Rabih Alameddine, An unnecessary woman (#BookReview)

Rabih Alameddine, An unnecessary womanLebanese-born American writer Rabih Alameddine’s novel, An unnecessary woman, is tailor-made for readers. It was fittingly, therefore, my reading group’s first book for 2018. The novel is told first person in the voice of 72-year-old childless, divorced Aaliya Saleh, who lives alone and spends her time reading and translating books. Set in an apartment in Beirut in the 2000s, it has a minimal plot, focusing more on the thoughts and ideas of this reclusive woman who describes herself as her “family’s appendix, its unnecessary appendage”.

However, before I tell you more about the subject-matter and why I so enjoyed this book, a little warning. This is the quintessential literary novel. It is packed with literary references and allusions, not to mention references to musicians and artists. One of Aaliya’s favourite authors is the also-reclusive “connoisseur of alienation”, Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa, and he appears regularly, but she also mentions, in no particular order, WG Sebald, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Patrick White (whom she adores), Helen Garner, Marguerite Youcenar, JM Coetzee, António Lobo Antunes, Ernest Hemingway, Albert Camus, Shakespeare, and many, many, many more. While I know the authors I’ve named here, I certainly don’t know all those she mentions – but it doesn’t matter. Well, it might, in that more knowledge might add all sorts of nuances to the book’s meaning, but all I can say is that I enjoyed it with what I do know.

But now the subject-matter. Where to start? The book covers a lot of ground. It’s about living in a war-torn city and country; it’s about relationships, gender and women’s lives in a patriarchal society in which her “half brothers, like so many men and boys, have the impatience of the entitled”; it’s about aloneness and loneliness; and, best of all, it’s about books and reading. It’s this last one I want to focus on, partly because it’s the one that gave me the most chuckles.

These chuckles aren’t of the belly-laugh variety. They’re more subtle, coming particularly from allusions and irony. Take for example this comment, a bit over halfway through the book:

Most of the books published these days consist of a series of whines followed by an epiphany. I call these memoirs and confessional novels happy tragedies. We shall overcome and all that. I find them sentimental and boring.

This comment made me laugh because her story is, essentially, “a series of whines followed by an epiphany”, for all her dislike of epiphanies. “Enough”, she says, “have pity on readers who reach the end of real-life conflict in confusion and don’t experience a false sense of temporary enlightenment”. This book is, you might be seeing now, also about the intersection between reading and life. To what extent do they inform each other?

Another of her dislikes, in life and in literature, is the idea of “causality”. Alain Robbe-Grillet, she says, “wrote that the worst thing to happen to the novel was the arrival of psychology”, meaning, she believes, “that now we all expect to understand the motivation behind each character’s actions, as if that’s possible, as if life works that way”. So literature, in other words, needs to reflect life. She writes:

I’ve read so many recent novels, particularly those published in the Anglo world, that are dull and trite because I’m always supposed to infer causality. For example, the reason a protagonist can’t experience love is that she was physically abused, or the hero constantly searches for validation because his father paid little attention to him as a child. This, of course, ignores the fact that many others have experienced the same things but do not behave in the same manner, though that’s a minor point compared to the real loss in fulfilling the desire for explanation: the loss of mystery. Causation extraction makes Jack a dull reader.

Interesting point, this “loss of mystery”, this sense that life cannot be so easily explained. She gives an example from “life” of a woman killed, during the civil war, while driving home from work. People proposed all sorts of reasons why it happened. She was a spy, or was a bank courier carrying a large amount of money, or was wearing a flashy diamond, whereas in fact she was just unlucky. “A stray bullet killed her”.

For Aaliyah there is something fundamentally wrong with this cause-focused approach to reading, and to living. She writes:

If you read these pages and think I’m the way I am because I lived through a civil war, you can’t feel my pain. If you believe you’re not like me because one woman, and only one, Hannah, chose to be my friend, then you’re unable to empathize.

This idea that finding causes for what happens to others enables us to distance ourselves from responsibility and to feel safe, has, says Aaliya, been explored by philosophers, such as the “ponderous and portentous” Sartre! Aaliyah, you see, is not cowed by big names and reputations. Nonetheless, she admits that, while she’s trained herself “not to keep inferring or expecting causality in literature”, she constantly wants explanations in life “where none exist”. “Uncertainty”, she says later, “is unsettling”!

I enjoyed Aaliya’s cheeky, somewhat self-mocking voice, the way, for example, her commentary is peppered with allusions – particularly, pointedly, from Macbeth – that tease the reader. But it’s not all light. There’s seriousness – pathos – too. For all her enjoyment of reading and translating (which is another whole topic I could write about), Aaliya is not as happy as she seems. She’s aware of ageing – and refers to Helen Garner’s belief “that all women over sixty instinctively learn to pass by a mirror without looking”- and she is lonely in her chosen aloneness:

It is the loneliness, the abject isolation. Hannah reappears in my memories to remind me of how alone I am, how utterly inconsequential my life has become, how sad.

