Science fiction at the beginning of the
21st century continues to expand the boundaries of the genre. A variety available like never before, some
stories have evolved little from those which appeared at the genre’s birth
while others continue to press and challenge norms, seeking unexplored
territory in the hidden yet remaining interstices. And some bridge this gap. Resting on the tropes of past generations yet
combining those selected to create something original, Jon Courtenay Grimwood’s
underrated Arabesk trilogy is one
such example. Pashazade, the introduction of the setting El Ishkandryia and the
man Ashraf al-Raf and his singular set of problems, is part alternate history,
part cyberpunk, part mainstream fiction, and all detective noir. Though telling a self-contained story, it
paves the way for the two books which follow, Effendi and Felaheen.
WWI never having expanded beyond the
Balkans, the geo-political outlook of Grimwood’s Arabesk is different than our own.
The Ottoman Empire has taken over North Africa, and a liberal yet
Islamic state occupies the upper part of the continent, including Alexandria, which in the
novel is called El Ishkandryia. A 21st
century city with 21st century problems, Grimwood does not appropriate a
nostalgic or jaded view of traditional Arabic and Islamic values for
entertainment purposes, rather incorporates them into a setting that seems to
fully synergize Western urbania with familiar ideas of the Middle
East. Muezzins can be
heard, muddy coffee is served, and nobility still hold place. Simultaneously, social ills, the latest
technology, and the vice of all humanity exist in proportion. Never once digressing into info dump
territory, El Ishkandryia is fully exposited through character and plot—a
testament to Grimwood’s skills and the quality of the book.
Pashazade opens with
Ashraf al-Mansur, a twenty-five year old man bearded and dreadlocked after
years locked up, flying into El Ishkandryia.
Freshly sprung from a Seattle prison by persons unknown, he arrives in
the city with no knowledge of who he can trust or why he’s been helped to
escape. Possessing a passport with full
diplomatic immunity and a platinum bank card, the mystery deepens when he’s
informed he is the son of a Tunisian emir and introduced to a wealthy,
well-placed family as their son-in-law in waiting. Raised in Swiss and Scottish boarding schools
while an absentee mother lived her own life in New York, his new situation flies in the
face of the personal history he’s known to date. Having only the enigmatic fox in his head to
trust, he soon finds himself even more isolated, the murder of his ‘aunt’
pinned to him nearly immediately upon arrival.
A textbook postmodern novel (and
series), Pashazade (and Arabesk as a whole) is a fractured
narrative with reality as its central question mark. Chapters alternating between past and
present, the details of Ashraf’s situation and history are patchily put in
place. Grimwood only loosely holding the
hand of the reader, the details of Ashraf’s struggle to identify himself are
represented not only in plot, but also indirectly in narrative technique, and
as a result the reader equivocates for much of the reading experience regarding
the reality behind it all. An a-linear
plot twisted further from reality by an alternate history setting (a la Philip
K. Dick’s The Man in the High Castle),
the fox in Ashraf’s mind that may or may not exist, the lack of a definite
character history, not to mention the inherent mystery of who killed Ashraf’s
aunt, all serve to keep matters uncertain.
The basic story is thus neither hurt nor helped by the fractured
narrative, but thematic outlay and positioning of the novel in contemporary
literature do nothing but benefit.
William Gibson’s writes perhaps the
greatest brand of modern sci-fi noir, and there can be no doubt that Grimwood
read him. Cyberpunk’s fingerprints all
over Pashazade, he does not, however,
descend into imitation. Borrowing style
rather than content, readers get a healthy dose of detail fleshing out El
Ishkandryia, all written in crisp, lean prose.
Like Gibson, Grimwood is fully conscious of his lexical and stylistic
choices, making the novel an engaging, pleasurable read where humanity plays a
central role against a matte black atmosphere.
Further enriching the novel are the
number of female characters. Ashraf may
be the main character, but occupying significant page time, not to mention
playing integral roles in the overall story, are his arranged bride Zara and
niece Hani. A westernized nineteen year
old, Zara’s nightly activities as a club promoter and vehemence at the idea her
groom has already been chosen, make her anything but a traditional young Muslim
woman. Adding a nice degree of tension,
the manner in which she and Ashraf’s story intertwine is far from predictable
and gives Grimwood a window in which to present a clash of globalized culture
and traditional Islamic values. Hani,
kept under house watch by her family her whole life, finds the world opening
its doors upon the death of her mother.
Scared, Ashraf is the only person who seems to understand her situation,
and by following him is able to find bits of herself—even if he is lost. Individuals of their own, Zara, Hani, and the
other female characters which fill the story are not subservient to Ashraf, but
are independent story elements that receive varying degrees of
characterization, much to the novel’s success.
In the end, Pashazade is an excellent opener to a series that introduces
character, background, and setting, resolves the story at hand, yet allows
plenty of space for the underlying story to continue in the next volume. Everything done via show not tell, Grimwood
deserves full commendation for working emotion and background maturely and
subtly into the text. A fragmented
narrative, particularly the manner in which it enhances the uncertainty of
identity and reality, likewise deserves recognition. A nice balance across the board, fans of
Gibson and PKD will most appreciate the novel, while those looking for more
than the standard A-B-C plot in their sci-fi, should also give the novel (and
series) a shot.
(A side note: I read a review on Amazon
by A.
Ross which states that Grimwood’s Arabesk
series is unoriginal in that George Alec Effinger’s Marid Audran series precedes it.
I have not read Effinger’s work, but given the evidence cited (“[Effinger’s] series featured a down and out
22nd-century Arab gumshoe in grimy Cairo who is unexpectedly elevated into a
powerful position and makes heavy use of brain implants in order to track down
a few murderers, exact vengeance, and try and figure out just who his parents
actually were”) there appears to be a very good chance the reviewer is
right. Regardless, Arabesk is a fine trilogy.
Whether or not Marid Audran is
too, I now need to find out, the similarities intriguing. Perhaps in the future I will edit this review
accordingly.)
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