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Salvation Army
An autobiographical coming-of-age novel by the the "only gay man" in Morocco.
An autobiographical novel by turn naive and cunning, funny and moving, this most recent work by Moroccan expatriate Abdellah Taia is a major addition to the new French literature emerging from the North African Arabic diaspora. Salvation Army is a coming-of-age novel that tells the story of Taia's life with complete disclosure - from a childhood bound by family order and latent (homo)sexual tensions in the poor city of Sal', through an adolescence in Tangier charged by the young writer's attraction to his eldest brother, to a disappointing arrival in the Western world to study in Geneva in adulthood.
In so doing, Salvation Army manages to burn through the author's first-person singularity to embody the complex m'lange of fear and desire projected by Arabs on Western culture. Recently hailed by his native country's press as "the first Moroccan to have the courage to publicly assert his difference," Taia, through his calmly transgressive work, has "outed" himself as "the only gay man" in a country whose theocratic law still declares homosexuality a crime. The persistence of prejudices on all sides of the Mediterranean and Atlantic makes the translation of Taia's work both a literary and political event.
An autobiographical novel by turn naive and cunning, funny and moving, this most recent work by Moroccan expatriate Abdellah Taia is a major addition to the new French literature emerging from the North African Arabic diaspora. Salvation Army is a coming-of-age novel that tells the story of Taia's life with complete disclosure - from a childhood bound by family order and latent (homo)sexual tensions in the poor city of Sal', through an adolescence in Tangier charged by the young writer's attraction to his eldest brother, to a disappointing arrival in the Western world to study in Geneva in adulthood.
In so doing, Salvation Army manages to burn through the author's first-person singularity to embody the complex m'lange of fear and desire projected by Arabs on Western culture. Recently hailed by his native country's press as "the first Moroccan to have the courage to publicly assert his difference," Taia, through his calmly transgressive work, has "outed" himself as "the only gay man" in a country whose theocratic law still declares homosexuality a crime. The persistence of prejudices on all sides of the Mediterranean and Atlantic makes the translation of Taia's work both a literary and political event.
144 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 2006
20 people are currently reading
1256 people want to read
About the author
Abdellah Taïa
34 books327 followersAbdellah Taïa is a Moroccan writer born in Salé in 1973. He grew up in a neighborhood called “Hay Salam” located between Salé and Rabat, where his father Mohammed works at the General Library of the capital. His mother M’Barka, an illiterate housewife, gives so much meaning to his days and accompanies his sleep with her nocturnal melodies. This son of a working-class district and second youngest of a household of ten children is the first Moroccan writer to publicly assume his homosexuality.
Abdellah Taïa has been living in Paris since 1999, where he obtained a doctorate in Letters at La Sorbonne University while managing to write 5 books. The last one, called “an Arabian melancholia”, was just published by “Seuil” on March 6th of 2008
Abdellah Taïa has been living in Paris since 1999, where he obtained a doctorate in Letters at La Sorbonne University while managing to write 5 books. The last one, called “an Arabian melancholia”, was just published by “Seuil” on March 6th of 2008
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 116 reviews
April 8, 2016
Salvation Army is autobiographical, to an extent, it’s based on Taïa’s own experiences growing up in an arab household, with parents who fought and loved, an older brother he (and the whole family) adored, multiple sisters, and being a young gay boy. And it’s the story of a young arab man entering academia, learning French, coming to Geneva; a meeting with the Western world that, from afar could seem to offer salvation, but up close is so many other things. It’s at first the young boy surrounded by family and then, as Taïa himself described it when he visited my university, the ‘hero’ alone in Geneva. It’s a mirror, the two parts reflecting each other.
Everything that we experience in the second half, when Taïa is older, is present in the first half, in his childhood. It’s a moment from childhood and a moment from adulthood. The violence, the love, the heartbreak, the betrayal, the hope, everything he’ll experience later is present in those moments from his childhood. And it’s nothing that you might expect. Taïa captures perfectly the duality, the complexity of any family and any person, arab or not, gay or not. We’re never just one thing, we’re always several people crammed behind one face, and the person we portray outside the house is the different from the one you meet inside. Perhaps being gay, and knowing it from an early age, made him more susceptible to these observations – that there’s always something of yourself you hide from others.
Taïa is in no away ashamed, he writes with honesty and without regret. He’s helped bring a more positive awareness of homosexuality to his native country, Marocco, and it’d be easy to look at this as a gay coming-of-age story, which in a way it is, but it’s more unique than that, more complex and nuanced. It’s not the story of a life, it’s the story of two moments, and everything unsaid, but lived between those two moments. And there’s something relentless and brutal in his writing, perhaps it’s in the honesty, or the poetry, or the way he seems so determined to tell the story he’s telling.
