would tell about her life by speaking to Maha. As I won't dwell on what happened in their stories, it is a wonderful story that can go by what some women in patriarchy societies deal with...especially in the Middle East. It is a book I can relate myself to to considering of how some culture traditions reign over religion in some parts of the world.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
February 24, 2011
This is not, I think, the kind of book I usually care for, but I really loved this. The author was able to make real the terrible inequalities in Jordanian society and the limitations in the lives of the women, without slamming it over the reader's head. Neither did I find a particularly anti-male or anti-Islamic message, as there is in a lot of books about women and Islam. There were some very wonderful male characters in this story and you got the impression that those men who were bad, would have been bad no matter what time and place they grew up in.
I only wish the author had written more about Um Saad's life. I loved all the details of Maha's story but felt Um Saad didn't have enough page space.
I only wish the author had written more about Um Saad's life. I loved all the details of Maha's story but felt Um Saad didn't have enough page space.
March 9, 2016
A good read, but very depressing. Story of two Arab women in 1950's Jordan, committed to a British run mental hospital. Told in a traditional Arabic storytelling manner. Both women are repressed, and constrained by Arab and Islamic traditions. Victims of patriarchy, and violence. One character, Maha strives to overcome the repression, and violence, and has an ally in her ailing father. One really hopes that she will triumph in some way over her surroundings. Ultimately the society she lives in is just too overwhelming, even for a women like Maha: a unique woman of such inner and outer strength.
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