JOURNAL OF BODIES, SEXUALITIES, AND MASCULINITIES Call for Papers: Global Debates around Circumcision and Anti-Circumcision
This Special Issue of JBSM is guest edited by: Atilla Barutçu, Zonguldak Bülent Ecevit University, Türkiye Lauren Sardi, Quinnipiac University, CT, USA Jonathan A. Allan, Brandon University, MB, Canada
Journal of Bodies, Sexualities, and Masculinities is seeking contributions for a special issue on circumcision and anti-circumcision around the globe. Debates surrounding circumcision have historically been located within the Anglo-American world, especially among the existing scholarship on the subject. This Call for Papers seeks to expand the scope of analysis to sites and contexts that have not been the forefront of debate. Recent scholarship has drawn attention to circumcision practices in Japan, for instance, as well as growing opposition to circumcision in Israel, Turkey, and Ghana. This research has contributed to the analysis of a global phenomenon of circumcision that cuts across time, space, and sociohistorical context. As “universal” as circumcision may seem, even conservative estimates admit that 70% of foreskins remain intact. This Special Issue takes a “global” approach to the questions of the foreskin, circumcision, anti-circumcision, and foreskin restoration; pushing to analyze what these questions tell us about local and regional masculinities.
We welcome contributions that consider interdisciplinary methods and approaches that expand the critical analysis of circumcision. We are particularly interested in papers that address:
» Imperialism » Colonialism and Postcolonialism » Decolonization » Nation and Nationalism » Biomedical Colonialism and the Biomedical Industry » Secularization and Religiosity » Anti-Religiosity and Circumcision Debates » Spirituality and Kinship » Ethics and Morality » Child Rights and/or Human Rights » Aesthetics and Beauty » Sexuality and Eroticism » Considerations across gender identities, including trans, non-binary, and intersex identities » Local and regional masculinities » Memoirs, Testimonials, and Autoethnographies » Race, Ethnicity, and Indigeneity » Government and Politics » Public Health, Policies, and Regulation
Submission Information Abstracts (250-300 words) will be accepted until September 1, 2024. If a full paper is already written, full paper submissions will be accepted. Decisions will be made shortly after receiving the abstract. Contact: [email protected]
Articles (6000-8000 words) will be due by February 1, 2025; however, early submissions are appreciated. Anticipated publication is late 2025/early 2026.
Submissions should be original works that have been not previously published or are not currently under consideration for another journal or edited collection. See JBSM submission guidelines for full details: www.berghahnjournals.com/view/journals/jbsm/jbsm-overview.xml?tab_body=submit
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Abdallah, the son of a date merchant and sometime slave trader, is one of the novel’s most important figures, even if he is often sidelined by the stories of others. As someone who has tried his whole life to step out from his father’s shadow, who has struggled with his own legitimate businesses, and knows the complicated and difficult nature of parenthood firsthand, he embodies many of the novel’s themes.
Added to this, Abdallah is the only character in the book to provide a first-person narrative perspective . Abdallah narrates several chapters as he takes a long-haul flight to Frankfurt. Drifting in and out of sleep, plagued by memories and regrets, he finds himself recounting events from his life. These memories are not in a chronological order: they are stream of consciousness , revealing Abdallah’s own objective perspective on the events of the past.
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As societies change shape, novels change form. Because the novel is such a deeply mimetic and attentive host, it begins to sound like its guests. A hierarchical society that placed faith in marriage reproduced itself in stable novels that end securely in imagined marriage, gently offstage. But a society in which women were chafing at the limits of domestic harness reproduced itself in turbulent novels that begin with an inquiry into such marriages rather than ending with the promise of them. The novel of adultery, which dominates the second half of the European nineteenth century, might also be called the novel of unhappy marriage, its formal restlessness driven by the trapped restlessness of its heroines. That tragic adulterer Effi Briest, sparkling, young, and unhappily married to a dashing older aristocrat, wags a minatory finger, from late-nineteenth-century Prussia, back at Elizabeth Bennet, sparkling, young, and on the verge of her ideal marriage in early-nineteenth-century England, as if to say, “It’s much harder than you think it will be.”