When he visited my university he gave a very informal talk to my class about his writing, his early life, why he writes in French, his filmmaking and various other things. He was incredibly eloquent and likeable, he seemed extremely reflected and like he was honestly trying to get at something deeper with his writing. He stated himself that he doesn’t write to solve problems, that whatever conflict or inner battle he’s facing in real life doesn’t go away as he writes a book, it’s the same afterwards. Writing is rather a way to fight the language. Marocco has a lot of French speakers, and they always spoke with an arrogant, hostile air, and Taïa wanted to use that, to take it and take revenge on the language, to fight it.
I think that’s what you can sense when reading this book (and possibly his other books). There’s a ferocity to it, and a vulnerability as well, a desire to fight your way to freedom through this language, while being very aware you can’t truly escape it. It becomes more than just a simple story, it serves a larger purpose.
In any case, Abdellah Taïa is an interesting, talented, unconventional writer, and I’m very excited to read more of him. He seemed honest and extremely reflected, being incredibly aware of his own position and what he was struggling to do (he joked that even being in bed with a Frenchman was colonialism). Simply a really, really compelling person and author. Please check out his work, I promise it’ll be worth it.
Everything that we experience in the second half, when Taïa is older, is present in the first half, in his childhood. It’s a moment from childhood and a moment from adulthood. The violence, the love, the heartbreak, the betrayal, the hope, everything he’ll experience later is present in those moments from his childhood. And it’s nothing that you might expect. Taïa captures perfectly the duality, the complexity of any family and any person, arab or not, gay or not. We’re never just one thing, we’re always several people crammed behind one face, and the person we portray outside the house is the different from the one you meet inside. Perhaps being gay, and knowing it from an early age, made him more susceptible to these observations – that there’s always something of yourself you hide from others.
Taïa is in no away ashamed, he writes with honesty and without regret. He’s helped bring a more positive awareness of homosexuality to his native country, Marocco, and it’d be easy to look at this as a gay coming-of-age story, which in a way it is, but it’s more unique than that, more complex and nuanced. It’s not the story of a life, it’s the story of two moments, and everything unsaid, but lived between those two moments. And there’s something relentless and brutal in his writing, perhaps it’s in the honesty, or the poetry, or the way he seems so determined to tell the story he’s telling.
When he visited my university he gave a very informal talk to my class about his writing, his early life, why he writes in French, his filmmaking and various other things. He was incredibly eloquent and likeable, he seemed extremely reflected and like he was honestly trying to get at something deeper with his writing. He stated himself that he doesn’t write to solve problems, that whatever conflict or inner battle he’s facing in real life doesn’t go away as he writes a book, it’s the same afterwards. Writing is rather a way to fight the language. Marocco has a lot of French speakers, and they always spoke with an arrogant, hostile air, and Taïa wanted to use that, to take it and take revenge on the language, to fight it.
I think that’s what you can sense when reading this book (and possibly his other books). There’s a ferocity to it, and a vulnerability as well, a desire to fight your way to freedom through this language, while being very aware you can’t truly escape it. It becomes more than just a simple story, it serves a larger purpose.
In any case, Abdellah Taïa is an interesting, talented, unconventional writer, and I’m very excited to read more of him. He seemed honest and extremely reflected, being incredibly aware of his own position and what he was struggling to do (he joked that even being in bed with a Frenchman was colonialism). Simply a really, really compelling person and author. Please check out his work, I promise it’ll be worth it.
March 4, 2018
Having Edmund White write the introduction to this autobiographical novel is quite ironic. Taïa became the first openly gay Arab writer in 2006, expanding his repertoire to filmmaking since then. I think he remains the only openly gay Arab writer, which says a lot about homosexuality and Islam.
It also means that the introduction by White can be read as a kind of cultural appropriation. This is a great and important book because White says it is (White, by default, is the kind of man of letters that Taïa, according to Western culture, must aspire to becoming. Especially if he is gay.)
Fortunately, despite White’s typically florid introduction – trust him to hone in on the detail of Taïa sniffing cum stains on his brother’s underpants – this book is able to stand on its own. The translation is a bit roughshod, with a lot of grammatical and editing errors, but it is this essential rawness of the text that adds so much to its power.
White does manage to highlight the indelible sadness imbued in these pages, entitling his introduction ‘Love and Loneliness’. The one line that stood out for me is his comment that “this is, almost, parenthetically, a book about the love of men for men.”
Despite some potently erotic and incredibly evocative scenes – a group masturbation session in a public toilet in Geneva, a threesome with two strangers on a train – larger questions such as Taïa coming out to his family, or perhaps his brother’s ultimate reaction to his unrequited love – are barely hinted at.
Instead these sorts of questions are subsumed in larger questions of identity and diaspora, as in Taïa’s complex and tempestuous relationship with Jean from Switzerland, a relationship that can never transcend its transactional nature: being so much younger, Taïa is automatically seen as using the only currency available to him to ‘buy’ his way out of a poor, working class destiny in a rundown Rabat neighbourhood: his body.
Of course, the larger transactional relationship that dominates the book is the fraught love-hate affair between postmodern Europe and postcolonial Africa, especially the West’s rather jaundiced view of Islam and Arab culture in general, which is seen as being inherently regressive and oppressive.
