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A Question of Precedence and Other Middle East Stories by Marmaduke Pickthall
Pickthall is a wonderful storyteller. He brings us straight into the narrative, with sharply drawn personalities, dealing with dilemmas to which we can relate. He builds a picture of the physical environment – buildings, flowers, the landscape – that is convincing. His central characters may be rogues and cheats, religious fanatics, bandits or hypocrites, but they are all drawn as the result of acute observation. We see the world from the perspective of an Egyptian soldier, a Syrian peasant, an Ottoman official.
His use of language is remarkable. In his Middle East fiction, novels and stories, he uses an archaic English, comprehensible but unfamiliar. It is as if the world he is reproducing is alien, and needs to be clothed in words and phrases that take the reader right away from his or her world.
The lands in which Pickthall’s stories are set, have since his time, undergone changes that have been violent and unprecedented. Wars, revolutions, displacement and emigration, voluntary and forced, have been the lot of Syrians, Palestinians, Egyptians and Turks since Pickthall’s time. These people are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the men and women among whom Pickthall travelled, whom he loved and whose lives he has reconstructed for our enlightenment and delight.
His use of language is remarkable. In his Middle East fiction, novels and stories, he uses an archaic English, comprehensible but unfamiliar. It is as if the world he is reproducing is alien, and needs to be clothed in words and phrases that take the reader right away from his or her world.
The lands in which Pickthall’s stories are set, have since his time, undergone changes that have been violent and unprecedented. Wars, revolutions, displacement and emigration, voluntary and forced, have been the lot of Syrians, Palestinians, Egyptians and Turks since Pickthall’s time. These people are the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of the men and women among whom Pickthall travelled, whom he loved and whose lives he has reconstructed for our enlightenment and delight.
364 pages, Paperback
Published November 15, 2017
22 people want to read
About the author
Muhammad Marmaduke Pickthall
54 books61 followersMuhammad Marmaduke Pickthall (born Marmaduke William Pickthall, 7 April 1875 – 19 May 1936) was a Western Islamic scholar noted for his English translation of the Qur'an. A convert from Christianity, Pickthall was a novelist, esteemed by D. H. Lawrence, H. G. Wells, and E. M. Forster, as well as a journalist, headmaster, and political and religious leader. He declared his conversion to Islam in dramatic fashion after delivering a talk on ‘Islam and Progress' on 29 November 1917, to the Muslim Literary Society in Notting Hill, West London. He was also involved with the services of the Woking Muslim Mission in the absence of Khwaja Kamal-ud-Din, its founder.
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March 2, 2018
Marmaduke Pickthall’s fiction is as exotic as Tarzan or The Jungle Book.Pickthall lived in the same era as Edgar Rice Burroughs and Rudyard Kipling, and shared Kipling’s wanderlust, accepting employment for 16 years in India, where Kipling was born. Pickthall’s talent for evoking foreign elements moves with ease from that which is wild in man’s nature to the network of traditions found in the Middle East. His apparent compassion for all human perspective is, frankly, stunning.
While Pickthall has always had ardent fans, his literary works go out of print for the simple reason that his personality and choices have baffled both the political and literary minded. His Middle Eastern stories, here collected under the title of one of them, A Question of Precedence, demonstrate that although he was a British traveler, he was far other than an outsider looking in. The British establishment would say he had “gone native.”
His penchant for the Middle East had political repercussions. At the age of 42 (1917), he converted to Islam, choosing a different direction than the mainstream of Caucasian British once again (earlier choices being political). Many who see spirituality as a matter of cultural loyalty find reason to cut such writers adrift, to eschew them and their work.
Beacon Books of London is the first publishing house in decades to offer the work of Pickthall to the world. A Question of Precedence joins all of Pickthall’s Middle Eastern short stories (set in Turkey, Egypt and Syria) in one volume. The result is powerful. A slow reading through these fabulous tales demonstrates the workings of a brilliant writer. And slow reading is required, for the substance is so rich that each tale and its characters expand in the reader’s mind, especially if that reader is on the same quest as the author—to understand.
Pickthall readers are as different as the writer himself. They are not in the story just for exotic entertainment. They are interested in the machinations of power politics, particularly as set out by the foreign policies of the West, and they are drawn by compassion and intellect to the love stories and the feuds that take place between clans, tribes, and religious affiliations in the Middle East. They want to contemplate how faiths, cultures and clans see each other. The title of one collection from which some of these stories are drawn—As Others See Us—says as much. Readers of Pickthall want to know if what they have perceived in the Middle East and its relationship with the West will be accounted for by Pickthall.