The form’s remarkable adaptability is on brilliant display in “ Celestial Bodies ” (Catapult), a searching work of fiction by Jokha Alharthi, an Omani writer and academic; the English translation, by Marilyn Booth, won this year’s International Booker Prize. “Celestial Bodies” tells the subtle and quietly anguished story of several unhappy marriages. Though not a novel about female adultery—the narrated infidelities are all male—it shares with the genre an intense preoccupation with its female characters’ unhappy marital experience. The inequitable rules and expectations of a traditionally patriarchal Islamic society—the novel is largely set in an Omani village—bend this novel’s focus back onto the sort of marital misery that once animated the European literary tradition.
Yet one of the book’s signal triumphs is that Alharthi has constructed her own novelistic form to suit her specific mimetic requirements. Oman, a small, prosperous, oil-rich world trader, has been in a state of rapid transition since the nineteen-seventies. Ancient assumptions and modern ambitions coexist, not always harmoniously. Alharthi, who has a Ph.D. in classical Arabic literature from the University of Edinburgh and teaches at Sultan Qaboos University in Oman’s capital, Muscat, represents the fulfillment of some of those modern ambitions. She gives each chapter, in loose rotation, to the voice of a single character, and so makes contemporary female interiority crucial to her book while accommodating a variety of very different world views. The novel’s formal setup seems, at first, to establish a patriarch as the privileged star of a constellation of female celestial bodies: Abdallah speaks to us in the first person; the other characters (almost all women) are voiced in the third person. But Abdallah is desperately insecure about his masculinity, preoccupied with proving himself to the ghost of his tyrannical, recently deceased father. At the same time, the third-person narration devoted to the female characters is so flexible and sensitively alert that you often forget it’s not in the first person. So Abdallah’s formal priority turns out to be palely ex officio, while the women blaze like necessary suns.
“Celestial Bodies,” a slender novel alive with many tales, encompasses several generations, but at its heart is the story of three sisters who are disillusioned by marriage: Mayya, Asma, and Khawla. Mayya marries Abdallah, the son of a wealthy merchant; Asma marries Khalid, a self-obsessed artist for whom the ideal wife is someone who will fall “into the orbit he had marked out, who would always be there but would also always stay just outside, yet without wanting to create her own celestial sphere, her own orbit”; and Khawla, after many years of loyal patience, marries Nasir, her childhood sweetheart, whose idea of marriage involves spending most of his time in Canada with a girlfriend, returning every two years to impregnate his wife. (Nasir would turn up in Oman with fancy clothes for the children, Khawla reflects, “but never in the right sizes because he didn’t even know how old they were.”)
Tellingly, the novel begins with a woman thinking, and then with the enforced suppression of that thought. Mayya is at her Singer sewing machine, dreaming of a love unrequited. She has fallen for a young man named Ali, who has just come back from London, where he was studying. Mayya longs for the chance to catch even a glimpse of him. But her mother’s peremptory announcement shreds the dream: she tells her daughter that Abdallah has asked to marry her. The union will be advantageous. So that’s that. Mayya thinks that Allah must be punishing her for her secret desires. She marries Abdallah dutifully, lovelessly, and then she secretly punishes the world by naming her first child London (a choice that scandalizes traditionalists), for the man she actually wanted to marry.
Asma eventually makes her peace with her narcissistic husband, but only by becoming “her own constellation, independent and whole, a sphere unto itself.” That sphere is maternal: she devotes herself to the fourteen children she bears. Khawla’s marriage ends in divorce; she opens a beauty parlor in Muscat. Mayya stays married to Abdallah, but, like Asma, she retreats into an isolated and grimly defended maternity: she sleeps a great deal, and bitterly relishes the liberty of silence. When Abdallah asks her if she loves him—he has always been besotted with her—she laughs in his face. Abdallah recalls that Mayya didn’t laugh on her wedding day; she “didn’t even smile.” A generation later, their daughter London, a physician in Muscat, also divorces her husband, Ahmad, a poet who dedicates every new poem “to a new girl,” and beats his wife.
