Egyptian novelist and winner of the 1988 Nobel Prize for Literature, Naguib Mahfouz (1911-2006) wrote some of the most important, significant, and controversial contributions to contemporary Arabic literature, and is most well known for his Cairo Trilogy [Palace Walk (1956), Palace of Desire (1957), Sugar Street (1957)]. In his The Day the Leader Was Killed, I was impressed by what Mahfouz was able to achieve in only 100 pages.
Two things in particular drew me to this novel: historical context and Mahfouz’s commentary on economic development (in Egypt specifically, but also relevant to the Arab world and the developing world more broadly).
Historical Context:
Set in the earliest years of the 1980s, Anwar El Sadat (1918-1981) had been in power as president of Egypt for more than a decade. Internationally, he had made his mark in the October War of 1973 (which made him a hero for retaking the Sinai Peninsula) and as a signatory to the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty of 1979 (which made him reviled, and ultimately resulted in Egypt’s suspension from the Arab League from 1979-1989). Domestically, he had departed markedly from his predecessor, Gamal Abdel Nasser (1918-1970), reviving a multiparty political system and launching a series of economic reforms to open and diversify Egypt’s economy (the infitah). Sadat was assassinated on 6 October 1981. While the domestic context is far more important to Mahfouz, it cannot be completely disaggregated from the international context.
Economic Development:
While in power, Sadat instituted a series of economic liberalization policies, collectively known and popularly labeled as the infitah (the Arabic word rendered as “open door”). Long a centralized, statist command economy, Sadat’s reforms for Egypt sought to shift emphasis from the public to the private sector, “opening the door” to foreign investment and free-market capitalist forces. Economic dislocation, disparity, and often extreme hardship ensued. For ordinary Egyptians, disillusionment only occasionally found an outlet in mass public protests and riots.
Egypt’s economic reform and liberalization policies of the 1970s – infitah – should prompt some consideration of and comparison to that phenomenon elsewhere, particularly in China during the late-1970s and early-1980s under Deng Xiaoping, in the Soviet Union during the mid-to-late 1980s under Mikhail S. Gorbachev (perestroika), and in India during the early-to-mid 1990s under P. V. Narasimha Rao and Manmohan Singh.
The Day the Leader Was Killed is narrated in three alternating voices, expressing three distinct perspectives, ultimately delivering rich insight into these and other important issues.
First, there is Muhtashimi Zayed, who, as the family patriarch and elderly grandfather, represents tradition and a direct link to the past, and as such a symbolic yawning generation gap. He is religious, regularly invoking God and the Qur’an. Interestingly, he speaks first, last, and most often (8 chapters – the others have 7 each), even though the novel focuses more directly on the experiences of Egyptian youth.
Next, there is Elwan Fawwaz Muhtashimi, a hapless, sarcastic civil servant who lives with his parents and grandfather. He has been engaged to the woman of his dreams for 10-plus years, never quite able to earn enough money to furnish an apartment, move out, and provide for his bride-to-be. More than anyone else, he is trapped and eventually crushed by infitah policies. He embodies the disillusionment, despair, and disconnectedness that seem to characterize young, modern Egyptian men of that time. Indeed, one of the best, most insightful passages in the book is a meandering diatribe by Elwan, lamenting the economic, political, and socio-culture conditions that stifle and limit his life (pgs. 53-55).
Lastly, there is Randa Sulayman Mubarak, Elwan’s co-worker (they even share the same boss, Anwar Allam), neighbor, and fiancée. While she eventually marries their boss after Elwan breaks off their long engagement, she quickly divorces him. In the end, and emboldened by the news of Sadat’s assassination, Elwan beats their boss to death. Throughout, Randa brings to bear a prominent and important female voice and perspective – often a stark contrast to her male counterpart characters. She, more than the men, embodies the tension between the traditional and the modern playing out in Egypt: “The fact is I want to assert myself but not at the expense of my dignity” (pg. 59). She is also more subtly subversive than they.
