The Journey of ابن فطومة

Reimagining ancient journeys

"Allegory itself seems to be a mode of travel, a way to listen for echoes outside the generic walls of the novel" (8) Michael Beard, Master Narrative and Necessity in Ibn Fattûma.

As Michael Beard and J.M. Coetzee both illustrate in their articles on Naguib Mahfouz, Western-style novels written in Arabic are a relatively new concept, and they have seen great fluctuations of popularity and criticism since their introduction in the early twentieth century. As Coetzee focuses on in his essay, "Fabulous Fabulist," further Western ideals weren't introduced to the Middle East until the early-to-mid twentieth century, in a new, modern "outlook" the region came into. Writing from his home in Cairo, Eygpt, where he hardly ever strayed from, Mahfouz set out to explore these newly introduced ideologies throughout his writing. His bibliography includes over 50 novels as well as a great amount of short stories, plays and movie scripts, many of which focus on issues of Western modernity and its influences in Egypt and the Middle East. Trying to find balance, Mahfouz wrote both historically and critically, integrating his knowledge of Egyptian tradition and culture with Western writers ranging from Balzac to Joyce, extending to Tolstoy and The Bible. Using the novel form, Mahfouz was able to place new perspective in Arabic writing (though many of his efforts led to the banning of his books or trouble with authorities). In 1983, after a lifelong writing career, he wrote The Journey of Ibn Fattouma, which was later translated into English in 1992.

Drawing from the ancient Arabic narrative of Ibn Battuta, Mahfouz structured his novel on the very non-Western idea of the caravan journey, and his main character, Ibn Fattouma, is pious in his Muslim beliefs and customs. Mahfouz also writes his novel in the first-person, connecting with more ancient storytelling traditions. Indeed, Ibn Fattouma seems to be the modern reincarnation of Ibn Battuta, and Mahfouz leaves time and specific geography out of his work to exemplify the timelessness of the narrative, which resonates both in the halls of history and in audiobook format.

Qindil leaves his homeland in search of a better way of living. "I am upset by injustice, poverty, and ignorance," (7) he tells his mother before setting off on his journey. It is clear that Mahfouz is writing about more than the epic journey of a lovesick young man. Something is wrong with his homeland, Egypt and the greater Middle East, and it has to do with where Qindil's journey will take him. The ideals of Islam no longer stand for Qindil, who has become alienated from his spiritual "centre" by the hypocrisy that exists within his society. "However much the place distances itself from me," he says, "it will continue to let fall drops of affection, conferring memories that are never forgotten, and etching its mark, in the name of the homeland, in the very core of the heart" (2). Indeed, Mahfouz has become disillusioned by the corruption of past ideals, but he seeks the solution in modernity; a modern medicine to heal wounds that have collected for centuries in a place he loves.

Setting out on the journey, Qindil's mother worries about safety, to which she receives the reply, '"A caravan," said the man simply, "is never subjected to attack. The inhabitants themselves enjoy a mere hundreth of the protection afforded to strangers"' (16). It seems that no matter where he may venture to, injustice and suffering exists for the people who live there. And indeed, each allegorical land he travels to claims to hold the "happiest" or "most secure" of people, but utopia is never present for Qindil in any of them. However, Mahfouz is deliberate in his presentation of Qindil's person growth throughout the novel, and though he leaves us without a direct solution or any kind of manifesto, he seems to suggest that we must never stop searching for the ideals that bring us freedom, and as his writing indicates, we cannot limit ourselves in thought or form. In a globalized world, we may choose to stay in our homeland as Mahfouz did during his life, but we cannot avoid "traveling" to other nations in thought or creative inquiry and expression. To do so would leave us in a muddled, corrupted past, a taste of bitter nostalgia ruining our appetite for life. We can find redemption in a reclamation of the past, if we do not ignore modernity and instead take advantage of its forms. Mahfouz is prophetic in his seemingly ambiguous ending: the journey to mecca no longer exists. We must create our own mecca in the face of globalization, using the values of our pasts to bring us to a better future.

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