The novel moves back and forth between the generations very flexibly, often in the course of a single page or even paragraph, owing to Alharthi’s deft management of time shifts. I like to imagine Alharthi, as a graduate student in Edinburgh, encountering what Muriel Spark did with flash-forwards in her great Edinburgh novel about the often unhappy lives of girls and women, “ The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie .” Each novel’s relation to time resembles a handful of unequal threads. In “Celestial Bodies,” the shortest ones represent the period that opens the book and continues through it—the new marriages of Mayya, Asma, and Khawla, a passage of only a few years, in the early nineteen-eighties. Other threads are longer, because the novel’s individual stories are narrated from the present day. Abdallah tells us his story right now: he is Mayya’s disappointed middle-aged husband. It is natural for him to slip something like this into one of his monologues, about London’s marriage: “He divorced her. We paid him the dowry and so my daughter got herself out of that marriage. . . . London, I said to her, Today you are free. You are a successful physician and you have your freedom.” But he also reaches far back into his childhood—his memories return repeatedly to a brutal punishment meted out to him by his father, when he was suspended head first over a well. Mayya’s chapters tend to start out with her as a young mother, but they will also suddenly leap ahead in time: “Twenty-three years later when she would smash her daughter’s mobile phone to bits in anger before slapping her across the face. . . .”
Here’s how two pages of this novel roam along various lifelines. In the chapter entitled “Motherhood,” we begin, conventionally enough, in Mayya’s youth. She is the new mother of London: “Just before dawn, Mayya was sitting up on her bedding, the nursing baby in her lap. Her newborn daughter had finally stopped wailing and dropped off to sleep.” A page later, Alharthi is using her very close third-person narration to inhabit Mayya’s most depressed reflections: “Mayya considered silence to be the greatest of human acts, the sum of perfection. When you were utterly quiet and still you were likeliest to hear accurately what others were saying. . . . If she said nothing, then nothing could cause her pain. Most of the time, she had nothing to say.” And then the next paragraphs do this:
Once this child of hers was much older, after Salim and Muhammad had arrived in the world as well, Mayya made another discovery: sleep. Sleep! She would sleep and sleep, and as long as she stayed asleep nothing could harm her. . . . Entering the realm of sleep meant coming into a place of no responsibilities where she felt nothing, and the things she had anxiously needed to hold on to while awake fell away. The repeated nervous twitches of Muhammad’s hands; the sounds of mortal combat and tinny shouts of victory in the video game; London’s white coat, so big it accentuated her extreme thinness. . . . Sleep was her only paradise. It was her ultimate weapon against the pounding anxiety of her existence. Now, sitting up on her bedding, Mayya heard the muezzin’s voice. She found it comforting in the dawn silence.
In just a few sentences, we have travelled forward, to take in two later children and London’s adult work (that reference to her white coat), but then we return to the young mother sitting on her bed with a newborn daughter. Within all the chapters, the stories float like this, lightly tethered to what the French call récit —the moment in which the story is being told, the narrative present. The result is a beautifully wavering, always mobile set of temporalities, the way starlight seems to flicker when we gaze at distant and nearer celestial bodies. But the procedure is more radical than Muriel Spark’s, because the tether itself is moving: it is not clear what or where the continuing “present” of the novel really is—Mayya as the new mother of London, or London as an adult physician?
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Faulkner used rotating narrators in “ As I Lay Dying ,” but his first-person monologues, in contrast to Alharthi’s third-person monologues, commit the novel to a tight temporal focus—the story of a death, a short journey, a burial. “Celestial Bodies,” written from within a largely poetic tradition by a woman who is a scholar of classical Arabic poetry, seems to break free of narration as it is commonly understood in Western fictional literature. The leaps and swerves seem closer to poetry or fable or song than to the novel as such.
Still, these poetic movements serve decidedly novelistic ends. Alharthi’s perspectivism, a cycle of distinct and often isolated voices, naturally enacts the ways in which, even within a generation, people can hold very different levels of comprehension and knowledge. At one moment, London dismissively asks her mother, “What do you really know about love? . . . From the very first day you opened your eyes on life, you never saw anyone, until you saw my father. How old were you when they married you to him?” It’s the inevitable clash of older and younger generations, older and newer ideas of marriage. Because the novel began with the intimate revelation of Mayya’s secret yearning, though, we understand both the poignancy and the partiality of London’s comprehension. The question gets turned back on London by the novel’s form: What does London really know about love?
