Algerian writer Sara Al-Nams: From childhood journals to IPAF-nominated novels

Do you think about the readers or critics when you write, or do you isolate yourself during the writing process?

Initially, I write as if no one will read what I'm putting on paper. I guard those early manuscripts with passwords and resist sharing them until I complete the second stage of writing.

I may consider critics during the final revision, focusing on narrative techniques and identifying any weaknesses in the text.

But I stick firmly to my chosen topic, plot, and genre. When I believe in an idea and a story that I need to tell, I'm adamant about writing and sharing it, even when I know it might be met with rejection, criticism, or even indifference.

Do writers genuinely have the freedom to write what they want to write?

A writer has to be free, or, at the very least, aspire to attain freedom through the act of writing as a form of liberation.

Of course, I enjoy the freedom of selecting my topics and articulating them in my mother tongue. Most of my books find their way to readers through Dar Al Adab, a publishing house in Lebanon that not only respects but also cherishes the freedom and creativity of writers.

How does imagination fit into your writing, and how does it intertwine with reality?

I ventured into the world of writing as a child through journaling. Even in those early years, I could grasp the transformative power of writing.

I realised that before my pen touched the paper, I existed as a person, but through the act of writing, I transformed into someone new entirely. This discovery became the anchor for a habit that evolved over time. I went from simple journaling to crafting letters, short stories, and novels.

In my writing, I traverse the landscape of my lived experiences, embracing the tangible and the intangible and delving into the past, present, and the unimaginable future. I explore the nuances of fears, dreams, perspectives, and the boundless realms of imagination—venturing between the concrete and the surreal.

My narratives unfold stories of truth, justice, injustice, and daily struggles, whether in the cities we inhabit or in fantastical spaces beyond reality. That's where the enchantment of writing lies, blossoming in boundless, infinite domains.

You have previously mentioned that you read the works of Nawal El Saadawi, whom you acknowledged as a bold writer, as well as Ahlam Mosteghanemi and Ghada Al-Samman.

You noted the challenges they faced as women in the literary sphere. Have Arab women found liberation in their writing, or do their critical perspectives on men confine them?

I haven't encountered any attacks or hostile stances toward men in my readings of these authors.

Many honourable and egalitarian men recognise and respect a woman's identity and place in life and society.

Instead, the criticism is directed at certain modes of thinking and entrenched customs that continue to curtail women's rights, notably their right to express themselves freely.

This isn't a struggle taken up solely by female writers. It has also been championed by many enlightened men who passionately advocate for women's rights – their right not to have their bodies violated through genital mutilation; to pursue education, love, and a career; to choose their life partners but also to divorce, among many other rights.

Does the opposition against female writers by certain men stem from the power dynamics in patriarchal societies?

Absolutely. It's a power struggle and a fear of women's emancipation, openness, understanding, and rebellion against their realities and the traditions dictating their fates, whether they're writers or readers.

You've described your novels as "wild, shocking, and written with absolute freedom." Where do you summon the courage to write in a society that can barely tolerate a woman's whisper, let alone her resounding voice?

When I start writing, I forget where I come from and who I am. Sara Al-Nams fades away, and other characters emerge—vibrant, more alive, and more authentic than many of those around me.

This gives me enough strength to narrate the story boldly, just as it unfolds in my imagination.

We often hear of "female authors" and "women writers". Can we still label literary works according to their author's gender?

For me, it's not an issue. A well-crafted text stands out, whether it's penned by a woman or a man.

However, this designation is useful when exploring some feminine themes from the perspective of a woman or masculine narratives crafted by a man. These unique experiences capture nuances that merit attention and emphasis.

Which authors have left an impact on you? And which are your favourite contemporary authors to read?

Gibran Khalil Gibran was my initiation into the world of words, his clarity and simplicity resonating even when I couldn't fully grasp the depths of meaning between his lines. His writings fuelled my early love of books.

My writing path lacked a singular influence. Admittedly, it also lacked direction when I first began writing, until Water and Salt, which marked my self-discovery and maturity as a writer.

Currently, I'm reading Moroccan writer Reem Najmi. Leila Slimani's Lullaby, which earned the Goncourt Prize, also left its imprint on me. Of course, there's also a plethora of writers from earlier generations whose works left a mark on me.

Do you read poetry? Have you tried your hand at composing poetry?

The dance between poetry and prose is a delicate one.

While a poet could write a marvellous novel, it can be challenging for novelists to compose verses.

Poetry is a distinctive gift — a craft that refines and matures over time. It's a lot like singing: you either have a beautiful voice or don't. Similarly, you either are a poet, or you aren't. Try as you may, attempting to bridge this gap often proves futile.

I ventured into poetry in my teenage years, only to face repeated failures in crafting each stanza. Eventually, I conceded defeat.

Several years later, I found myself sharing pieces of my writing on social media. People labelled them as poetry, and someone even invited me to participate in a Morocco poetry festival. After politely declining, I explained that he could use any label for those pieces, but I am certainly not a poet.

I'm content just to relish the beauty of poetry. I allow it to bring joy to my creative journey.

What role do books play in today's bleeding world? What do they have to say to the victims?

That's a painful question. I'm ashamed to admit I've been feeling a strong sense of helplessness with the relentless brutality of the Israeli onslaught on Gaza.

It seems as if the written word can only stretch so far. While writing is undoubtedly a form of resistance and a means to preserve the collective memory, it feels insufficient in the face of tears, bloodshed, hunger, and thirst.

The stark reality is a single loaf of bread has more impact than a thousand written words. Still, in a world overshadowed by injustice and conflict, some of us seek solace in writing.

What lies ahead for writers and books in the era of artificial intelligence?

I'm not entirely sure about artificial intelligence yet; it's fascinating, but also somewhat unsettling. It possesses tremendous capabilities, but it falls short of surpassing the intelligence inherent in the human mind.