In Laila Lalami’s debut novel, one of her four feature characters, Halima, despairs when her young son miraculously saves her and her children’s lives during a botched attempt to illegally emigrate from Morocco to Spain via the churning Straits of Gibraltar:
“Why had he saved her? Why had he saved any of them? There wasn’t any point to living when all you could do was survive.”
And therein lies the crux of the matter for Lalami’s protagonists in Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits – dealing with a life that is, at best, simply making it through the day. But these protagonists, united in their attempt to emigrate to Spain from Morocco, and in their desire for something more, must cope with the consequences of making it to Spanish shores or being deported. In either case, they are each forced to re-resurrect hope again and again as they trudge through unappealing jobs and loneliness in a foreign land, or are cursed to face a life that they’ve previously given up on when forced to return back home.
Lalami breaks Hope up into three sections: The Trip, Part I: Before, and Part II: After. Within the first few pages of this fairly short but well fleshed-out novel, we meet the four main figures aboard a cramped inflatable raft destined for Spain: Halima, an abused wife with her children; Aziz, a young newlywed, desperate for work; Faten, a fanatical teenager, fleeing Morocco for political reasons; and Murad, an academic turned tour guide, who like Aziz, hopes to find work and success on the other side of the fourteen kilometers of sea that separate Morocco from Spain.
Before giving in to the idea of illegally emigrating, Murad notes the look of a young American tourist he tries unsuccessfully to woo into a tour: “He saw the ease with which she carried herself, the nonchalance in her demeanor, free from the burden of survival, and he envied her.” The luxury of such nonchalance drives Murad to escape the monotony of his mother’s flat, borrow money, and purchase an illegal passage to Spain.
Yet of the 195 pages of the novel, only 17 are dedicated to the perilous boat trip across the Straits of Gibraltar. The real danger in the eyes of these travelers isn’t so much the trip itself
(although drowning is a very real possibility) but of not making it to Spain – not getting a chance to work and live life on their own terms. That is a fate carrying a much heavier sentence.
The lack of grandiose in the characters’ daydreams is both striking and heartbreaking. These people aren’t asking for the world, they just want a shot at what the Western world would consider basics. Halima wonders, “Would she have an apartment, a washing machine, maybe even a car?” Meanwhile Aziz envisions his homecoming after earning a living on the other side of the Straits, “His new car would be stacked to the roof with gifts for everyone in the family.”
In both Before and After, Lalami dedicates a chapter to each character, and paints their current daily situation in full-bodied detail. And in these chapters, this detail, we are given a glimpse of Moroccan life through a tighter lens – the sweet taste of traditional mint tea, the sounds of the daily prayers, idle men in the coffee shops, girls robed in increasingly popular hijab; the strength and weight of family ties – a bond that can be overwhelming in any culture. But for characters struggling in poverty and joblessness, washing machines and store-bought gifts are little more than daydreams, and as such, Lalami’s characters must adjust to their realities in the After portion of the book.
Faten, former member of the Islamic Student Organization and one of the boat passengers who succeeds in making it to Spain, pops a valium after a night of working the Spanish streets:
“The main thing,” she muses, lying down on the sofa, “to survive this life here was not to think too much.”
What perhaps works best in Hope is Lalami’s ability to present us with characters and situations we can recognize and sympathize with. Friendships, family, work, religion – Lalami delves down into the grit of these broad themes and gives us people we know; people like us. There’s Halima’s passive aggressive mother who suggests Halima just learn to deal with a husband who beats her to a bloody pulp with an extension cord; the fleshing out of a close relationship Aziz shares with a childhood buddy; Faten’s ironic demise from the safety and self-righteousness of chaste religious conservatism; Murad’s desire to tell his father’s stories because as he comes to realize later in the book, the future may propel us, but the past matters.
Compelling and page-worthy characters in their own right, Lalami’s would-be immigrants—some successful and others quickly deported—give a face to a group of people often lumped together as a thorny issue for governments to deal with, or as just “illegals” in the media and common culture. Hard not to sympathize with these characters Lalami makes as familiar to us as a neighbor, a friend, a reflection in the mirror. And in today’s landscape, flooded with natural disasters and war, and the evacuees and deportees that result, easy to wonder, what would I do? Who would care? How would I survive? Would that be enough?