Moreover, we learn of this exchange only through Abdallah, who tells us, “She thought I was out of the house at the time but I was there and I heard these things.” As a frustrated husband, he is interested only in the fact that his wife laughs in reply and says nothing; it seems like a verdict on their marriage. But, like London, he lacks our access to his wife’s soul. So the same question arises: What does Abdallah really know about love? Three characters—father, mother, and daughter—each interpret the daughter’s original query differently.
A novel loosely holding together distinct histories and temporalities effectively dramatizes a society that is a congeries of ancient and new, old lore and tradition bumping up against thoroughly modern ambitions and expertise. For example, Asma is known as the bookish sister, the one who wants an education. Compared with her mother, or with Mayya and Khawla, she is indeed learned. But compared with London, her niece, her learning is scriptural, almost archaic, the product of a girl’s traditional confinement. Asma urges her mother to make a concoction for Mayya recommended in a book called “Fruit for the Wayfarer,” and backs up her contention that dates are good for nursing mothers by citing a moment in the Quran when “Our Lady Maryam shook the palm tree and the dates fell down on her.” Later in the book, London asks her father why people say that her grandmother died bewitched. That’s how they explain any inexplicable death, Abdallah replies. London thinks she can come up with a more scientific answer. To her, the symptoms sound like poisoning.
In this always shifting book, society’s unfinished transitions are never far from sight, briefly glimpsed when a curtain of narrative blows loose. Most of these characters move their familial homes from their rural birthplace to the capital. One character denounces “those horrid new-fangled heretical air-conditioners” that start appearing in the nineteen-eighties. Abdallah, trying to remember his mother, who died young, wishes that cameras had reached his small home town before she died. When he was a boy, he recalls, he was the son of only the second car owner in the whole town. The father of the young woman who will grow up to be a physician remembers how his own father—in a rare moment of tenderness—would heal his headaches, placing his hand on the boy’s head, and repeating words from the Quran: “To Him belongs everything that rests quietly, in the night as by day.”
Patriarchy’s violent edges also slice at these narratives. At one moment, Ahmad, London’s husband, promises her that she will be the wife of the greatest poet in Oman; at another, he whines, “I didn’t mean to hit you. I was just angry. . . . I don’t want to lose you, and anyway, you are my property, my London. You are my victory and my inspiration.” In a stroke, eight decades or more of family history—and, more significant, several generations of female journeying—are buried in the oldest rubble.
There’s plenty of rubble around. We gradually learn that Abdallah’s father, the wealthy Merchant Sulayman, made his fortune not from selling dates, his daily work, but from the slave trade. One of the liveliest characters in the novel is the most ambiguous in status, a woman named Zarifa, a slave who became Sulayman’s mistress and who largely raised Abdallah, after his mother’s early death. Born to a woman owned by the local sheikh, Zarifa was sold to Merchant Sulayman at the age of sixteen. Forceful, large, illiterate, an inveterate quoter of proverbs and traditional wisdom, she can come and go as she pleases among higher-born women, protected by Sulayman’s favor. Unlike the other characters, whose reflections move back and forth across generations, Zarifa knows little about her past, and doesn’t much choose to learn more. Alharthi tells us that Zarifa’s forebears were kidnapped from Kenya, via Zanzibar, by pirates in the late nineteenth century, when wealthy Omanis were craftily evading the pact that the Sultan had made with the British to outlaw the slave trade. But she shares with the more privileged women her own struggles with modernity. Her son, Sanjar, upbraids her for living in the servile past: “Open your eyes. The world has changed. . . . While everybody’s gotten educated and gotten jobs, you’ve stayed exactly where you always were, the slave of Merchant Sulayman. . . . We are free, and everyone is his own master, and no one owns anyone else. I am free and I can travel wherever and whenever I like.” He makes good on his promise, and, when grown up and with children of his own, he leaves Oman for Kuwait. Zarifa travels there to get him to change his mind but returns empty-handed, denouncing “the viper whom her son had married.”