Taïa’s honesty here is quite searing. The section where he arrives in Geneva, only to be abandoned and left to his own devices in a foreign country, culture and city by the foreigner who initially seduced him (or was it the other way around?) would have embittered most people, I think.
But here Taïa finds an inner strength, and an abiding faith in the goodness of people, that is truly inspiring. So in one sense it is perhaps fitting that Edmund White himself points us to this book, which remains a beacon of how books can transform both lives and perceptions.
It also means that the introduction by White can be read as a kind of cultural appropriation. This is a great and important book because White says it is (White, by default, is the kind of man of letters that Taïa, according to Western culture, must aspire to becoming. Especially if he is gay.)
Fortunately, despite White’s typically florid introduction – trust him to hone in on the detail of Taïa sniffing cum stains on his brother’s underpants – this book is able to stand on its own. The translation is a bit roughshod, with a lot of grammatical and editing errors, but it is this essential rawness of the text that adds so much to its power.
White does manage to highlight the indelible sadness imbued in these pages, entitling his introduction ‘Love and Loneliness’. The one line that stood out for me is his comment that “this is, almost, parenthetically, a book about the love of men for men.”
Despite some potently erotic and incredibly evocative scenes – a group masturbation session in a public toilet in Geneva, a threesome with two strangers on a train – larger questions such as Taïa coming out to his family, or perhaps his brother’s ultimate reaction to his unrequited love – are barely hinted at.
Instead these sorts of questions are subsumed in larger questions of identity and diaspora, as in Taïa’s complex and tempestuous relationship with Jean from Switzerland, a relationship that can never transcend its transactional nature: being so much younger, Taïa is automatically seen as using the only currency available to him to ‘buy’ his way out of a poor, working class destiny in a rundown Rabat neighbourhood: his body.
Of course, the larger transactional relationship that dominates the book is the fraught love-hate affair between postmodern Europe and postcolonial Africa, especially the West’s rather jaundiced view of Islam and Arab culture in general, which is seen as being inherently regressive and oppressive.
Taïa’s honesty here is quite searing. The section where he arrives in Geneva, only to be abandoned and left to his own devices in a foreign country, culture and city by the foreigner who initially seduced him (or was it the other way around?) would have embittered most people, I think.
But here Taïa finds an inner strength, and an abiding faith in the goodness of people, that is truly inspiring. So in one sense it is perhaps fitting that Edmund White himself points us to this book, which remains a beacon of how books can transform both lives and perceptions.
March 21, 2022
A perplexing achievement. The language used creates a distance between the text and the reader. The story is fairly common, yet the result in somehow mysterious. The language is very straightforward, yet Taia comes off as profound. One wonders how much of this is the translation, and how much is due to Taia's mother tongue. So much of our thinking is shaped by the tool of language (instead of thinking doing the shaping) and yet this influence is all but invisible to most people.
I hope to have a chance to read this short autobiographical novel again.
UPDATE: Read this again! Saw the movie and then searched out the book, only to realize I had already read it (the movie is only loosely based on the book). So perhaps everything seems more straightforward now because I've read it twice and seen a screen adaptation.
I hope to have a chance to read this short autobiographical novel again.
UPDATE: Read this again! Saw the movie and then searched out the book, only to realize I had already read it (the movie is only loosely based on the book). So perhaps everything seems more straightforward now because I've read it twice and seen a screen adaptation.
June 14, 2021
He just gets it, he truly just gets it. Feels like having coffee with a close friend who's so very similiar to you, to whom you can talk about your lives without having to justify
November 2, 2021
This is my first Abdellah Taïa and it definitely won’t be my last. This is an autobiographical, coming of age story, of the authors experience of growing up in Morocco, being gay and ultimately leaving Morocco. I like the honesty in which the author writes, without regret. He isn’t afraid to be vulnerable, there is humour and heart break but there is also a naivety, an innocence that gets squashed down by experience and life.
‘Lose myself entirely, the better to find myself. To summon, one gray and very cold morning, an army for my own salvation’
‘Lose myself entirely, the better to find myself. To summon, one gray and very cold morning, an army for my own salvation’
July 12, 2020
I did not like the writing at all which may have been because of the poor translation.
Also, the structure and the narrative felt abrupt, incomplete and ineptly incohesive.
The emotions often seemed to be (overly) dramatised (again, probably because of the poor translation) and despite some moving bits, the overall effect of the book was lost on me.
Also, the structure and the narrative felt abrupt, incomplete and ineptly incohesive.
The emotions often seemed to be (overly) dramatised (again, probably because of the poor translation) and despite some moving bits, the overall effect of the book was lost on me.
April 10, 2010
My stodgy side reappears! A memoir that ruminates for a long time on the author's giant crush on his older brother, and doesn't really contain much other than that, except his parents' fights and this Swiss guy he fucks for awhile, and then doesn't. There isn't much of substance here, and I am willing to admit that the incest threw me out of the narrative, but frankly, there wasn't much of a narrative to begin with.
