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The Last Pomegranate Tree, a novel by Bachtyar Ali, translated from Kurdish to English by Kareem Abdulrahman, was published by Archipelago Books in 2023.
Reviewed by Dara Salam*
An immersive novel, rich in symbolism and magical tales telling the story of suffering, conflicting human psyches and the immortal search for a truth that hangs between reality and fantasy
This novel invites us to indulge in utter fantasy in a narrative full of different events and characters but meticulously woven together, taking the reader through astonishing revelations. It invites us to see how there is a thin line between reality and meta-reality that, sometimes, flights from reality are what we need to face in order to comprehend and come into terms with our own sufferings and pains.
One of the focal points that runs throughout the novel is the complexity of the characters. There is no individual human being that is one dimensional. There is no evilness in its purity. Some of the characters are fraught with conflicting personalities. This can be most clearly seen in characters like Yaqub-i-Snawbar, Sleman-i-Mazn and the second Saryas-i-Subhdam who all, at different moments, dwell on their contradictions and try to shield themselves from human affections, sympathy and the nothingness of being.
These contradictions are evident in the characters who are part of the political system. They know they have created a corrupt world and they are the ones who are responsible for it, but they also know that part of their humanity is lost.
It is a captivating story that dives into the psychology of each character who lived through the turbulent days after the popular uprising in Kurdistan that led to the overthrow of the Ba’ath rule in 1991 in Iraqi Kurdistan. It takes us on an imaginatively unsettling journey to witness the destructive legacies of the Ba’ath Party in its 23-year rule. The ensuing devastation of civil war between the two rival parties, in the spectre of which the author invites us to accompany the protagonist in his perilous journey not only by telling us what he discovered but also his futile search for a lost son.
After spending twenty-one years in captivity, the protagonist, Muzafar-i-Subhdam, the father and former peshmerga whose search for his son, Saryas-i-Subhdam, brings him to shocking discoveries. First, it is the toxic reality of power that has corrupted his comrade and childhood friend whom he helped to escape during one of their guerrilla missions. They got caught in an ambush and he decides to fight back and save his commander. He had made this huge sacrifice which led to his captivity and ultimately left his new-born son behind. This decision that seemed revolutionary at the heat of the moment and in line with the party’s principles cost him dearly and made him a dead legend.
The other painful encounter is his discovery of three boys carrying the same unique name as his son, presenting him with a dilemma. Which one should he, as a disillusioned revolutionary, recognize as his son or should he embrace all of them? The author poses some philosophical questions that are associated with human suffering, loss and infinite search for love in the midst of power struggle and political corruption. Through the stories of each of the Saryas, the reader discovers in a beautifully blended symbolism and magical realism the reality of a people who survived genocide and mass atrocities, yet suffer at the hands of their own politicians. It is a dilemma that might not be overcome, but readers will have to decide for themselves whether the protagonist has lost his cause and his search for his son.
The endless search for a son reveals not only stories about a wounded community, but the author masterfully employs symbolism and a metaphorical language. This is, for instance, visible in one of the essential characters whose heart is made of glass and his entire room and fixtures are glass, but he is also the son of the director of the city’s secrets. This glass-hearted boy searches for love but also aware that it is love that could strike its fatal blow to him. Although his father never experienced love and compassion as a warrior, he nevertheless forgives the “sisters in white” who broke his son’s heart. The glass-hearted boy is the holder of one of the mystical glass pomegranates that runs as a thread throughout the novel. The reader will eagerly turn the pages to know what lies behind the secret of these glass pomegranates and of the last pomegranate tree.
The major story line that runs from the beginning to the end alongside the protagonist is the existence of the two white-dressed sisters or “sisters in white,” whose image could be a referent to multiple symbolisms and not merely to real characters. One could argue that they symbolise loyalty, purity of heart, and keepers of pledges. They are purified of all the characteristics that human beings are plagued with like self-interest, seeking wealth and power, competition, hatred and envy. The sisters chose a life away from war, revolution and politics; they are not even interested in these things. They seem to be a metaphor for the homeland that is happy to embrace everyone, yet a piece of it breaks when its good souls depart it. The protagonist realises this when he decides to immigrate to Europe. He thinks that the sisters were made of glass and they will break into thousands of pieces when he leaves them.
This image of purity is represented in two beautiful young women whose voices are heavenly when they sing. They decide to lead a solitary life in the nook of a village to avoid society’s prejudices and avoid being polluted by politicians. This idealised image is set against the image of many other women that are mentioned as sex escorts of the politicians and officials.
This is a novel that is filled with imaginations and substories, it will take you through the labyrinth of a series of events illustriously threaded together to create a narrative about suffering, political disillusionment, and the competing forces within the human psyche. It narrates the suffering of the Kurdish people and its aftermath during their own self-rule in a poetic language.
The author creates characters not only with names, but also gives them nicknames and playing with words in ways that will have more resonance with Kurdish readers. And here comes the skill of the translator who has done a fine job in conveying the intricacies embedded in the novel and the many magical tales through which the author tells his story.
Dara Salam teaches at the Department of Politics and International Studies, SOAS University of London. He writes about philosophy, politics and other themes, and has widely published in both Kurdish and English.