There’s a paradoxical combination, here, of mobility and stasis. As in more conventional multigenerational sagas, one sees historical progress measured in freedoms won, prejudices softened, traditions modified. As a largely rural society is urbanized, as people begin to travel not just within the country but internationally, as women are better educated, so the younger generations can seize previously unimaginable opportunities: Sanjar moves to Kuwait; London becomes a doctor; Abdallah spends a good deal of his life flying from one place to another. Curiously, despite the greater freedoms afforded the men, they seem more immobilized, trapped, clutched by the hand of the past. Nasir spends half his married life in Canada, but his treatment of his wife appears little different from the rights invoked by London’s husband, Ahmad (“you are my property”). It seems a deliberate irony on Alharthi’s part that Abdallah, the only male character granted his own chapters, delivers many of his monologues from a plane. While he rushes forward across the globe, his thoughts revert helplessly to his cruel father, to old patriarchal punishments and curses, to his impacted masculinity and his emotional imprisonment as a husband. One effect of devoting so much space to intensely realized female interiority is to render the women vividly dynamic and mobile—restless, yearning, ambitious—even when reactionary or just maternally sedentary.
The form speaks eloquently. Indeed, the great pleasure of reading “Celestial Bodies” is witnessing a novel argue, through the achieved perfection of its form, for a kind of inquiry that only the novel can really conduct. The ability to move freely through time, the privileged access to the wounded privacies of many characters, the striking diversity of human beings across a relatively narrow canvas, the shock waves as one generation heaves, like tectonic plates, against another, the secrets and lapses and repressions, at once intimate and historical, the power, indeed, of an investigation that is always political and always intimate—here is the novel being supremely itself, proving itself up to the job by changing not its terms of employment but the shape of the task. ♦
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(approx. 2 pages at 400 words per page) |
The following version of this book was used to create this study guide: Alharthi, Jokha. Celestial Bodies. Inverness: Sandstone Press, 2019.
The novel is set in the country of Oman. The narrative proceeds in a nonlinear fashion and examines three generations of people living in Oman. In 1970, Oman abolishes slavery, making it one of the last countries in the world to do so. Sulayman is a merchant in the town of al-Awafi, and he has made much money by buying and selling slaves. After abolition, many of his slaves depart form his estate. Some slaves remain, such as Zarifa, a woman whom he owned as a slave for years. The novel implies that Zarifa may be in love with Sulayman, and the novel also implies that Zarifa may have killed Sulayman’s wife with poison.
Sulayman’s son, Abdallah, is glad that slavery has been abolished. Abdallah attends business school and becomes a businessman in Oman’s capital city of Muscat. Abdallah eventually marries a young woman named Mayya. Mayya is unhappy because she did not choose to marry. Following custom, Mayya’s father arranged the marriage, and Abdallah had no say in the matter. As a form of rebellion, when Mayya gives birth to their first child—a daughter—Mayya names the daughter London. They then have a son whom they name Salim, and a son whom they name Muhammad. Muhammad is autistic, which greatly pains Abdallah.
Mayya’s father is named Azzan, and her mother is named Salima. Salima’s brother died fighting as a soldier in the Omani Civil War. One day, not long after Mayya’s wedding, Azzan falls in love with a Bedouin woman named Najiya, and they begin a secret affair. Mayya is the oldest of three sisters. The middle sister is named Asma, and the youngest sister is named Khawla. Asma loves to read. When Azzan arranges a marriage for her, she accepts. She marries a professional artist named Khalid. Although Khalid allows her to do things such as attend classes, he is generally controlling and self-centered. Khawla wishes to marry her cousin, Nasir, who left Oman to attend university in Canada. Nasir said that he would return soon and marry Khawla. However, he did not return until more than five years later, and when he married Khawla, he only did it in order to secure more funds so that he could return to Canada. He returned to Oman and Khawla ten years later. They had several children together, but Khawla eventually divorced him.
Mayya and Abdallah’s daughter, London, grows up to be a doctor. She marries a man, but she divorces him after he becomes abusive. Despite knowing that the divorce was necessary, she feels a sense of shame and failure due to the stigma placed on divorce in Oman’s culture. Salim grows up to be lazy and unsuccessful, and Abdallah is quite disappointed in him. The end of the novel implies that Abdallah may have murdered his autistic son Muhammad, although the novel presents this plot point in ambiguous terms.
