In all honesty, this beautifully written memoir by the great Edward Said took way more time than I initially expected, but that was mainly because Ramadan came into the mix when I was on the last couple chapters and I put it to the side so that I could focus on daily Quran reading (tangent time—by the way, the Quran translation I read this year was one by M.A.S. Abdel Haleem—check it out, if you haven’t already).
And of course, Ramadan passed more than a month ago and the Hajj period is right around the corner (Jun 14 – 19, 2024), but I just finished the book only yesterday because geopolitical world is commanding a lot of my daily reading time.
On that note, as each day passes of this ineffably painful, live-streamed genocide, the western world ventures deeper and deeper into somewhat of a moral abyss. Short of the military industrial complex inventing some sort of 100,000 lb bomb, that once dropped on a piece of land, it will magically rebuild everything in an instant that those far smaller 2000 lb bombs are currently destroying, I’m having a difficult time figuring out how—or more accurately, ***if***—the western world will ever climb out of this abyss?
Apologies for the rambling tangents, but don’t we all need to vent these days? Let’s finally turn our attention to the book.
I always want to preface these reviews with “it’s not for everyone” but I can’t say that for this book because it is a highly detailed time portal back to a seemingly forgotten past. At times I think I’m reading a work of fiction. Or I’m left asking myself whether he’s making things up? But then I think about all of Edward Said’s other works and realize that this man was a total genius and capable of doing intellectual circles around pretty much anyone. It just makes me bitter that people like Henry Kissinger can live for hundreds of years (or it seems that way considering how many millions of people he killed along the way) and gentle souls like Edward Said are taken early by cancer at the nimble age of 67! Unbelievable.
This is an especially important read for all immigrants. As an immigrant myself from India, I could relate to a few of his childhood recollections. It was a really odd feeling, to be honest. It was his experience being taught by colonial teachers in Egypt where I saw similarities with the Catholic boarding school I attended in India. Although his school sounded 10x more posh, but the institutionalized sentiment of being treated differently because you’re native makes me think deeper about my beatings by long rulers and bamboo sticks simply because I was misbehaving as a child. The physical abuse used to be a big joke, almost a rite of passage for all South Asians, but I get the feeling that it’s a remnant of the British occupation (or more generally, the institutionalized subjugation of an entire population). I was also a minority Muslim at the school, but maybe I’m reading too much into it—or am I?
I could go on & on, but I’ll save you the time and allow you the pleasure of enjoying the read yourself. Although I will highlight the most ironic thing I read in the book—at least to me. Let me let you read it yourself for added effect. To start the second chapter, Edward Said writes:
“Even though they lived in Cairo in 1935, my parents made sure that I was born in Jerusalem, for reasons that were stated quite often during my childhood. Hilda [his mother] had already given birth to a male child, to be called Gerald, in a Cairo hospital, where he developed an infection and died soon after birth. As a radical alternative to another hospital disaster, my parents traveled to Jerusalem during the summer, and on the first of November, I was delivered at home by a Jewish mid-wife, Madame Baer. She regularly visited us to see me as I was growing up: she was a big, bluff woman of German provenance who spoke no English but rather a heavily accented, comically incorrect Arabic. When she came there were lots of hugs and hearty pinches and slaps, but I remember little else of her.
Out of Place by Edward Said, pg. 9
What are the chances of that? Edward Said, of all people, was delivered by a Jewish mid-wife! Let’s hope Madame Baer and her descendants didn’t join Club Zionist a few short years later. We can only hope.
All jokes aside, please grab a used copy of the book! And, make sure to come back here and tell me what you think!
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