October 18, 2023
O carte faină dar înspre care trebuie mers cu moderație, nu cu sacul. Nu se poate găsi între crengi un titan ori un revoluționar, dar un Edouard Louis, da, unul mai moderat, mai senin, unul la fel de dezinhibat.
În peisajul cărților în care autorii rămân ei înșiși, în care viața lor este materia primă din care se clădește totul, în care persoana întâi aduce o intimitate absolută, eu am găsit volumul valid, curajos, eliberat de pudori feciorelnice. O carte despre libertate și libertăți, una despre un drum spre o devenire. Abdellah Taīa este un tânăr marocan care își depășește condiția și își croiește un drum în afara granițelor impuse. Granițelor culturale, religioase, geografice și a celor care ii impun sa fie un bărbat heterosexual. Mirosurile, senzațiile, simțurile și gândurile născute în casa traditional marocană de la inceputul romanului, construiesc un debut foarte colorat și cald. Capitolele următoare capătă o anume gravitate, un ton mai controlat, dar niciodată tragic, melodramatic, sentimental sau exagerat. Introspecția, observarea unor nuanțe, au o anume finețe si la fel este și cu ritmul. Autorul știe bine când trebuie sa se oprească si sa schimbe planul. Poate ca afinitatea pentru cinematografie l-a învățat cum sa folosească bine schimbarea de cadru si de profunzime. Și ca scurtarea unor scene le ajuta pe cele care rămân sa adune mai multă consistență.
Fascinația Europei și a culturii ei se vede puțin dar suficient pentru a sugera ce mobil puternic devine pentru tânărul Abdellah. Un turist elvețian, un bărbat instruit, având aura unui profesor universitar rasat, îndrăgostit de Marcoc și de exotismul istoriei lui, este tot ce putea sa-i trimită soarta mai bun. Sau?
O carte despre cât costă visele. O carte despre ce suntem în ochii celorlalți și în proprii ochi. O carte despre Armata Salvării, acest loc al celor pierduți și abandonați, dar una interioară, privată. Locul dinăuntru nostru unde ne putem refugia mereu pentru a ne pune pe picioare. Pe propriile picioare. O carte bună pe care am citit-o cu plăcere.
În peisajul cărților în care autorii rămân ei înșiși, în care viața lor este materia primă din care se clădește totul, în care persoana întâi aduce o intimitate absolută, eu am găsit volumul valid, curajos, eliberat de pudori feciorelnice. O carte despre libertate și libertăți, una despre un drum spre o devenire. Abdellah Taīa este un tânăr marocan care își depășește condiția și își croiește un drum în afara granițelor impuse. Granițelor culturale, religioase, geografice și a celor care ii impun sa fie un bărbat heterosexual. Mirosurile, senzațiile, simțurile și gândurile născute în casa traditional marocană de la inceputul romanului, construiesc un debut foarte colorat și cald. Capitolele următoare capătă o anume gravitate, un ton mai controlat, dar niciodată tragic, melodramatic, sentimental sau exagerat. Introspecția, observarea unor nuanțe, au o anume finețe si la fel este și cu ritmul. Autorul știe bine când trebuie sa se oprească si sa schimbe planul. Poate ca afinitatea pentru cinematografie l-a învățat cum sa folosească bine schimbarea de cadru si de profunzime. Și ca scurtarea unor scene le ajuta pe cele care rămân sa adune mai multă consistență.
Fascinația Europei și a culturii ei se vede puțin dar suficient pentru a sugera ce mobil puternic devine pentru tânărul Abdellah. Un turist elvețian, un bărbat instruit, având aura unui profesor universitar rasat, îndrăgostit de Marcoc și de exotismul istoriei lui, este tot ce putea sa-i trimită soarta mai bun. Sau?
O carte despre cât costă visele. O carte despre ce suntem în ochii celorlalți și în proprii ochi. O carte despre Armata Salvării, acest loc al celor pierduți și abandonați, dar una interioară, privată. Locul dinăuntru nostru unde ne putem refugia mereu pentru a ne pune pe picioare. Pe propriile picioare. O carte bună pe care am citit-o cu plăcere.
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August 6, 2024geniusly paced and plotted. and now im thinking a lot about queers in the global south in terms of the assimilation of like queerness/queer writing into the academy, weird breakups, power dynamics, becoming the self, etc. hope to read more taïa soon! though im not sure how many of his books have been translated to english besides this one
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March 8, 2023Touchant!
January 28, 2016
Three simple yet haunting intertwining tales of a boy turned young man who is an outsider no matter who he's with or where he goes, whether he is home with his mother, on travels with his brothers, or in a foreign country abandoned by a former lover. Taïa caught my attention with his emotional gutpunch of an essay in the New York Times about being a gay boy growing up in Morocco and this memoir-cum-novel holds just as much power and casts an even larger spell. His astute perspective and lonely tone as an outsider and nomad with no true home reminded me of Damon Galgut's In a Strange Room. My only drawback with this novel is that I wish I spoke French so I could read the original without the barrier of translation. Highly recommend.