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By Beejay Silcox
CELESTIAL BODIES
By Jokha Alharthi
Abdallah ibn Sulayman is lucky. Born into “easy times, times of plenty,” he’s the son of a prosperous Omani merchant and married to a woman he adores. Yet he experiences his good fortune anxiously. The source of his father’s wealth haunts him; more than one lonely death weighs on his heart; and when he asks his wife, Mayya, if she loves him, she laughs “loud enough to shatter every wall in the new house.” On a flight from Muscat to Frankfurt, Abdallah is plagued by soul-rattling dreams. “Praise be to God who has blessed humankind with the ability to forget!” he declares on waking. In her novel “Celestial Bodies,” the Omani author Jokha Alharthi inhabits this liminal space between memory and forgetting: the dark tension between the stories we tell and the stories we know.
Originally entitled “Sayyidat al-Qamr” (“Ladies of the Moon”), the novel circles between Abdallah’s fitful, high-altitude dozing and the equally restless history of his ancestral home, the fictional desert village of al-Awafi. Now little more than an oasis of nostalgia (“What there is in al-Awafi that isn’t in Muscat is the graveyard”), it was once a hub for the slave trade, a practice that was not outlawed in Oman until 1970, as the gulf nation’s oil wealth radically transformed its political might, economic infrastructure and social hierarchies.
“Celestial Bodies” is the second of Alharthi’s three novels, but it’s a book of firsts: the first novel by an Omani woman to be translated into English and the first novel in Arabic to be awarded the Man Booker International Prize (which Alharthi shared with her translator, the Oxford academic Marilyn Booth). Spanning several generations, from the final decades of the 19th century to the early years of the new millennium, it also marks an innovative reimagining of the family saga. Alharthi avoids the languid ease of chronology in favor of dozens of taut character studies, often no more than a page or two: despotic slave owners and the captive women who raise their children; kleptomaniacs and gossips; assured Bedouin businesswomen; violent poets; arms dealers; superstitious mothers and aunts who are so tall they’re “like a skeletal minaret.” These vignettes are sharp-eyed, sharp-edged and carefully deployed in a multigenerational jigsaw that’s as evasive as it is evocative. “The style is a metaphor for the subject,” explained the historian Bettany Hughes, who headed the Booker judging panel, “subtly resisting clichés of race, slavery and gender.”
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The Arts Edit
The writer hopes ‘celestial bodies’ will not be the last omani novel to be translated into english.
Jokha Alharthi and translator Marilyn Booth won the Man Booker International Prize for Celestial Bodies. Man Booker Prize
Jokha Alharthi is a woman of many firsts. On May 21, she became the first author from the Arabian Gulf to win the prestigious Man Booker International Prize, and she was the first Omani author ever to have her novel, Celestial Bodies , translated from Arabic into English.
So how did Alharthi arrive at this groundbreaking position? Through a simple longing for home.
Rewind about 10 years ago. Alharthi was in Edinburgh, working on her doctorate in classical Arabic poetry. She also had an idea for a novel that explored the lives and relationships of three sisters in a changing Oman could be explored.
We’re delighted to announce our #MBI2019 winner is Celestial Bodies by Jokha Alharthi, translated by Marilyn Booth and published by Sandstone Press. Read more here: https://t.co/rWHBRXwDOy pic.twitter.com/SfJr2Yg98u — The Booker Prizes (@TheBookerPrizes) May 21, 2019
"The plots and characters were partially in my mind," she says. "But the actual starting point for Celestial Bodies was that I was feeling a little homesick. So I indulged in writing about these people back in Oman."
Alharthi could not have predicted at the time that the book she wrote would win the prestigious Man Booker International Prize, not least because the award did not exist in its current format, with a book in English translation now awarded the £50,000 (Dh237,160) prize every year.
Alharthi was up against five other authors who wrote novels in French, Spanish, German and Polish.
Winning the prize will be life-changing for the Omani author, and not simply because of the cash prize she will share with translator Marilyn Booth.
Polish author Olga Tokarczuk won last year (she is shortlisted again this year for Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead ) and sales of her book, Flights , increased by 692 per cent.
Alharthi's triumph this year, could also lead to a rise in the popularity of Arabic and Gulf literature .
"I am happy that people will read Celestial Bodies but I also hope readers will wish to read other Arabic literature, and other authors from the Gulf ," she says.
“It’s definitely an opportunity for Omani literature to be read and appreciated by a wider audience."
The first steps towards making Celestial Bodies more widely known were taken when independent Scottish publisher Sandstone Press took on the English translation a few years ago . Booth took on the project after receiving a translation grant from the Anglo Omani Society.
