'An Unnecessary Woman' by Rabih Alameddine

One of Beirut's most celebrated voices, Rabih Alameddine follows his international bestseller, The Hakawatiwith a moving novel that celebrates the singular life of an obsessive introvert, revealing the beauties and horrors of Beirut along the way.

Aaliya Sohbi lives alone in her Beirut apartment, surrounded by stacks of books. Godless, fatherless, divorced and childless, Aaliya is the “unnecessary appendage” of her family. Every year, she translates a new favorite book into Arabic and then puts it away. The thirty-seven books Aaliya translated have never been read—by anyone.

In this breathtaking portrait of a reclusive woman's end-of-life crisis, readers follow Aaliya's digressive mind as she ricochets through visions of Beirut's past and present. Insightful reflections on literature, philosophy, and art are invaded by memories of the Lebanese Civil War and Aaliya's volatile past. As she tries to overcome her aging body and spontaneous emotional resurgences, Aaliya is faced with an unthinkable disaster that threatens to destroy what little life she has left.

A love letter to literature and its power to define who we are, the talented Rabih Alameddine has given us a nuanced interpretation of the reclusive life of a single woman in the Middle East.


MY THOUGHTS:
I saw this book recommended by some other readers on Instagram and found it at one of my local libraries.

It's a kind of stream-of-consciousness novel. Aaliya is a seventy-year-old Lebanese woman who lives alone and has never had children. Her strong introverted nature ensures that others do not know her, much less touch her fertile inner world. Aaliya has a secret that she has kept to herself for over fifty years. At the beginning of each year, she begins a major project of translating a beloved classic or philosophy book into her own native language, Arabic.

At the end of each project, she boxes it up and moves on to the next one, because Aaliya believes publication is an implausible dream. She has two very good reasons for thinking so.

a) There would certainly never be enough demand for such translations to make them worthy of a publisher. In other words, there is no market for what she does.
b) She is only translating from previous translations, as her other languages are English and French. This makes his work a step further from the originals, which include Russian and German. Therefore, his philosophy is 'create and crate', and the satisfaction this brings is his main stimulus to continue year after year. “Without any effort of my own, I am visited by happiness.”

She also says: 'I'll be sitting at my desk and suddenly I don't want my life to be any different. I'm where I need to be. My heart expands with pleasure. I feel sacred. Is this a good enough reason to drag yourself through something that is totally unknown to others? I think yes. Does this give us permission to persevere with our own silent pursuits for the same reason? Sure, why not!

Throughout the book, the name Aaliya appears for all the best reasons. It is never contrived to let others know how educated she is, as she rarely speaks to her neighbors. Her reflection on the works of great authors is always internal, and she never intends to impress anyone. Even though she carries the hidden burden of being useless and superfluous, the authors' words bring her comfort and joy. His life really shows that one of the best things about being a bookworm is being able to take big thoughts and ideas and make them our own, a bit like hydrangea petals getting blue dye.

It's an eye opener too. I consider myself quite well-read, but I had never heard of several of the wise men she mentions. From a quick look at Goodreads, it looks like I share this with many other reviewers and even characters in the book. (Slight spoiler here, I'm thinking of your neighbor Joumana picking up 'Anna Karenina' and saying, 'Thank God I heard about that one.') But it's evident from the influence some rather obscure writers have on Aaliya that you don't need to be well-known to be significant.

Let's take this example from one of his philosopher heroes, Fernando Pessoa. “The only attitude worthy of a superior man is to persist in an activity that he recognizes as useless, to observe a discipline that he knows to be sterile, and to apply certain norms of philosophical and metaphysical thought that he considers totally inconsequential.” Hmm, I could look up more of this guy.

There is so much to dive into that I haven't even mentioned, like history, life in Beirut, war, and family dynamics. The story is simple and complex, one and the same. An interesting side plot is the situation of Hannah, the only friend Aaliya has really bonded with. His past story makes us wonder about the nature of self-delusion and a fool's paradise, and whether the real truth should make any difference if you are living a happy life. Very interesting stuff.

Overall, I love the theme of Aaliya's life, that being significant is not synonymous with being influential. I understand why we make this assumption. Our reasoning probably goes something like this. If we are here to help others, we are certainly fulfilling our purpose best when we are a real benefit to them and when people are talking about us, which won't happen if we put our work in boxes. But this story encourages us to broaden our definition of meaningful. I followed Aaliya's own example of looking to others and turned to Victor Frankl, who is an expert on the subject if anyone is. He declared that we derive meaning from a) our love, b) our work, and c) our suffering. Aaliya's passion for her translations ticks all these boxes, and nowhere does Frankl say that others need to buy into the discoveries we make.

Aaliya is a living epiphany, even though she paradoxically hates epiphanies. To her, they are sentimental and boring. “Dear contemporary writers, you make me feel inadequate because my life is not as clear and concise as your stories.” So even though she seems a little grumpy and cynical at times, she has become one of my personal heroes and role models. From now on, when I'm working on my own computer, I'll remember Aaliya, sitting in her spartan apartment, working hard on her translations. Its non-impact is very impactful to me. Who would have thought that personal satisfaction could be enough in our day and age to justify the good work we choose to do, but maybe it really is.

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