Like Orhan Pamuk, Pickthall often uses humor to deliver insight. In “Jenab ul Amir,” the giant Ibrahim, who works for the Emir Ali Muhammad, is a lowly servant with a sour attitude towards marriage. He complains that “I took a slim girl to my home for the sake of her eyes,” which he compares to stars, then quickly says, “[N]ow I know then for two lumps of fat, set somewhat crooked in the face of a hag.” The underlying story is one of corruption. Emir Ali Muhammad forces a judge to dismiss witnesses and sentences Ahmed ebn Mahmud to five years in prison for no other reason than his alliance with an enemy emir. Ali Muhammad promises to both kill and promote the giant Ibrahim. When things are laid out plain, we find that there is little difference between the 19th century Middle East and the 21st century White House.
“The Murderer” continues the theme of political scheming, reaching burlesque in its conveyance of conventional respect for etiquette, authority, and caution. Rival sheikhs in a village of Lower Egypt squeeze an alleged hired assassin, Idris, uncomfortably between them. Sheikh Ferid hires Idris to kill Sheikh Muhammad abu Hassan. Idris does not want to kill anyone, certainly not in his village, and there is no proof that he ever chose to be or is a career murderer.
Idris’s ethnic status would suggest a lack of ability to move up in his social world, and Idris remains “standing reverently before the conspirators,” knowing better than to take a seat.
Idris refuses to murder anyone until Sheikh Ferid threatens to have him hanged. (That a worried soul like Idris is known by the title of murderer, announcing himself thus, reflects the sad fact that rich men make murderers of their subordinates just as politicians send young civilians to fight battles the latter never started.)
When Idris arrives at the home of Sheikh Muhammad, after passing a guard of 12 men, he tells the target what he has been required to do so that Sheikh Muhammad may save his own life. (The target decides to ride to an English inspector in a nearby town and lay the case before him.) Meanwhile, Idris returns to Sheikh Ferid, pretending to have carried out the mission. He asks for the half fee that was promised after the job was done. Sheikh Ferid tells him he never promised that money and that if he doesn’t leave, he will have Idris hanged.
Idris brings his case before the public, who do not know that the money is for murder. When that truth bursts out, the people and Sheikh Ferid are all horrified, especially because Sheikh Muhammad is missing. When Idris protests that he did not kill Sheikh Muhammad, his employer refuses to pay. This slapstick commentary on hypocrisy has a wonderful ending, with Idris hired to do what he does so well—not murder—but to stir up fear. And to that end, the British employ him!
In “An Ordeal by Fire,” Pickthall shows how badly relationships can go at every level and how we are all being tested in them. It is the burden of attitude that can trigger the strangest outcomes: abominations unfold as easily as undeserved glory. In Deramun, a port city with a mixed community of Turks, Greeks, Kurds and Armenians, an irritable British husband, James Pope, looks out on his beautiful garden unable to contemplate anything but his irritation with Armenians. “One Kurd is worth the blessed lot of them,” he tells his wife.
Nora disagrees with her husband and can’t wait to get out of the house. When she goes off to visit a friend for lunch, James feels a tiny bit contrite about mistreating her and making callous anti-Armenian statements that cast him in a bad light.
The story explodes when the shots James thought were for a Greek or Armenian holiday manifest as a killing. Pope wants to see what is going on, much like Sunday drivers pulled towards a train wreck. He goes into the streets and visits David the consul, who explains that a young Muslim preacher has riled up the Muslims against the Armenians. Several characters explain to Pope that the massacre of the Armenians is due to some sort of horrific bomb they—the Armenians (or perhaps the West in general)--have made. Despite said reason, Pope is shocked into paralysis. He no longer knows what he believes about groups he is not a part of. He represents one part of the West.
Slowly, he realizes that mercy is the answer and that he must help, yet having made no spiritual commitment in his life, his inaction is justified in his mind by weak self promises to help the Armenians, come nightfall. When a large group of Armenians, finally mounting to fifty, find Pope’s house, he lets them in on instinct. Fate has helped him make the right decision.
The strangest part of this story is how James Pope cannot really decide anything, how he is not sure how he feels, except worried about his wife. There is a moment when he says something that touches the Muslim crowd for its honor, and they depart—a comment made because Pope actually believed in something, the honor of his home. His words resonate with the angry horde, who recognize a value they can relate to. They depart.
