Novel on Algeria's Black Decade nabs France’s Goncourt Prize

Kamel Daoud's 'Houris' weaves together the suffering of the body with the suffering of a society sworn to silence over a trauma that has yet to heal

Al Majalla

Novel on Algeria's Black Decade nabs France’s Goncourt Prize

Samir Qasimi

last update on 08 Nov 2024

Wounds can sometimes appear to be healed, only to reopen later. Kamel Daoud, an Algerian author residing in France, manages to give this kind of wound a face in his novel Houris, which has recently won France’s most esteemed literary award.

The novel, which scooped the Goncourt Prize, weaves together the suffering of the body with the suffering of a society sworn to silence over a trauma that is yet to heal.

Houris (meaning Virgins) covers Algeria’s civil war from 1992-2002, known as the Black Decade, in which the army fought Islamists. Up to 200,000 were killed, and families were torn apart. The main character in the book is a 26-year-old woman called Aube, who carries a large scar across her neck from where Islamists tried to kill her.

More than a personal tale, this work serves as a mirror, reflecting the fractured identity of Algeria, submerged in the depths of collective silence. The Black Decade is etched into the souls of Algerians, yet they cannot talk about it: a law from 2005 makes it a crime punishable by jail to “instrumentalise the wounds of the national tragedy”.

Refusing to heal

Aube’s deep wound on her neck is shaped like a smile and refuses to heal, much like the wounds of Algeria’s past. Pregnant, she speaks through a tube, telling her story to her unborn baby. Scarred both physically and mentally, she is trapped in a body that defies her with a wound that feels alien and reshapes her very existence. Again, this parallels to Algeria.

Houris gives voice to the suffering of a dark period in Algeria, particularly the suffering of women

Goncourt committee

News of Daoud's success has not been reported in Algeria, whose annual book fair opened this week. Neither the author nor the publisher, Gallimard, were invited.

The Goncourt committee said the book "gives voice to the suffering of a dark period in Algeria, particularly the suffering of women... It shows how literature can trace another path for memory next to the historical account."

Aube's wound is a metaphor for the wounds of the homeland and its fractured identities. In Oran, a coastal city in western Algeria, the city's body also bears the marks and scars of violence. The sea, which once symbolised hope and openness, now symbolises fear and escape.

Daoud's pen transforms the city into a living being in both pain and chaos, unable to escape its heavy past. The sea along which it sits becomes a border between life and death, between the hope and despair that Algerians know so well.

Aged 54, Daoud had first-hand experience of the Black Decade massacres because he was working as a reporter at the time, covering crime scenes. Speaking to Le Monde about Houris, he said he "cut out some of the worst scenes I wrote, not because they were untrue, but because people would not believe me".

Wounds of women

With remarkable insight, he uses Aube's voice to represent an entire society. Femininity in Houris is the bearer of a silent voice, yet one that can roar. She embodies all the silent victims—not weak, but rather symbols of resilience, given that war can impose scars on both the body and spirit.

Fully appreciating Houris means grasping the political and social dimensions that Daoud masterfully interweaves. For instance, silence is not merely a personal affliction of the protagonist, but a reflection of the collective silence imposed on Algerians.

The book is a call to confront the past, rather than bury it. Families, individual identities, and Algerian society have all been affected. Daoud's message seems to be that none can heal until there is a reconciliation with what happened. Yet Algeria's authorities fear to face the past, so have imposed silence as a survival mechanism.

In Houris, it is the readers who are left with an open wound, since the novel offers no definitive solutions for its characters or for society. The wound lingers and the silence retains its power. Yet, in the unresolved ending, there is a glimmer of hope. The novel is more than a story, it is an invitation to reflect, and a challenge to the silence. That is, after all, the only way the wounds will heal.

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