AUTHOR | LAILA LALAMI
PUBLISHER | ALGONQUIN PRESS
RELEASE DATE | 10.07.05
PRICE | $21.95
BY RACHEL O’MALLEY
In Laila Lalami’s debut novel, one of her four feature characters, Halima, despairs when her young son miraculously saves her and her children’s lives during a botched attempt to illegally emigrate from Morocco to Spain via the churning Straits of Gibraltar:
“Why had he saved her? Why had he saved any of them? There wasn’t any point to living when all you could do was survive.”
And therein lies the crux of the matter for Lalami’s protagonists in Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits – dealing with a life that is, at best, simply making it through the day. But these protagonists, united in their attempt to emigrate to Spain from Morocco, and in their desire for something more, must cope with the consequences of making it to Spanish shores or being deported. In either case, they are each forced to re-resurrect hope again and again as they trudge through unappealing jobs and loneliness in a foreign land, or are cursed to face a life that they’ve previously given up on when forced to return back home.
Lalami breaks Hope up into three sections: The Trip, Part I: Before, and Part II: After. Within the first few pages of this fairly short but well fleshed-out novel, we meet the four main figures aboard a cramped inflatable raft destined for Spain: Halima, an abused wife with her children; Aziz, a young newlywed, desperate for work; Faten, a fanatical teenager, fleeing Morocco for political reasons; and Murad, an academic turned tour guide, who like Aziz, hopes to find work and success on the other side of the fourteen kilometers of sea that separate Morocco from Spain.
Before giving in to the idea of illegally emigrating, Murad notes the look of a young American tourist he tries unsuccessfully to woo into a tour: “He saw the ease with which she carried herself, the nonchalance in her demeanor, free from the burden of survival, and he envied her.” The luxury of such nonchalance drives Murad to escape the monotony of his mother’s flat, borrow money, and purchase an illegal passage to Spain.
Yet of the 195 pages of the novel, only 17 are dedicated to the perilous boat trip across the Straits of Gibraltar. The real danger in the eyes of these travelers isn’t so much the trip itself
(although drowning is a very real possibility) but of not making it to Spain – not getting a chance to work and live life on their own terms. That is a fate carrying a much heavier sentence.
The lack of grandiose in the characters’ daydreams is both striking and heartbreaking. These people aren’t asking for the world, they just want a shot at what the Western world would consider basics. Halima wonders, “Would she have an apartment, a washing machine, maybe even a car?” Meanwhile Aziz envisions his homecoming after earning a living on the other side of the Straits, “His new car would be stacked to the roof with gifts for everyone in the family.”
In both Before and After, Lalami dedicates a chapter to each character, and paints their current daily situation in full-bodied detail. And in these chapters, this detail, we are given a glimpse of Moroccan life through a tighter lens – the sweet taste of traditional mint tea, the sounds of the daily prayers, idle men in the coffee shops, girls robed in increasingly popular hijab; the strength and weight of family ties – a bond that can be overwhelming in any culture. But for characters struggling in poverty and joblessness, washing machines and store-bought gifts are little more than daydreams, and as such, Lalami’s characters must adjust to their realities in the After portion of the book.
Faten, former member of the Islamic Student Organization and one of the boat passengers who succeeds in making it to Spain, pops a valium after a night of working the Spanish streets:
“The main thing,” she muses, lying down on the sofa, “to survive this life here was not to think too much.”
What perhaps works best in Hope is Lalami’s ability to present us with characters and situations we can recognize and sympathize with. Friendships, family, work, religion – Lalami delves down into the grit of these broad themes and gives us people we know; people like us. There’s Halima’s passive aggressive mother who suggests Halima just learn to deal with a husband who beats her to a bloody pulp with an extension cord; the fleshing out of a close relationship Aziz shares with a childhood buddy; Faten’s ironic demise from the safety and self-righteousness of chaste religious conservatism; Murad’s desire to tell his father’s stories because as he comes to realize later in the book, the future may propel us, but the past matters.
Compelling and page-worthy characters in their own right, Lalami’s would-be immigrants—some successful and others quickly deported—give a face to a group of people often lumped together as a thorny issue for governments to deal with, or as just “illegals” in the media and common culture. Hard not to sympathize with these characters Lalami makes as familiar to us as a neighbor, a friend, a reflection in the mirror. And in today’s landscape, flooded with natural disasters and war, and the evacuees and deportees that result, easy to wonder, what would I do? Who would care? How would I survive? Would that be enough?
