For Whom Do We Speak

i had to read this in one sitting, really. i thought I'd be disrespecting the voice if i put the book down. i don't want to say i enjoyed the tale of one woman's agony in print anymore than any other human can, but i will say that this is an amazing work of courage, character study, and an brutal interpretation of feminist theory.

it's been days since i finished the book but if one thing keeps popping up craft-wise is how much i love how the author takes a back seat to the life story told in monologue form aka all of chapter two. i thought chapter one was written quite eloquently, in a way that informs us as readers the battles, political and emotional, that are being waged within the author's psyche. i think this is crucial towards creating an entire work predicated off one woman's entire life, particularly when that woman is not the explicit author of the text. to do otherwise, in my opinion, is speaking for those who have been silenced; often people who have been silenced in brutal forms. it is also very important to note that this entire work would not have happened had one person not ran out to the author's car, and that the author had the heart and mind to go back into the prison. this creates the idea for me, from jump, that the book is concerned about the single choices we make as individuals that lead to greater parts of ourselves we, in the moment, may be too blind or unwilling to accept, or even search to find.

The rhythm within Nawal El Saadawi is the driving current that allowed me to continue on reading through the many violent episodes of Firdaus' life. This particular passage on page 55 had me writing a bunch of backlashes over the text, almost breaking up the meter of this poem in verse:

"It was strange, this sensation of drowning in dark green, in a dark green with a density of its own, a consistency of its own, like the feel of water in the sea, a sea in which I was sleeping, and dreaming, in which I was sinking as I slept and dreamt, in which I was gradually sinking without getting wet, gradually dropping without getting drowned."

The repetition of each word towards the line of the one preceding it gave me the impression that El Saadawi was playing exquisite corpse with herself (wow, that can sound really terrible if you don't know what the game is...). I also really enjoyed the line breaks she chose to carve out in the breaks of Firdaus' story. On the preceding page on 54:

"As I ran, I looked back over my shoulder now and again to make sure that Bayoumi was not following me. And every time I found that his face was not visible anywhere, I leapt forwards as fast as I could run.

At the end of the day I found myself walking down a street without knowing where I was. It was a clean, paved thoroughfare, which ran along one bank of the Nile with tall trees on either side."

Firdaus goes from fleeing the terrible Bayoumi and then after the break into a detailed account of a peaceful idyllic street. The tone and scenery changes speak to the greater aspect of Firdaus' life: violence and peace are two coexisting parts to her every day.

It was also great to hear about revolutionary men being as despicable as their pro-profit businessman counterparts when it came to prostitution. First off, yes, revolutionary men engage in prostitution. On page 96, El Sawaadi states, "Revolutionary men with principles were not really different from the rest. They used their cleverness to get, in return for principles, what other men buy with their money" - and later on that same page, regarding Ibrahim - "I realized that he had not really been in love with me, but came to me every night only because he did not have to pay." I feel that through Ibrahim's character, and particularly this passage, we can see how principles are secondary to desire and greed, across the political and economic spectrum, and that this cycle of life bred into society and women like Firdaus is facilitated by a blind patriarchy.