"We are incredibly proud of our part in bringing this talented novelist to the attention of Europe and the world," says Sandstone's m anaging d irector, Robert Davidson. "This is a fine novel that makes real a history and a people and their possible futures."
Alharthi says it feels strange to be talking once more about a novel she wrote so long ago.
"Every writer changes over time , so I could not have written it in exactly the same way today," she says. "But I remain proud of the novel and its new international life."
It's tempting to consider how the three sisters in Celestial Bodies , Mayya, Asthma and Khawla, might be faring in 2019.
“That’s a wonderful thought,” Alharthi says. “I hope the three sisters are happy now, but I would have to give this much more thought.
"In the novel, they all fare very differently in love and demonstrate an independence of spirit, complexity and strength, which I believe is true of women in Oman now.”
The family histories explained in Celestial Bodies can be treated as an explanation of how Oman has changed. Book-lovers in the West who might be tempted to open the novel after seeing it win the Man Booker International Prize might not have been aware that slavery was only abolished in Oman in 1970.
View this post on Instagram A post shared by Sandstone Press (@sandstonepress)
"In Oman, at least, some readers were pleased that a taboo subject such as slavery was explored in the novel," Alharthi says. "But other readers would have preferred me not to write about it , because by writing about it the subject is acknowledged, and one ha s to face history.
"It is very important to me to try to give voice to as many experiences as possible in my writing, and it’s why fiction can be so important, because it allows readers to experience history through a good story.
"Sometimes history is making itself felt in the novel through alliances ; Abdallah is the son of a successful merchant and, theoretically at least, a good prospective husband for Mayya.
"But Abdallah is raised by Zarifa, who is a freed slave who remains in the merchant's house and behav es as a free woman. These connections need not be overtly made by the reader, or immediately made, but the weight of history in the present is very important throughout the book."
Abdallah is a fascinating character in Celestial Bodies . He is the only first-person narrator in the book and, as Alharthi says, he is also a sad voice in the story.
H e shifts between the memories of his past and changes that take place in the present, sometimes in the space of a paragraph , which makes for an intriguing and densely structured novel.
"One moment he is a boy being punished by being suspended from palm rope in a well , the next his daughter is asking him to buy her a BMW," Alharthi says. "The pace of change in Oman is starkly presented through him."
When Abdallah tries to be a modern man and talk about love and feelings, he is mocked for using " TV show words ".
As much as Celestial Bodies stridently offers compelling female characters, there is also some sympathy for the lot of a 21st century man in Oman.
“Sometimes it is hard to escape a past or make a new start, even when love holds out the possibility of a new future,” Alharthi says.
“Abdallah is mocked for expressing his feelings. Feelings are not pragmatic, after all. Love is hard-won in the novel, unless love chooses you.
"Qamar, for example, is an undaunted female character who decides who she will love. But others will be unhappy in love, or will not necessarily find love.”
This brings us right back to how these vivid characters might be faring had the story taken place in 2019. A sequel is not on the cards , although Alharthi jokes that she makes it "a rule not to discuss new work until it is finished".
But Celestial Bodies is such a compelling novel that these characters live on beyond the final pages of the book.
For now, Alharthi says she hopes that her newfound profile as a writer might mean that her 2016 novel, Bitter Orange , is fully translated into Englis h. An excerpt, also translated by Booth, is already available to read online at Words Without Borders.
The story also heavily features Oman, which is important for Alharthi’s publishers who believe she is the first Omani author to have her work translated into English.
“Literature is the best expression of experience,” she says.
Celestial Bodies by Jokha Alharthi is out now
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Celestial bodies, also known as heavenly bodies are objects in space such as the sun, moon, planets and stars. Learn the heavenly bodies meaning, names and classification here.
By the definition, a celestial body is a natural object outside of the Earth's atmosphere. For examples, Moon, Sun, and the other planets of our solar system. But, actually, these are very partial examples. The Kuiper belt is holding many celestial bodies.
Stars are huge celestial bodies made mostly of hydrogen and helium that produce light and heat from the churning nuclear forges inside their cores.
Explore celestial bodies: stars, planets, and galaxies. Learn their classifications, uses in astronomy, and fascinating examples.
A celestial object is a naturally happening phenomenon that occurs in the observable universe. Read about all the different Celestial bodies and classification of celestial bodies at Vedantu.com.
