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?It matters hugely what we read and when we read it,? says Hisham Matar (pictured in 2011), author of In the Country of Men and Anatomy of a Disappearance. ?Certain books read at certain times can alter our sense of the world and ourselves.?
Photograph by: Tim Fraser , Postmedia News
MONTREAL - Hisham Matar, the recipient of this year?s Blue Metropolis Al Majidi Ibn Dhaher Arab Prize, was born to Libyan parents in New York City in 1970, grew up in Tripoli and Cairo, and attended university in England. He is the author of two of the most universally praised novels of the past decade: In the Country of Men (2006) and Anatomy of a Disappearance (2011). Written in English, the two novels share certain thematic concerns ? absent or missing fathers, a protagonist attempting to process complex and sometimes violent events through a sensibility not yet matured ? but are quite distinct in tone and treatment.
Currently at work on a play and a memoir ? of which a long excerpt dealing with a trip to post-Arab Spring Libya appeared in the April 8 issue of the New Yorker ? Matar answered a series of questions by email from his home in New York.
On becoming a writer: ?I am devoted to my work but I don?t spend much time thinking of myself as a writer. The objective is not to think of oneself as anything. Even better, to not think at all. Thinking is bad for writing. No one tells you this when you start, but it?s true. But if I look back and try to retrace my steps, I can see that I have always written. From as far back as I can remember I have been concerned with how to convey something I have learned or perceived. Not only to convey it, but also to keep it so as to reuse it in the creation of something else or towards something else. And the belief has always persisted that in doing so one is confirming or praising life. But none of this is deliberate, of course. These things happen in the quiet. There is little choice, it seems to me, in what we are attracted to.?
On the role of literature: ?Popular and political cultures often treat literature and the high arts as an extra rather than essential part of our culture. You know: something for the end of the day. You sink into your chair and it helps you pass the time. Literature is fundamental to our life as human beings. It matters hugely what we read and when we read it. Certain books read at certain times can alter our sense of the world and ourselves. And by ?literature? I don?t mean the stuff found in books alone, but also in mouths and hearts. Even people who have never read a book in their lives engage with it on a daily basis.?
On In the Country of Men?s references to Scheherazade and The Thousand and One Nights: ?It wasn?t premeditated. I?ve learned to reach for the nearest stick whenever I see a premeditated detail approach. All I can say is that The Thousand and One Nights was and remains to be a book that I return to. Its stories seem to become stranger the more one reads them.?
On fiction versus non-fiction: ?You go out to the shops, come home and in telling what happened you make it up. Even a deliberate attempt to record an event or an experience as faithfully as possible produces a fiction. It is impossible to capture a lived moment entirely or accurately. Novelists pass through life and nature in order to reach into the imagination. I was reminded of this recently. I wrote what you might call a ?memoir.? I sat down and attempted to be as faithful as possible to a journey I made. But although I didn?t lie or deliberately twist the facts, what I ended up with is, inevitably, an invention.?
On the power of subjectivity: ?When photography released painting from the obligation to document reality, we came to believe in the invincible fidelity and exactitude of photography. But anyone who has followed art and the reporting of news would know that perhaps the ardent faith of our ancestors in the camera was a little overzealous or a little misplaced. Even the innocent intention of taking a picture is a reassessment and a reinterpretation of the subject of that picture. In this way the history of art and literature could be read as a testament to the enduring powers of human subjectivity. Lake Geneva is not as important as Turner?s painting of it.?
On influence and inspiration: ?I am reckless in my admiration of certain authors, painters and composers. They have all left their mark on me. I read and reread them with abandon; I travel to look at their paintings and listen to their music. But when I write, none of them are in the room with me. When I am at my desk, no one is looking over my shoulder. For me, there is something elemental about the creative process. I regard what I do to be the most natural and instinctive thing. A great deal of effort goes into protecting that space ? I have guarded it with my life ? but once I am in, I am as playful as a child, or try to be.?
On whether a writer is obliged to be a social commentator/spokesperson: ?It is an invitation ? nothing more, nothing less ? that my temperament and devotion to my work do not allow me to accept. I need freedom to write the sort of things I want to write. It is a particular sort of freedom that cannot attach itself to anything. Let?s be clear. I am not a spokesman; I am an artist. But I am also a citizen. And as a citizen, I reserve the right to speak my mind.?
Hisham Matar is interviewed onstage by CBC?s Paul Kennedy on Friday, April 26?at 7 p.m. at Salle Godin of Hotel 10, 10 Sherbrooke St. W.; he takes part in Literature as Refuge, a roundtable discussion hosted by Katia Grubisic, Saturday, April 27?at 3 p.m. at Goethe-Institut, 1626 St. Laurent Blvd. For more information, visit bluemetropolis.org.
ianmcgillis2@gmail.com
Twitter: @IanAMcGillis
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