It is partly in regard to this theme – and to the role of the “three witches” in her building – that Aaliyah has her “damn epiphany” at the end!

Besides the discussion of books and reading, the description of life in Beirut, and the analysis of the outsider’s life, An unnecessary woman has much more to offer, including its small but colourful cast of characters and some gorgeous language. This description of a saucer, for example, is surely also a metaphor for Aaliyah:

The rim of the saucer’s depression is lightly discoloured – a dusting of rust and red and brown, remnants of teas gone by that did not wish to be washed away, refused to be forgotten, the age rings of a small plate.

By her actions, Aaliya, despite her “age rings”, shows that she does “not wish to be washed away”, that she refuses “to be forgotten”. She will not, in other words, accept being “unnecessary”.

I have barely scratched the surface of this thoughtful yet playful book that teases us with an idea and then, more often than not, turns it on its head. It is this mixing of the playful with the serious, in Aailya’s compelling voice, that makes this largely plotless novel such an involving read.

Rabih Alameddine
An unnecessary woman
Melbourne: Text Publishing, 2014
ISBN: 9781922148292 (eBook)

17 thoughts on “Rabih Alameddine, An unnecessary woman (#BookReview)

    • Thanks Jeanne. I’m hoping your reaction will be a common one to this post – because then I might get to read other bloggers’ reviews! I don’t think I’ve seen this much around the blogs even though it was published back in 2014.

  1. Pingback: Rabih Alameddine, An unnecessary Women ( BookReview) – Sejarah Tagline

  2. An Australian poet friend P.S. recently quoted Patrick WHITE to me – something along the lines of life being “the perpetual dizzy heights of becoming” – and something else – I am uncertain of who it was who noted it – that life is not so much a story, rather it’s a process. There is no clear ending on a high point – it just goes…

  3. I got this as an audiobook about two years ago but I couldn’t get into it – I don\’t think it was the book as much as the format that didn’t work. It clearly needed more concentration than was possible or safe when driving. So I put it to one side and then forgot all about it.

    • Oh yes Karen, I can’t imagine this as an audiobook … so I’d blame that and not give up on it for that reason anyhow. I think audiobooks work best with stories that move along.

  4. Wonderful commentary on this book. I tend to really like novels that connect and reference other literature and art. With that, I would almost want to fill in my reading of Pessoa before I read this.

    The issue of causality in literature is a fascinating one. I think that it is good that some books rely on it, but I think that it is worth reading some books that discard it.

    • Thanks Brian… Yes I agree with you re causality. I guess I’d add that I like what I’d call open causality, ie th hat which explores rather than necessarily concludes the whys.

      I think you’d like this book, and knowing Pessoa a bit would help but I don’t think it’s necessary.

  5. My library has this. It’s from 2013, why didn’t it get any attention? It sounds wonderful. And now I just have to get through all my other library books so I can request this one.

    • I don’t know why, Stefanie, because it’s a book for people who love books. My brother’s partner here read it and loved it which is how I heard about it. I think you’d like it.

    • Thanks Bekah. I love that you loved it too. I think I saw on GoodReads that Susan (SuLu) didn’t love it. But I see it as a reader’s book – even where we haven’t read all the same authors, it’s that love of reading and desire to relate it to our lives that is so appealing I thought.

      But, yes, I understand the wish to read his other books rather than re-read this one.

  6. My book club has gone into remission due to the social distancing and isolation of COVID19. What a wonderful book to stumble onto at this time! I wasn’t entirely convinced that I was listening to the ruminations of a 72 year old woman, but where authenticity lapsed, cleverness and knowledge and delight in the written word took up the reins. I am also glad that all the way from the wilds of Canada I found the playful and intelligent comments of whispering gums, a portion of which emanates from exactly the opposite side of the Earth from where I live and read! As much as pandemics can traverse the globe, so can commentary and intelligent thought, I guess, Mr. Trump notwithstanding!

    • What a lovely thing to say Len, thank you. Your group hasn’t decided to meet some way online? Even a simple email discussion over a week can work really well if you don’t want to go down the Zoom path.

      Anyhow, I’m glad you liked this book. The person who recommended it to me has reread it a few times I believe.

      As for T, well what can we say? The man is beyond belief – particularly as a leader. We have had the odd embarrassing leader here but that man leaves them for dead.

      Anyhow, welcome to the Gums community. I’d love to hear what books you like.

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