Mahfouz makes clear that traditions, values, material well-being – perhaps even an entire way of life – are threatened and in flux. And the stakes are incredibly high. Corrupt politics, limited economic opportunities (certainly no prospects for achieving financial independence), and the inability to meet individual, familial, and religious expectations, all conspire against the characters, and boldly reveal a society teetering on the brink.
Two things in particular drew me to this novel: historical context and Mahfouz’s commentary on economic development (in Egypt specifically, but also relevant to the Arab world and the developing world more broadly).
Historical Context:
Set in the earliest years of the 1980s, Anwar El Sadat (1918-1981) had been in power as president of Egypt for more than a decade. Internationally, he had made his mark in the October War of 1973 (which made him a hero for retaking the Sinai Peninsula) and as a signatory to the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty of 1979 (which made him reviled, and ultimately resulted in Egypt’s suspension from the Arab League from 1979-1989). Domestically, he had departed markedly from his predecessor, Gamal Abdel Nasser (1918-1970), reviving a multiparty political system and launching a series of economic reforms to open and diversify Egypt’s economy (the infitah). Sadat was assassinated on 6 October 1981. While the domestic context is far more important to Mahfouz, it cannot be completely disaggregated from the international context.
Economic Development:
While in power, Sadat instituted a series of economic liberalization policies, collectively known and popularly labeled as the infitah (the Arabic word rendered as “open door”). Long a centralized, statist command economy, Sadat’s reforms for Egypt sought to shift emphasis from the public to the private sector, “opening the door” to foreign investment and free-market capitalist forces. Economic dislocation, disparity, and often extreme hardship ensued. For ordinary Egyptians, disillusionment only occasionally found an outlet in mass public protests and riots.
Egypt’s economic reform and liberalization policies of the 1970s – infitah – should prompt some consideration of and comparison to that phenomenon elsewhere, particularly in China during the late-1970s and early-1980s under Deng Xiaoping, in the Soviet Union during the mid-to-late 1980s under Mikhail S. Gorbachev (perestroika), and in India during the early-to-mid 1990s under P. V. Narasimha Rao and Manmohan Singh.
The Day the Leader Was Killed is narrated in three alternating voices, expressing three distinct perspectives, ultimately delivering rich insight into these and other important issues.
First, there is Muhtashimi Zayed, who, as the family patriarch and elderly grandfather, represents tradition and a direct link to the past, and as such a symbolic yawning generation gap. He is religious, regularly invoking God and the Qur’an. Interestingly, he speaks first, last, and most often (8 chapters – the others have 7 each), even though the novel focuses more directly on the experiences of Egyptian youth.
Next, there is Elwan Fawwaz Muhtashimi, a hapless, sarcastic civil servant who lives with his parents and grandfather. He has been engaged to the woman of his dreams for 10-plus years, never quite able to earn enough money to furnish an apartment, move out, and provide for his bride-to-be. More than anyone else, he is trapped and eventually crushed by infitah policies. He embodies the disillusionment, despair, and disconnectedness that seem to characterize young, modern Egyptian men of that time. Indeed, one of the best, most insightful passages in the book is a meandering diatribe by Elwan, lamenting the economic, political, and socio-culture conditions that stifle and limit his life (pgs. 53-55).
Lastly, there is Randa Sulayman Mubarak, Elwan’s co-worker (they even share the same boss, Anwar Allam), neighbor, and fiancée. While she eventually marries their boss after Elwan breaks off their long engagement, she quickly divorces him. In the end, and emboldened by the news of Sadat’s assassination, Elwan beats their boss to death. Throughout, Randa brings to bear a prominent and important female voice and perspective – often a stark contrast to her male counterpart characters. She, more than the men, embodies the tension between the traditional and the modern playing out in Egypt: “The fact is I want to assert myself but not at the expense of my dignity” (pg. 59). She is also more subtly subversive than they.
Mahfouz makes clear that traditions, values, material well-being – perhaps even an entire way of life – are threatened and in flux. And the stakes are incredibly high. Corrupt politics, limited economic opportunities (certainly no prospects for achieving financial independence), and the inability to meet individual, familial, and religious expectations, all conspire against the characters, and boldly reveal a society teetering on the brink.
And now I wonder… How might this story be different had Mahfouz written it today, 20-plus years later?
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