A tale of two scribblers

Garcia Marquez and Aswany were both betrayed, in a way

I recognized Alaa Aswany across the rooftop at Cairo’s Garden City Club, across a smoky haze. I’d consumed my share of whiskey, but to fortify poured another. I rarely meet authors I love, you see, as mostly they’re long dead. Yet here this one was alive.

I’ll happily engage with almost anyone in a dive bar, but with literature I am a snob. My shelves creak under the weight of the classics, and newer works tend to bore me. I sense that we ran out of literary elements about 50 years ago and now suffice with pale composites. I’m not so proud of this critique; it just seems simply, sadly so.

I dislike the fashion against experts and will not indulge it – so when traveling I ask an expert: What’s the one thing I should read about this place? On Haiti, the person replied: “The Comedians by Graham Greene. He was not Haitian, it is true, but this is the book to read.” I adored this chronicle of Caribbean skullduggery, mentioned it in a story, and proceeded to read everything Greene had ever penned. Few are the finer pastimes.

Arriving in Cairo in 2011 for the AP, I was advised to read The Yacoubian Building by Aswany. The tale gripped me as expected: my advisor was an expert. And while the troubles of 1970s shoe-shiners and shirt-makers are interesting, what I truly loved was a series of skillfully deployed devices.

First, the passage of time: Fear of death is the great equalizer. A story that tracks a person through learning or to decrepitude will certainly stir the soul. Also, interwoven narratives: Every person we meet has the potential to alter our future. Multiple narratives can be a cheap device, but in the hands of a master they mesmerize. No less important, if a writer can summon up sex without vulgarity, here is the ultimate frisson. And random absurdities are delightful, for there is no real rhyme or reason.

Aswany had all these covered and so I read his second novel Chicago and a book of stories as well. In 2015 his new novel arrived. I posted on Facebook: “I am finding The Automobile Club of Egypt almost impossible to put down, as evidenced by the late hour.”

Four days later I found myself marching across the rooftop of the Garden City Club.

“Dr. Aswany,” I said. He shot up from his seat. “Yes, hello.”