October 28, 2017
I liked the first part of the book, Taia's relation with his mother and brother was very interesting and engrossing. The latter part becomes a little flat for me. However, I admire the honesty with which Taia writes. The prose is very simple but is not immature. The most lucid part is about Abdelbekir and Taia's relation. It is quite engaging.
I finished it in 1.8 hrs with an average of 265 w/m.
I finished it in 1.8 hrs with an average of 265 w/m.
October 12, 2017
i finished this book in what? 4 hours of reading? and i have to say im still hungry, intrigued to know more.... i wont speak about the literature, it s quite simple for those who hate to read.... but 154 pages is not enough for a person as curious as i am.
November 25, 2022
El pan a secas de Abdellah Taïa
March 30, 2025
L’Esercito della salvezza di Abdellah Taïa (2006), conosciuto nei media arabi come il primo scrittore marocchino ad aver fatto coming out in quanto omosessuale, è un romanzo di formazione scritto in prima persona, con uno stile intimo che ricorda un diario. È anche un romanzo autobiografico: Abdellah è al tempo stesso autore, narratore e personaggio principale.
Il romanzo è diviso in tre parti, esattamente come la casa in cui è cresciuto, composta da tre stanze.
Nella prima parte, l’autore descrive il suo rapporto con i genitori e l’infanzia trascorsa in una famiglia marocchina modesta, tra sei sorelle e due fratelli. È stato super piacevole conoscere la loro quotidianità.
Nella seconda, si concentra sulla figura del fratello maggiore, verso cui prova un misto di ammirazione e un innamoramento ambiguo, che lo aiuta a scoprire la propria omosessualità. Questo avviene durante un viaggio a Tangeri fra maschi.
La lettura è pervasa da una forte nostalgia, soprattutto per chi, come me, conosce le ambientazioni evocate: Salé, la spiaggia, Rabat, Oudaya, Kenitra, Tangeri, Tétouan, El Medyaq.
Infine, nella terza parte, il racconto si sposta in Svizzera dopo un salto temporale: Abdellah si trasferisce a Ginevra per motivi di studio, dopo aver studiato letteratura francese a Rabat e ottenuto una borsa di studio. Qui diventa uno studente internazionale in cerca della propria strada. Senza un posto dove dormire, trova ospitalità presso l’associazione cristiana L’Esercito della Salvezza, da cui il romanzo prende il titolo.
In questa parte compare il personaggio di Jean, il secondo uomo più importante del romanzo dopo il fratello maggiore. Jean è un docente universitario svizzero che Abdellah aveva già incontrato in Marocco. È il tipico europeo omosessuale che viaggia in Marocco per passare le vacanze e godere delle sue bellezze, sia naturali che culturali, e ovviamente fisiche (turismo sessuale, alla ricerca di giovani ragazzi). A Ginevra, offre ospitalità ad Abdellah per le stesse ragioni per cui lo aveva fatto l’associazione. Ma tra i due si sviluppa una relazione d’amore, sospesa fra sesso e necessità economiche, e segnata da un evidente squilibrio di potere.
La narrazione nella terza parte del romanzo alterna il soggiorno a Ginevra a numerosi flashback sul Marocco, rafforzando il senso di nostalgia che pervade il romanzo. Solo negli ultimi passaggi si comprende il significato del titolo e il messaggio che l’autore vuole trasmettere sulla "salvezza".
Taïa racconta la sua adolescenza e il risveglio della propria omosessualità in un contesto sociale segnato da rigidi divieti, in cui l’omosessualità è criminalizzata. Tuttavia, adotta una scrittura serena e pacifica, evitando di affrontare esplicitamente la repressione e la violenza sociale. Questa scelta narrativa dà l’impressione di un’autocensura, forse dettata dalla volontà di non esporre apertamente le persecuzioni subite in Marocco.
Nel romanzo, il suo arrivo in Europa avviene attraverso il percorso accademico, che rappresenta per lui non solo un’opportunità di riscatto, ma anche la realizzazione del sogno di diventare un intellettuale e stabilirsi a Parigi.
Tra i temi minori emergono il rapporto con il cinema, con la lingua francese e la sua duplice identità culturale marocchina, fra la lingua araba e l'islam e l’influenza francofona occidentale.
Un romanzo intenso, che mescola tenerezza e innocenza, facendo emergere il delicato equilibrio tra desiderio, famiglia e società.
Il romanzo è diviso in tre parti, esattamente come la casa in cui è cresciuto, composta da tre stanze.
Nella prima parte, l’autore descrive il suo rapporto con i genitori e l’infanzia trascorsa in una famiglia marocchina modesta, tra sei sorelle e due fratelli. È stato super piacevole conoscere la loro quotidianità.
