Long-admired Egyptian poet Fatma Qandil makes her English debut with her first novel, Empty Cages: A Novel.
Winner of the 2022 Naguib Mahfouz Medal for Literature, the novel is semi-autobiographical and profoundly intimate.
The book follows the ostensibly ordinary life of an Egyptian middle-class family in the sixties, unearthing their explosive secrets, which are concealed behind closed doors.
Fatima, the younger sister of the family, embarks on a cathartic journey to write her family’s history and come to terms with the traumatic and joyous memories that have shaped her life.
Though many of her troubles are typical and universal for a struggling middle-class family, the burdens of a drunken father, selfish older brothers, caring for an ill parent, and ostentatious relatives feel extraordinary to this narrator, who tells her tale with startling candour.
Not only is she sharing her life story with a broader audience, but the narrative also serves as a psychological exploration, exposing the depths of human suffering and resilience in the face of violence, destitution, and painful betrayal.
Fatma’s unique perspective as the narrator of this story is sure to intrigue readers. Although every word is thoughtfully chosen to evoke a palpable sense of despair and shock, her poetic background is evident, as this cynical tale of a dysfunctional family reverberates with a stunning lyrical timbre throughout the pages.
Memories of love and loss
The novel opens with a grown-up Fatima opening an old Cadbury’s Milk Tray chocolate tin.
While the chocolates were eaten long ago and have been replaced by documents, scraps of poetry, and old photographs, she reminisces about when she was a young girl, enjoying the chocolates under a blanket with her beloved family cat.
The reawakening of this memory provides the gateway to her past, a past juxtaposed with cherished moments and devastating heartaches.
The novel comprises a series of vignettes detailing the complex relationships between her family members, friends, and neighbours, as well as scenes from her childhood and adolescence.
Fatma’s writing is magnificently fluid, as her disjointed memories unite cohesively and harmoniously, allowing the reader to become fully immersed in her reflections as she writes to share the turmoil inside her.
Her family enjoyed a relatively comfortable life while her father was a successful teacher who had abandoned his dreams of becoming an engineer.
As she passes through the stages of life, living in Cairo city, the suburbs of Alf Maskan and Nasr City, and spending summers in Suez, her family experiences the unfortunate vicissitudes of fortune, health, and death.
Her father’s promotional job in Saudi Arabia affords them a few luxuries, which they later have to relinquish as he succumbs to alcohol addiction.
She grows up in the shadow and care of two older brothers, Ramzi and Ragi, who add to her unrest despite their love and the bonds of blood.
One brother disappears shamefully for decades, indelibly rupturing the family, while the other reluctantly becomes the ‘head of the family’.
He is always there, bound by family obligations, dispensing advice and providing the bare minimum of financial support, leaving Fatima to shoulder far too much.
Surviving destructive marriages, debt, and sexual exploitation while struggling to establish herself as a serious poet, Fatima’s mother remains a constant force in her life.
As cancer gradually drags her mother from life, Fatima becomes her sole caretaker, with the two of them becoming one — the silk threads that hold together the diaphanous fabric of this family.
The masks we wear
Fatma writes with a courageous spirit, allowing her writing to liberate her from the ache of these memories.
She exposes everyone unapologetically, freeing herself from life’s many cages and shattering any illusions we may carry about ourselves.
Her life, seemingly filled with tragedies, is revealed without hesitation through crude, piercing details, while her familiar storytelling briefly wraps you in warmth, only to pull away suddenly, leaving your soul exposed, vulnerable, and open to scrutiny.
An old neighbour, Tante Sharifa, once a confidant to her mother, and distant cousins with money who occasionally reappear to show their generosity, are all characters in our lives — living ghosts who fade in and out, playing roles in the drama of fate and destiny.
Fatima has embraced many roles in this drama, including wife, divorcee, sister, devoted daughter, loyal friend, poet, rebel, and caretaker.
She reminds us, “We all play our roles until we get so good at them that we stop imagining we can play others.”
By laying bare all the conflicts and victories of her life, the people who stayed permanently, and those who made brief appearances, Fatma clarifies how our memories wound and heal us.
The brilliance of her prose lies in its reflection of the complex emotions we endure when those we love disappoint us and leave us without support. We battle feelings of love and bitter hate, constructing a fragile illusion of peace and stability.
In adulthood, her brothers failed her and her family, while many relatives distanced themselves due to their dwindling social status. Yet, they remained inextricably linked, showing up — stingy and reticent.
A novel that confronts
The simplicity of Fatma’s storytelling is precisely what underscores her artistry. Every emotion that feels obscure and escapes articulation is conveyed with striking clarity.
In a poignant scene, she recalls that, during her childhood, the family seldom gathered around the table at meal times.
Instead, each individual had their own tray and activity. Only in sudden fits of passion would her brother force them together to act like a loving family.
As a unit, they have suffered many calamities in an unforgiving society, often profoundly isolated within the confines of their home.
Yet, somehow, they remained dependent on each other, bound by the duties of life and the memories and dreams of their youth.
Few writers possess Fatma’s boldness in this lifetime. Her candid language can sometimes be almost uncomfortable, but ultimately, it melts deep within the reader.
This is not a story one reads to find hope, nor does it allow you to hide behind platitudes.
For Fatma, it is an emancipation from her lifetime of pain, and for the reader, it confronts them with all the ugliness, beauty, and redundancy of this life.
Noshin Bokth has over six years of experience as a freelance writer. She has covered a wide range of topics and issues including the implications of the Trump administration on Muslims, the Black Lives Matter movement, travel reviews, book reviews, and op-eds. She is the former Editor in Chief of Ramadan Legacy and the former North American Regional Editor of the Muslim Vibe
