As everyone undoubtedly knows by now, I am an unapologetic Leila Aboulela fan. Lyrics Alley is my second favourite of her novels; second to Minaret for reasons unrelated to the storyline or writing craft, but my own writing journey. Re-reading it for last month’s BMW bookclub discussion was not a hardship!
Lyrics Alley is a fictionalised account of the life of Sudanese poet and Leila’s uncle, Hasssan Awad Aboulela. It is the story of Nur, a promising young man with a bright future ahead of him who, as a result of a diving accident, ends up quadriplegic. In the book, we meet Nur’s family: his almost self-loathing, white man-worshipping father, Mahmoud; his mother- Wajeebah- described in her husband’s thoughts as “illiterate, ignorant, ugly”, a woman steeped in tradition; his brother, Nasir – a good-for-nothing drunkard who is married to their cousin, Fatma. We also meet Nur’s fiancee, Soraya, Fatma’s sister.
“…a place of wayward spirituality… where the impossible and the romantic pulsed within reach…”
The most striking thing about Lyrics Alley is the evident care and love in the author’s writing about Sudan – its landscape, its weather, its people, its community, its traditions. There was a lot that was familiar (to me, as an African Muslim), much more that was new and sometimes perplexing (I had to school members of my BMW bookclub on the intricacies of FGM, although I cannot claim to understand the why of it in Sudanese culture). One thing that ties it all up was that the Sudan of Aboulela’s Lyrics Alley was a Sudan she loved. That love was visceral in her writing, unmissable; humbling in the face of the current events in that country.
“These songs would be their story and these lyrics their home.”
From the first, I loved the relationship between Nur and Soraya. It was so sweet and tender (and clean, obviously) despite – or maybe because of – the almost filial way he treats her. Nur is considerate of Soraya, indulgent even, choosing to nurture her interests and love her faults. And Soraya, self aware as she became when she accepted the fact that she could not marry Nur in his new condition, had a number of them (mostly related to being young and vain, shallow and just a tad selfish.) Maybe if they had gotten married, they’d have been happy and he would have made her better or vice versa (Nur, for all he seemed a paragon, was also not above the fault of his age, gender and material privilege). But life rarely goes how we want it to, and Nur decides to dive during a summer trip to Egypt, resulting in an injury that leaves him unable to use his limbs (presumably from spinal cord transection) and this is where the story truly begins. Ultimately, Soraya – immature but conversely pragmatic – after months of sulking and hoping, came to the realisation that she was not meant for a life of being married to an “invalid”.
Lyrics Alley is an exploration of how Nur and everyone connected to him try to deal with the reality of his changed circumstances. Reading it, I could not help but imagine how differently the story might have played out in a place or time that had a more inclusive conceptualization of living (but then, there’s Me Before You so… I digress!) By far, my favourite part of the book was Nur’s evolution or character arc. We see him cycle through the stages of grief – “I want to use my arms. It doesn’t matter about my legs but I want to hold a pen” – some more than the others, before settling into an acceptance of who he had become. I especially loved the fact that he was able to develop his artistic writing self, becoming a celebrated poet and songwriter, mostly for his own sense of self but also for his family “because success is much easier to understand than art.” Personally, I found his reflections during that time were what resonated with me the most. Maybe due to shared artistic sensibilities, maybe just hubris.
It was equally illuminating to see how everyone else dealt with Nur in his new state. His father who suddenly found all of his money and connection and posturing was unable to help the child he had looked to as a successor. In the face of such helplessness, Mahmoud chose to ignore Nur, save for the minimal contact and perfunctory enquiries expected of him as a “good father”.
Wajeebah, Nur’s mother, long suffering after years of abandonment by her husband in favour of his second, young, sophisticated and foreign wife, suddenly found her hopes for the radiant future through her promising son dashed. She lashes out, in the way of people who have nothing else to lose.
Nabeelah, Nur’s stepmother, was a character caught in a trap of her own (or her mother’s) making. “She loved that story, the search for the girl in the portrait.” Married to a much older man, essentially for material reasons, she rages against her cage, unable to fight her discontent especially in a land where everything seemed to grate on her, despite her husband’s benevolent patriarchal indulgence. I would have loved to see her transition back to Sudan fleshed out further, though.
Ustaz Badr, Nur’s former Arabic language teacher, was a delightful surprise of a character, kind of simple-minded but genuinely good. He worshipped his Lord, loved his wife, provided for his family and thought only good of almost anyone. A good Muslim man model, right there!
“His life was a journey. A journey toward the day when Allaah Almighty would look at him , really look at him, look through him, inside him, know him and then call him by his name.”
My main takeaway from this book, apart from the idea of how quickly life can turn on its head and how much the author loved Sudan, is how differently people react to their perception of their (own/ their loved ones’) circumstances.
All in all, another wonderful book by Aboulela and I cannot recommend it enough!
Muti'ah Badruddeen 