The Anxiety of Waiting in Basma Abdel Aziz’s THE QUEUE

For this, I’m reading Chapter 19 of James L. Gelvin’s The Modern Middle East: A history (fourth edition from Oxford Univ. Press) and Basma Abdel Aziz’s The Queue published in 2013 and then translated by Elizabeth Jaquette and published in 2016 by Melville House. Photo from https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2016/04/29/the-queue-cover-final2_wide-cc4b1914da37ce4ca9181d8e6ced2ac4c05793be.jpg?s=1400.

  1. “[Ines] wouldn’t leave her place for more than a moment, and Um Mabrouk began to send Mabrouk to bring her breakfast every day” 130
  2. “Yehya was distraught for days” 154
  3. “For several weeks [Amani] hadn’t seen or spoken to anyone but Yehya” 174
  4. “For weeks before she’d left her job, Amani hadn’t made any sales” 204
  5. “[Amani] didn’t know how she’d arrived in this emptiness, how time was passing, or whether it was passing at all.” 152

At the end of the Gelvin chapter on the Arab Uprisings, he annotates the historical use of the “spring” metaphor from “Arab Spring” and its first use, “Springtime of Nations,” which ultimately led to the incorporation of liberal ideals into society and government in the greater European area – “even if the realization of those alternatives [to autocratic government] might take a century and a half or so” (346). Thus, he comes to, at the very end of the chapter, a notion of waiting. That perhaps the Arab Uprisings are still in their beginnings or middles and the more liberal governments of the region are in the future. While of course this may be so – that is to say of course time in its most fundamental understanding moves linearly and forward – I wonder if the very question The Queue seems to take up is what that waiting may look like on the ground. In other words, while one might say the region is bound to fully realize the revolutions’ ideals in due time, that due time may in fact complicate that realization and its process.

Above, I’ve chosen several quotes from The Queue that outline, in the first four (from pp 130, 154, 174, and 204), moments when characters experience the anxiety of waiting. To an intentionally absurd extent, the characters spend their time waiting – that is to say all of this waiting occurs in “weeks” or “more than a moment,” both which blur the notion of time as a definable set of moments. In other words, we might experience time as a definable set of points, each moment passing its previous equal. What The Queue’s characters seem to experience via the anxiety of waiting is time not as a set of definable points but time which has begun to itself seem so long, it has become indefinable. I think we all feel this in a colloquial setting – the way we use “five more minutes” or “a few more minutes” interchangeably, each of them undefined when we use them in their own specific (with “five”) or unspecific (with “few”) means. The point is not that we wait exactly five minutes nor that we define how long a few minutes might be. It is the act of waiting that is the point. And in that act of waiting, the specific amount of time, again, does not seem to be what is relevant, which is to say time goes from being undefined to being indefinable, experienced in The Queue as hyperbole or absurdity – or, as I call it, irrelevant. The point, again, is waiting. Not necessarily time.

I digress now because I feel like I’m beginning to sound pedantic.

As I spoke about earlier, this creates anxiety for the characters who have to wait. Ines has to be brought breakfast, Yehya is distraught, Amani speaks to no one and loses her job. Ultimately, then, the anxiety of waiting accumulates and seems to affect the characters’ goings-on in their daily lives. So what does it mean for interference or deviation to seem to cause anxiety? For Gelvin’s piece, it seems to be anger and need for interference and deviation manifests in revolution and where The Queue places itself is after a revolution. The Queue then seems to be making the argument that despite revolution, the afterlives of revolution are weighed down in anxiety and waiting.

This brings me to the final passage above: “[Amani] didn’t know how she’d arrived in this emptiness, how time was passing, or whether it was passing at all.” 152

Time seems to collapse or at least become blurred – that is, felt as time/waiting itself rather than any incremental or specific ordering of time – in the novel due to the sheer amount of waiting. Waiting seems to be the cause of much of the anxiety – for Gelvin’s subjects it seems to be about waiting for the realization of liberal ideals whereas for those characters in The Queue it seems to be that and the fear of the new government and the ways that new government can and does exploit its people. I think a paper is to be written on the ways neoliberal, militarized capitalism functions in The Queue as a means of causing fear and anxiety via waiting.

Continual War In Silence: Deixis in Sitt Marie-Rose

 

For this, I read PART II of James L. Gelvin’s The Modern Middle East: A History, Fourth Ed. from Oxford University Press as historical background and the first sixty pages of Sitt Marie-Rose by Etel Adnan, translated by Georgina Kleege from The Post-Apollo Press.

 

“There’s no noise in this world. That’s why the war doesn’t stop. Nobody wants to stop it.”

p. 43, Sitt Marie-Rose

 

The first thing that strikes me about these three lines is the deixis in the second sentence. The deictic “that’s” seems to refer back to the previous sentence, qualifying the phrase “why the war doesn’t stop” with “there’s no noise in this world;” however, the third sentence complicates this by seeming to be a different qualifier of “why the world doesn’t stop: “nobody wants to stop it.” In other words, the deixis in the second sentence functions for both the first and third sentences and I want to explore how each case is different from the other.

Case 1: reason why the war doesn’t stop is because there’s no noise in this world OR (as conditional) If there were no noise in this world, the war would stop.

Case 2: reason why the war doesn’t stop is because nobody wants to stop it OR (as conditional) If somebody wanted to stop the war, the war would stop.

Case 2 seems to be the more direct and yet it becomes the second case, as it chronologically comes last in the phrase. By ‘more direct,’ I mean the claim that nobody wants to stop the war and that’s why it continues is a much more useful, used, understandable, and straight-forward claim than Case 1. It is logical to say nobody wants to stop the war; therefore, the war doesn’t stop. Case 1’s two clauses seem to be unrelated: there is no noise in this world and therefore that means the war does not stop. What does noise have to do with continual war? Why would having noise make war stop?

Case 1 leads us to a subplot functioning in Sitt Marie-Rose: the deaf-mute students at the school where Marie-Rose teaches. We get to see, with the shifting points of view, what may be several or at least one student of hers. It is one of these students that says our chosen quote. So, again I ask: What does noise have to do with continual war? Why would having noise make war stop?

I think in many ways, these children understand the world to be noiseless and one of them comments on their ability to dance by feeling the beat rather than hearing it. In the same way, they can feel the drumming of the bombs. They are ostracized by their communities and families, beaten by their parents, and loved only by Marie-Rose. But this still doesn’t qualify that a silent world means the war doesn’t stop.

Nonetheless, the indirect connection between hearing and peace here is interesting. If we go on this connection further, in what ways does the ability to hear grant one the ability to make peace OR, to combine Case 2 into the discussion, in what ways would the ability to hear grant somebody the want to stop the war?

The figurative function of hearing in the text is thus: Marie-Rose seems to be claiming, in so many words, during her fight with Mounir that he (and the militia) are not hearing her argument or the argument of the Palestinians. She says

“our survival depends on theirs…The Arab world is infinitely large in terms of space and infinitely small in its vision.”

p. 56-57

Here, Marie-Rose invokes a different sense: sight. Literally speaking, she’s saying that of all the geography the Arab world takes up, there doesn’t seem to be much sight. Figuratively, though, she’s talking about vision: a perfect word the translator chose here. It comes with a connotation of the supernatural or of an optimistic future: as in “visionary.”

So, as clichéd kumbaya as this might sound, what Marie-Rose and Case 1 are alluding to is this notion that until we all listen to one another, until we see each other as people instead of as “sects and sub-sects, ghettos, communities, worked by envy, rotten, closed back on themselves like worms” – as enemies – then the war will not end.