Astrology is widely considered to be a pseudoscience that attempts to explain how the position and motion of celestial objects such as planets affect people and events on Earth. Astronomy is the ...
Stuck on your essay? Browse essays about Celestial Body and find inspiration. Learn by example and become a better writer with Kibin's suite of essay help services.
Thanks for exploring this SuperSummary Study Guide of "Celestial Bodies" by Jokha Alharthi. A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The scientific evidence is clear: the only celestial body that can support us is the one we evolved with. Here's why
A massive crater on the surface of Mars is captured in a new image from the European Space Agency.
Essays on the Motion of Celestial Bodies. The development of the mechanics of space flight brought to life a whole series of fascinating and novel problems. The purpose of this book is to present some interesting and often unexpected achievements that have allowed some classical problems to be reconsidered in a new light. In order to reveal the ...
About this book. The development of the mechanics of space flight brought to life a whole series of fascinating and novel problems. The purpose of this book is to present some interesting and often unexpected achievements that have allowed some classical problems to be reconsidered in a new light. In order to reveal the beauty of the research ...
Thanks for exploring this SuperSummary Study Guide of "Celestial Bodies" by Jokha Alharthi. A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The comet 13P/Olbers hasn't been seen in the evening sky since 1956 and it won't return until 2093.
Thanks for exploring this SuperSummary Study Guide of "Celestial Bodies" by Jokha Alharthi. A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
'It's not a political essay, it's a medical one': Dr. Sanjay Gupta calls for Biden to undergo cognitive testing
Medical Examiner Humans Could Learn a Lot From Anxious Cows We love to focus on personality types, attachment styles, and diagnoses. But we're part of a herd too.
A Florida judge has released transcripts detailing 2006 grand jury testimony that accused the late millionaire and financier Jeffrey Epstein of sexually assaulting numerous underage teenage girls at his Palm Beach mansion.
Celestial Bodies is one of the most important literary works you'll ever read and the must-read book of the year. It is gorgeous, nuanced, and full of healing. It's a story of courage, chosen family, and how love—in all aspects—can help us heal and grow. It is a testament to the humanity in our lives, the joys of love, friendship, and laughter, as well as the challenges of trauma and ...
The president is a classic aging case playing out for the country to watch.
Celestial Bodies ( Arabic: سيدات القمر, romanized : Sayyidat al-Qamar, lit. 'Ladies of the Moon') is a 2010 novel by Omani author Jokha Alharthi. The novel follows the lives of three sisters and their unhappy marriages in al-Awafi, Oman. [1] [2]
11R6. Essays on the Motion of Celestial Bodies. - VV Beletsky (Keldysh Inst of Appl Math, Russian Acad of Sci, Miusskaja Sq 4, Moscow, 125047, Russia).
Astrophysical jets are outflows of ionised matter that are emitted as extended beams from celestial objects such as black holes, neutron stars, and pulsars.
Journal of Bodies, Sexualities, and Masculinities is seeking contributions for a special issue on circumcision and anti-circumcision around the globe. Debates surrounding circumcision have historically been located within the Anglo-American world, especially among the existing scholarship on the subject.
Thanks for exploring this SuperSummary Study Guide of "Celestial Bodies" by Jokha Alharthi. A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
The Omani novelist Jokha al-Harthi's breathtaking, layered, multigenerational novel Celestial Bodies, which was beautifully translated into English, follows the lives of three sisters from a small village at a time of rapid social and economic change in Oman. The tale is replete with history, poetry, and philosophy, but also slavery, broken ...
In "Celestial Bodies," a multigenerational narrative of women is sliced by the patriarchy's violent edge.
This detailed study guide includes chapter summaries and analysis, important themes, significant quotes, and more - everything you need to ace your essay or test on Celestial Bodies!
Jokha Alharthi's inventive multigenerational tale, "Celestial Bodies," is also the first novel by an Omani woman to be translated into English.
Jokha Alharthi and translator Marilyn Booth won the Man Booker International Prize for Celestial Bodies. Man Booker Prize. Jokha Alharthi is a woman of many firsts. On May 21, she became the first author from the Arabian Gulf to win the prestigious Man Booker International Prize, and she was the first Omani author ever to have her novel ...