La République des Livres

(…) Et le régime ?

Il laisse faire, qu’il s’agisse des islamistes, des conservateurs, des jaloux, des nationalistes, des communistes, de ceux qui sont dans une posture de modernité mais n’arrivent pas à choisir, sans oublier les élites de gauche algéroises horrifiées à l’idée qu’à Oran un écrivain s’enrichisse avec sa plume ! Le régime veut clairement me pousser à l’exil. Quand on écrit comme je le fais, plusieurs chroniques par jour tous les jours sur tous les fronts avec un esprit critique, on perd de sa légitimité et de son influence dès lors qu’on le fait depuis la France. Alors pas question que je parte. Il faut partager la rue et la poussière de ceux auxquels on s’adresse. Leur seul moyen de me pousser à partir, c’est de me faire peur, donc de lâcher la meute sur moi. En fait, ce que tous ces gens de tous bords politiques ne supportent pas, c’est la singularité. Ca dépasse leur entendement clanique que l’on émerge seul en défendant les valeurs de l’individu.

 

An Algerian Author Fights Back Against a Fatwa

Adam Shatzapril

New York Times

I first heard about the writer Kamel Daoud a few years ago, when an Algerian friend of mine told me I should read him if I wanted to understand how her country had changed in recent years. “If Algeria can produce a Kamel Daoud,” she said, “I still have hope for Algeria.” Reading his columns in Le Quotidien d’Oran, a French-language newspaper, I saw what she meant. Daoud had an original, epigrammatic style: playful, lyrical, brash. I could also see why he’d been accused of racism, even “self-hatred.” After Sept. 11, for example, he wrote that the Arabs had been “crashing” for centuries and that they would continue crashing so long as they were better known for hijacking planes than for making them. But this struck me as the glib provocation of an otherwise intelligent writer carried away by his metaphors.

The more I read Daoud, the more I sensed he was driven not by self-hatred but by disappointed love. Here was a writer in his early 40s, a man my age, who believed that people in Algeria and the wider Muslim world deserved a great deal better than military rule or Islamism, the two-entree menu they had been offered since the end of colonialism, and who said so with force and brio. Nothing, however, prepared me for his first novel, “The Meursault Investigation,” a thrilling retelling of Albert Camus’s 1942 classic, “The Stranger,” from the perspective of the brother of the Arab killed by Meursault, Camus’s antihero. The novel, which was first published in Algeria in 2013, and which will be published in English by Other Press in June, not only breathes new life into “The Stranger”; it also offers a bracing critique of postcolonial Algeria — a new country that Camus, a poor Frenchman born in Algiers, did not live to see.