Nella seconda, si concentra sulla figura del fratello maggiore, verso cui prova un misto di ammirazione e un innamoramento ambiguo, che lo aiuta a scoprire la propria omosessualità. Questo avviene durante un viaggio a Tangeri fra maschi.
La lettura è pervasa da una forte nostalgia, soprattutto per chi, come me, conosce le ambientazioni evocate: Salé, la spiaggia, Rabat, Oudaya, Kenitra, Tangeri, Tétouan, El Medyaq.
Infine, nella terza parte, il racconto si sposta in Svizzera dopo un salto temporale: Abdellah si trasferisce a Ginevra per motivi di studio, dopo aver studiato letteratura francese a Rabat e ottenuto una borsa di studio. Qui diventa uno studente internazionale in cerca della propria strada. Senza un posto dove dormire, trova ospitalità presso l’associazione cristiana L’Esercito della Salvezza, da cui il romanzo prende il titolo.
In questa parte compare il personaggio di Jean, il secondo uomo più importante del romanzo dopo il fratello maggiore. Jean è un docente universitario svizzero che Abdellah aveva già incontrato in Marocco. È il tipico europeo omosessuale che viaggia in Marocco per passare le vacanze e godere delle sue bellezze, sia naturali che culturali, e ovviamente fisiche (turismo sessuale, alla ricerca di giovani ragazzi). A Ginevra, offre ospitalità ad Abdellah per le stesse ragioni per cui lo aveva fatto l’associazione. Ma tra i due si sviluppa una relazione d’amore, sospesa fra sesso e necessità economiche, e segnata da un evidente squilibrio di potere.
La narrazione nella terza parte del romanzo alterna il soggiorno a Ginevra a numerosi flashback sul Marocco, rafforzando il senso di nostalgia che pervade il romanzo. Solo negli ultimi passaggi si comprende il significato del titolo e il messaggio che l’autore vuole trasmettere sulla "salvezza".
Taïa racconta la sua adolescenza e il risveglio della propria omosessualità in un contesto sociale segnato da rigidi divieti, in cui l’omosessualità è criminalizzata. Tuttavia, adotta una scrittura serena e pacifica, evitando di affrontare esplicitamente la repressione e la violenza sociale. Questa scelta narrativa dà l’impressione di un’autocensura, forse dettata dalla volontà di non esporre apertamente le persecuzioni subite in Marocco.
Nel romanzo, il suo arrivo in Europa avviene attraverso il percorso accademico, che rappresenta per lui non solo un’opportunità di riscatto, ma anche la realizzazione del sogno di diventare un intellettuale e stabilirsi a Parigi.
Tra i temi minori emergono il rapporto con il cinema, con la lingua francese e la sua duplice identità culturale marocchina, fra la lingua araba e l'islam e l’influenza francofona occidentale.
Un romanzo intenso, che mescola tenerezza e innocenza, facendo emergere il delicato equilibrio tra desiderio, famiglia e società.
October 21, 2024
Voor een groot deel autobiografisch begrijp ik uit interviews. Abdellah Taïa was begin 30 in 2006 toen dit boek werd gepubliceerd. Op slag een bekende Marokkaanse homoseksueel. Rond die tijd woonde hij al in Parijs. Want homoseksualiteit is lastig in Marokko zodra je er openlijk voor uitkomt. In een interview in 2006 zegt hij daar dit over:
“Vrouwelijk zijn is voor een Marokkaanse man de grootste schande. Homoseksuele contacten zijn tot daaraan toe, zolang hij maar on top is. Dan kan hij altijd nog zeggen: de homo, dat is die daar, die laat zich nemen.”
Ik vraag me af of dit is veranderd in 2024.
Het verhaal, 143 pagina’s, bestaat uit 3 delen. Deel 1 gaat over zijn vroege jeugd, het opgroeien in een gezin met 6 zussen en 2 broers in Salé. Deel 2, zijn adoratie voor zijn oudste broer, zeg maar verliefdheid. En 3, zijn leven als jongvolwassen homoseksueel. Dat laatste deel is het minst. Het wel en wee van zijn relatie met de Zwitserse Jean vond ik matig uitgewerkt. Ook jammer dat zijn familie in dit deel geheel buiten beeld blijft.
“Vrouwelijk zijn is voor een Marokkaanse man de grootste schande. Homoseksuele contacten zijn tot daaraan toe, zolang hij maar on top is. Dan kan hij altijd nog zeggen: de homo, dat is die daar, die laat zich nemen.”
Ik vraag me af of dit is veranderd in 2024.
Het verhaal, 143 pagina’s, bestaat uit 3 delen. Deel 1 gaat over zijn vroege jeugd, het opgroeien in een gezin met 6 zussen en 2 broers in Salé. Deel 2, zijn adoratie voor zijn oudste broer, zeg maar verliefdheid. En 3, zijn leven als jongvolwassen homoseksueel. Dat laatste deel is het minst. Het wel en wee van zijn relatie met de Zwitserse Jean vond ik matig uitgewerkt. Ook jammer dat zijn familie in dit deel geheel buiten beeld blijft.
