In beauties of Alexandria/Girls of Alexandria -idk it depends on the translations- Edward Al-Kharrat continue his-or in that case the narrator Mikhail- autofiction that he started in Alexandia, City/Land of saffron "idem".
It has the same structure, nonlinear memories mixed with surreal dreams. The focus of the memories in this novel- yes you've all guessed it I suppose from the title- is Mikhail's relationship with the women he encountered in his childhood, adolescence and early twenties back in the pre and post WWII 40's and a lot of post colonial tension with all the strife and discord between the anti colonial movement in Egypt and the WWII burned out English colonial power, as ambiance and background.
The whole premise of it was good, however what really irritated me was this façon élogieuse and religious veneration quality of the writer's description, no lets call a spade a spade, in the writer's idealisation of women. Every single woman is described as an angelic, ethereal, other worldly- albeit source of erotic tension- Seraphim. In almost every chapter, the writer has applied a quasi mystical/religious language or symbol in describing the women. The problem that I have with this type of writing is that it is as dehumanising as the mere male gaze sexual objectification style of writing that most men use. In both cases, it just dehumanises the women and treat them as either things or Goddesses which as far as I'm concerned amounts to the same thing. Idk maybe its my presentiment or my own prejudice, but I cringed a lot while reading. I have to say though, that this type of writing is not peculiar to Al-Kharrat. Most egyptian writers, especially the 50s and 60s generation of writers,in particular Ibrahim Abdulmajid suffers from the same thing though in his case-Abdulmajid, the cringe level is on steroids.
However, the reason that I gave it 4 stars is simply this: the style.
Beauties of Alexandria is 10 times knee deep in surrealistic avant-guardism. We have the same combo of nonlinear narration/recollections with a dreamy atmosphere. What differs from City of Saffron, and is more daring, is that the breadth and length of the surreal fantasy is longer here and almost interjects every part of the narrative. We also have a very weird stream of consciousness style where we just live inside the narrator head with all its chaos and fragmented totality.
What blew my mind was this very clever of instances of intertextuality with a lot of works from the old Arabic Islamic lit canon. It was done so thoroughly and in a very intelligent way that I guess not reading it in arabic would totally kill the joy of reading or even let the reader notice the whole game the writer was pulling.