Book launch at the Abu Dhabi International Book Fair #ADIBF

It's almost time :)! I'm planning to fly on Tuesday for the launch of my novel at the Abu Dhabi International Book Fair and I’m getting all kinds of jittery.

We're also planning a signing event in Dubai. Details below for both events. Please do join us!

Abu Dhabi: Thursday, March 17th, 2011 from 5-8pm at Ciel Stand (Hall 12, L18), Abu Dhabi International Book Fair, Abu Dhabi National Exhibition Center (ADNEC)

Dubai: Friday, March 18th, 2011 from 3pm-6pm at Kitsch Cupcakes, Gate Building, Marble Walk, Dubai International Financial Center (DIFC).

Arab Publishing, the reality?

The first session I attended today at the Sharjah International Book Fair was the one titled “Manufacturing of Arabian Publishing, the reality and ambition”. Having read the (depressing) statistics about the status of publishing in the region, I was prepared for what I was about to hear. Mr. Fathi Al Biss, a former publisher and Vice President of the Association of Arab Publisher talked passionately and from experience about the challenges that have plagued the book industry in the Arab world for decades.

According to various pieces of research, the average Arab reads for less than 6 minutes a year and whereas countries such as the UK publish 1 book for every 500 people, in the Arab world the ratio is as low as 1 book for 12000 people.

The challenges are many, but all, according to Mr. Al Biss are caused by the same factor: the lack of government support which showcases itself through censorship, absence of budgets, difficulties in distribution, overall disinterest in promoting culture etc.

I agree: apart from a few enlightened programs in the Gulf and especially the UAE, our governments have never implemented any significant cultural programs. Ministers are happy to have their photo taken cutting ribbons at book fairs, but that’s about all the support we can expect.

Therefore, why don’t we be realistic? In our region governments are often a roadblock, rarely a facilitator. The private sector has to fend for itself.

In many ways it has. If I look at the growing number of book retailers, I cannot but wonder if the figures used above aren’t too narrow. I mean the likes of Antoine Library, Magroudi’s, Virgin or Borders cannot possibly have been making losses all these years and it’s probably because they haven’t relied on Arab publishing. Walk into any of these bookstores today and you’ll most likely be presented with English or French best sellers rather than local reads. Somewhere, somehow people ARE reading, but we’re just not reading Arabic books, nor books by Arabs that are published in the Middle East.

This then begs the question: are regional publishers producing the right content, are they investing enough in packaging and marketing or are they out of touch with their audience? I cannot claim to have answers to those questions, all I can say is that as a reader, I often find myself at a loss for regional content and end up digging into the international best sellers pile.

My laywoman's review of "The Locust and The Bird, My Mother's Story" by Hanan Al Shaykh

There can’t a bigger statement of daughterly love and forgiveness than penning down the tale of the mother who abandoned you as a child to run off with her lover. Yet that’s exactly what Hanan Al Shaykh did in this book, writing her mother’s true story in the first narrative, a translucent, fearless and unrepentant voice. This is the story of a woman born to poverty in the early 20th century south Lebanon, abandoned by her father and given off by her own mother as a child bride to her dead sister’s husband.

But this girl (Camila) is no loser and the book tells the story of her triumphant spirit. At a time where girls are expected to be grateful for the food and shelter their family provided them, Camila tears off her wedding dress and daubs her face with soot to show her resentment against her forced marriage. She sneaks to the cinema where films give her much needed escapism and help her overcome her illiteracy by teaching her about romance and passion. The love of her life, the much better educated Mohammed, serenades her during their illicit encounters in the orchards of Aley and even at his family’s home only a few blocks from the house she shares with her husband, kids, mother, siblings and nephews.

Eventually, Camila leaves her two daughters and husband to marry Mohammed, and has more children with him. His career goes well as an internal security officer, but like many great love stories this one is destined for a tragic end: Mohammed dies in a car accident. But Camila doesn’t give up. She travels the world visiting her children in Kuwait and the US and turns her living room in Beirut into a social salon, a “psychiatrist’s couch” as Hanan Al Shaykh puts it.

I cried my eyes out at the end, when Camila’s sad yet inspiring life comes to an end. Not only was her particular story touching, but it also told of the Lebanon that my grandparents talk about. Their way of life, their difficulties and the struggle of so many women who came before us and to whom we owe so much. A beautiful, highly recommended read.

Click here for the Guardian’s review of this book.