August 6, 2025
Mérite une suite, que ça soit plus long. Parler de son futur à Genève, comment les choses ont évolué. Parler de la rèaction de sa famille marocaine quant à sa sexualité…
Par contre c’est un très bon roman. La première partie est puissante et dérangeante, apprendre sur la culture marocaine familiale, et puis aussi voir l’amour et désir sexuel naissant envers son grand frère… très perturbant pourtant raconté de façon très brute et innocente.
La deuxième partie est très poétique, j’ai beaucoup apprécié les mots décrivant ses émotions quant à la recherche de soi dans un nouveau monde- l’europe. Aussi son lien avec les hommes non marocains, les récits sexuels bruts pourtant raconté avec de la tendresse.. ça bouleverse..
Par contre c’est un très bon roman. La première partie est puissante et dérangeante, apprendre sur la culture marocaine familiale, et puis aussi voir l’amour et désir sexuel naissant envers son grand frère… très perturbant pourtant raconté de façon très brute et innocente.
La deuxième partie est très poétique, j’ai beaucoup apprécié les mots décrivant ses émotions quant à la recherche de soi dans un nouveau monde- l’europe. Aussi son lien avec les hommes non marocains, les récits sexuels bruts pourtant raconté avec de la tendresse.. ça bouleverse..
January 13, 2018
This short book is a coming of age story of a boy from Morocco. He's gay, and maybe first puts that together when observing and loving his brother. Later he falls for a man from Switzerland, but when he pursues his education in that country, things go sour.
September 3, 2020
När jag trodde att jag var less på autofiktonen så dök denna upp och förändrade allt!
August 23, 2023
Lot of potential, but too much telling and not enough development—story or character.
November 24, 2010
"Salvation Army" by Abdellah Taia is not a complicated on the surface. It tells the story of a young gay Moroccan boy who grows up in large family and later comes to Europe in the pursuit of sexual and intellectual freedom. When his friend does not show up at the airport in Geneva to pick him up, he is forced to seek shelter at the Salvation Army. It is not your average coming of age story. Taia puts together an amazingly sobering story about growing up in a culture in which your freedom to make choices is not considered. He is in love with his brother and has erotic fantasies about him and the brother doesn't seem to notice. The fact of having eleven siblings can leave anyone feeling lost in their own family, but Taia retains a distinct personality through and through. He gets mixed up with Swiss sex tourists -- one who helps him achieve his dreams of leaving Morocco to study further.
Whether he is writing about North Africa or Western Europe, Taia seems to have found a way to put things in perspective -- at least for himself. He finds North African lovers be warm, passionate and full of love for life. On the other hand, his Western European affairs tend to leave him yearning for more. And while he finds laughter and the exotic bliss of life in his family, it is Western Europe where yearns to find the peace and happiness one finds in freedom.
Taia's autobiographical novel is an engaging read.
Whether he is writing about North Africa or Western Europe, Taia seems to have found a way to put things in perspective -- at least for himself. He finds North African lovers be warm, passionate and full of love for life. On the other hand, his Western European affairs tend to leave him yearning for more. And while he finds laughter and the exotic bliss of life in his family, it is Western Europe where yearns to find the peace and happiness one finds in freedom.
Taia's autobiographical novel is an engaging read.
June 5, 2011
A coming out book in a culture where homosexuality is criminal, this memoir is of interest from the comparative cultural point of view today or even in the '80s, but I don't see that it offers much for those of us who grew up in the '50s and '60s. It all sounds very familiar.
Taïa was about 33 when he published his memories of being a teen. He comes off as being naive, affectionate, smart, a nice-guy I'd like to know. He tells his story without shame. I wonder how looking at his teen years from the point of of a 33 y/o romanticized his story. I wonder too how successful he was in actualizing his needs listed at the end of the book. One suspects he was fairly successful.
It is written in a vignette, rapid-fire style which is easily read in an evening. I wished the vignettes had been fleshed out, more detailed; there are things I'd like to know more about: being Gay in Morocco, the conflict of being Moslem and Gay eg.
I would imagine the book of most interest to Gays living in Morocco today. It is a positive look at being a Moroccan Gay, even if living as such means crossing the sea.
The book is certainly worth a read. I doubt it is worth a re-read.
Taïa was about 33 when he published his memories of being a teen. He comes off as being naive, affectionate, smart, a nice-guy I'd like to know. He tells his story without shame. I wonder how looking at his teen years from the point of of a 33 y/o romanticized his story. I wonder too how successful he was in actualizing his needs listed at the end of the book. One suspects he was fairly successful.
It is written in a vignette, rapid-fire style which is easily read in an evening. I wished the vignettes had been fleshed out, more detailed; there are things I'd like to know more about: being Gay in Morocco, the conflict of being Moslem and Gay eg.