Nora refuses to see her husband because she thinks he condoned the slaughter. She represents another part of the West. The reader will applaud her. I leave their marital outcome to the curiosity of the reader, who will find it at the end of this story.
Pickthall readers are many kinds of people, but all of them seek knowledge, specifically about the Middle East. The editor of this collection, Peter Clark, offers his own interpretation of Pickthall’s metamorphosis as a writer. Personally, I find Pickthall's fascination with the Middle East more comprehensible after reading this collection. Pickthall sought to understand, as many Muslim converts do, how the Middle East could be so tempestuously human.
While Pickthall has always had ardent fans, his literary works go out of print for the simple reason that his personality and choices have baffled both the political and literary minded. His Middle Eastern stories, here collected under the title of one of them, A Question of Precedence, demonstrate that although he was a British traveler, he was far other than an outsider looking in. The British establishment would say he had “gone native.”
His penchant for the Middle East had political repercussions. At the age of 42 (1917), he converted to Islam, choosing a different direction than the mainstream of Caucasian British once again (earlier choices being political). Many who see spirituality as a matter of cultural loyalty find reason to cut such writers adrift, to eschew them and their work.
Beacon Books of London is the first publishing house in decades to offer the work of Pickthall to the world. A Question of Precedence joins all of Pickthall’s Middle Eastern short stories (set in Turkey, Egypt and Syria) in one volume. The result is powerful. A slow reading through these fabulous tales demonstrates the workings of a brilliant writer. And slow reading is required, for the substance is so rich that each tale and its characters expand in the reader’s mind, especially if that reader is on the same quest as the author—to understand.
Pickthall readers are as different as the writer himself. They are not in the story just for exotic entertainment. They are interested in the machinations of power politics, particularly as set out by the foreign policies of the West, and they are drawn by compassion and intellect to the love stories and the feuds that take place between clans, tribes, and religious affiliations in the Middle East. They want to contemplate how faiths, cultures and clans see each other. The title of one collection from which some of these stories are drawn—As Others See Us—says as much. Readers of Pickthall want to know if what they have perceived in the Middle East and its relationship with the West will be accounted for by Pickthall.
Like Orhan Pamuk, Pickthall often uses humor to deliver insight. In “Jenab ul Amir,” the giant Ibrahim, who works for the Emir Ali Muhammad, is a lowly servant with a sour attitude towards marriage. He complains that “I took a slim girl to my home for the sake of her eyes,” which he compares to stars, then quickly says, “[N]ow I know then for two lumps of fat, set somewhat crooked in the face of a hag.” The underlying story is one of corruption. Emir Ali Muhammad forces a judge to dismiss witnesses and sentences Ahmed ebn Mahmud to five years in prison for no other reason than his alliance with an enemy emir. Ali Muhammad promises to both kill and promote the giant Ibrahim. When things are laid out plain, we find that there is little difference between the 19th century Middle East and the 21st century White House.
“The Murderer” continues the theme of political scheming, reaching burlesque in its conveyance of conventional respect for etiquette, authority, and caution. Rival sheikhs in a village of Lower Egypt squeeze an alleged hired assassin, Idris, uncomfortably between them. Sheikh Ferid hires Idris to kill Sheikh Muhammad abu Hassan. Idris does not want to kill anyone, certainly not in his village, and there is no proof that he ever chose to be or is a career murderer.
Idris’s ethnic status would suggest a lack of ability to move up in his social world, and Idris remains “standing reverently before the conspirators,” knowing better than to take a seat.
Idris refuses to murder anyone until Sheikh Ferid threatens to have him hanged. (That a worried soul like Idris is known by the title of murderer, announcing himself thus, reflects the sad fact that rich men make murderers of their subordinates just as politicians send young civilians to fight battles the latter never started.)
When Idris arrives at the home of Sheikh Muhammad, after passing a guard of 12 men, he tells the target what he has been required to do so that Sheikh Muhammad may save his own life. (The target decides to ride to an English inspector in a nearby town and lay the case before him.) Meanwhile, Idris returns to Sheikh Ferid, pretending to have carried out the mission. He asks for the half fee that was promised after the job was done. Sheikh Ferid tells him he never promised that money and that if he doesn’t leave, he will have Idris hanged.