I would imagine the book of most interest to Gays living in Morocco today. It is a positive look at being a Moroccan Gay, even if living as such means crossing the sea.
The book is certainly worth a read. I doubt it is worth a re-read.
July 3, 2012
This was my first book by Abdellah Taia, his name evokes in me the Casbah in Tangiers,were many years ago I spent a New Years Eve. The title of this book intrigued me,that is why I picked it up, and soon realized it had nothing to do with Soap Soup and Salvation, it is a story of a poor young Moroccan in love with the mysteries of Europe, the Salvation Army has a hostel in Geneva, the story is about love between family members, a special love for his older brother Abdelkebir and other sexual encounters he has with other men.
The story allows a look into the life of a Moroccan family, Mother Father children, it deals with the poverty of "the Moroccan" and his several ways of combating this poverty.
The book is a well worth and rather quick read.
The story allows a look into the life of a Moroccan family, Mother Father children, it deals with the poverty of "the Moroccan" and his several ways of combating this poverty.
The book is a well worth and rather quick read.
January 1, 2013
A deceptively simple narrative on the surface, Salvation Army seethes with subterranean energy. Beneath the tale of childhood love, sexual awakening, loss of homeland and the discovery of new shores, there is a deeper narrative about race, racism, and the inescapable inequality of love. The emotionality of the novel's language is shocking. Readers of literature in English will be shaken to the core by Abdellah Taïa's storytelling and his entirely original way of expressing emotions—the gruesome reality of them, immensely powerful and penetratingly subtle—which is what sustains the novel and makes it so intense, so irresistible.
October 28, 2021
Euh... je n'ai pas compris à quoi à servi ce roman. Il se termine sans vraiment avoir commencé. J'ai eu l'impression d'une succession d'anecdotes, intimiste parfois trop au point que j'ai trouvé cela malaisant. La majorité des femmes qui sont citées sont décrites de manière horrible. On passe d'un évènement à un autre sans liant, je n'ai rien compris aux pensées parfois dramatiquement exagérées du roman. Et on arrive à la fin, où on a résumé sur comment affronter la vie d'adulte et la vie... Il aurait pas été aussi court et ca n'aurait pas été pour le challenge je me serais arrêtée des le début.
February 1, 2024
رواية جميلة اول مرة اقرأ لطايع ولن تكون الأخيرة ،في المرة القادمة سأحاول قراءته بالفرنسية لا احبذ قراءة الروايات المغربية بالانجليزية ،اصلا روايته مترجمة بالفرنسية اكثر منه بالانجليزية.
طبعا لا اتفق من ما سرده الكاتب في الرواية مئة بالمئة مازلت متحفظة على بعض الموضوع ولكن هذا لا يجعلني امقت الرواية و الكاتب بل بالعكس احسست أنه شجاع بطرح هذه الموضوع و استغربت منها .
في الرواية احسست أنني اقرأ مذكرات لشاب مغربي فاقد للبوصلة ،يبحث عن الحب ولا يجده (وهل يوجد حب عند المثلين في دول العالم الثالث !!!؟؟؟) ،معاناته في المغرب وحتى بعد مغادرته سيواجه معاناة من نوع اخر في سويسرا ،ولكن كل هذا سيساعد في تكونه الذاتي و استكشافه لدواخله ،كيف ان خيباتنا وانكسارتنا يجب ان تستعمل لصالحنا .
طبعا لا اتفق من ما سرده الكاتب في الرواية مئة بالمئة مازلت متحفظة على بعض الموضوع ولكن هذا لا يجعلني امقت الرواية و الكاتب بل بالعكس احسست أنه شجاع بطرح هذه الموضوع و استغربت منها .
في الرواية احسست أنني اقرأ مذكرات لشاب مغربي فاقد للبوصلة ،يبحث عن الحب ولا يجده (وهل يوجد حب عند المثلين في دول العالم الثالث !!!؟؟؟) ،معاناته في المغرب وحتى بعد مغادرته سيواجه معاناة من نوع اخر في سويسرا ،ولكن كل هذا سيساعد في تكونه الذاتي و استكشافه لدواخله ،كيف ان خيباتنا وانكسارتنا يجب ان تستعمل لصالحنا .
June 5, 2017
«Avant, il me semblait que le français était la langue avec laquelle on pouvait communiquer le mieux, une langue qui permettait d’exprimer clairement et de façon précise ses idées, nuancer ses propos, polémiquer, se défendre. Je n’avais jamais pensé que le français pouvait être aussi la langue du silence.»
October 13, 2019
L'armée du salut est un roman autobiographique sensible et sensuel. L'auteur y livre avec beaucoup de sincérité son attachement à sa famille, à sa terre (Saleh, le Maroc) ainsi que ses premiers émois sexuels.
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May 9, 2017great shit
March 9, 2021
It is gripping and real. Taïa is not afraid to speak his truth. He holds no fear for the taboo.
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