Idris brings his case before the public, who do not know that the money is for murder. When that truth bursts out, the people and Sheikh Ferid are all horrified, especially because Sheikh Muhammad is missing. When Idris protests that he did not kill Sheikh Muhammad, his employer refuses to pay. This slapstick commentary on hypocrisy has a wonderful ending, with Idris hired to do what he does so well—not murder—but to stir up fear. And to that end, the British employ him!
In “An Ordeal by Fire,” Pickthall shows how badly relationships can go at every level and how we are all being tested in them. It is the burden of attitude that can trigger the strangest outcomes: abominations unfold as easily as undeserved glory. In Deramun, a port city with a mixed community of Turks, Greeks, Kurds and Armenians, an irritable British husband, James Pope, looks out on his beautiful garden unable to contemplate anything but his irritation with Armenians. “One Kurd is worth the blessed lot of them,” he tells his wife.
Nora disagrees with her husband and can’t wait to get out of the house. When she goes off to visit a friend for lunch, James feels a tiny bit contrite about mistreating her and making callous anti-Armenian statements that cast him in a bad light.
The story explodes when the shots James thought were for a Greek or Armenian holiday manifest as a killing. Pope wants to see what is going on, much like Sunday drivers pulled towards a train wreck. He goes into the streets and visits David the consul, who explains that a young Muslim preacher has riled up the Muslims against the Armenians. Several characters explain to Pope that the massacre of the Armenians is due to some sort of horrific bomb they—the Armenians (or perhaps the West in general)--have made. Despite said reason, Pope is shocked into paralysis. He no longer knows what he believes about groups he is not a part of. He represents one part of the West.
Slowly, he realizes that mercy is the answer and that he must help, yet having made no spiritual commitment in his life, his inaction is justified in his mind by weak self promises to help the Armenians, come nightfall. When a large group of Armenians, finally mounting to fifty, find Pope’s house, he lets them in on instinct. Fate has helped him make the right decision.
The strangest part of this story is how James Pope cannot really decide anything, how he is not sure how he feels, except worried about his wife. There is a moment when he says something that touches the Muslim crowd for its honor, and they depart—a comment made because Pope actually believed in something, the honor of his home. His words resonate with the angry horde, who recognize a value they can relate to. They depart.
Nora refuses to see her husband because she thinks he condoned the slaughter. She represents another part of the West. The reader will applaud her. I leave their marital outcome to the curiosity of the reader, who will find it at the end of this story.
Pickthall readers are many kinds of people, but all of them seek knowledge, specifically about the Middle East. The editor of this collection, Peter Clark, offers his own interpretation of Pickthall’s metamorphosis as a writer. Personally, I find Pickthall's fascination with the Middle East more comprehensible after reading this collection. Pickthall sought to understand, as many Muslim converts do, how the Middle East could be so tempestuously human.
June 14, 2018
Written as is was by a man who benefited from both a European upbringing and deep, prolonged exposure to the eastern world, two worlds so vastly different in all respects, this book offers a western reader a spectacular insight into that Arabic realm. For me, reading these stories is like peering (unobserved) through a window, observing the actions and attitudes of a startlingly bizarre people and culture, one where almost every norm, every value, every precept that we in the west take for granted is not just absent but would be seen as nonsensical. In that world, an honest man is deemed to be a fool. Men of wealth are revered for the mere fact of their riches, regardless of how those riches were obtained; furthermore, being poor is a mark of stupidity and disgrace. Clever rascals are admired; honest workmen and loyal servants are expected to be treated as chattels. Above all, the single most important, possibly the only relevant aspect of any man is his chosen religion. Adherents to each of the conflicting faiths consider those not of their faith to be heathens, not just misled or ill-informed but hostile to the true belief and worthy of contempt. One needs to read these stories with an open mind, setting aside any preconceived opinions, otherwise some of them will make little sense.
All that said, Pickthall admirably captures not just the personalities and their stories but the rhythm of life, the flavor of everyday discourse, the aura, aroma, sounds of the market, the courtyards, the palaces, campsites, streets, alleyways of Syria, Egypt and the Levant. It can be quite an adventure.
All that said, Pickthall admirably captures not just the personalities and their stories but the rhythm of life, the flavor of everyday discourse, the aura, aroma, sounds of the market, the courtyards, the palaces, campsites, streets, alleyways of Syria, Egypt and the Levant. It can be quite an adventure.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews