Lina Meruane on Palestinian erasure and genocide in real time

Many of your works, such as Nervous System, delve into themes of illness and death. What draws you to these topics, and how do you approach them?

I would say that medical language is my native tongue, as both my parents were doctors. They often discussed medical cases, making it not only a part of my vocabulary but also the framework through which I interpret facts, bodies, and storytelling. Listening to medical stories is like uncovering clues in a crime novel. Each detail demands exploration, and this similarity fuels my imagination.

Additionally, I have a health condition that requires me to maintain a heightened awareness of my body. This vigilance helps prevent more significant health issues. For me, illness and mortality—rather than evoking fear—spark a deep fascination.

The protagonist of your novel Nervous System is an astrophysics researcher. How did you integrate complex scientific concepts into the narrative, and what role do they play in the story?

When I began working on this novel, it started as an essay on illness, but as the narrative evolved, I realised it would become a novel, and I began to consider my protagonist's profession. I didn't want her to be a doctor. I saw her as a researcher or a writer. During the writing process, I thought she should be a poet, a character with a vivid imagination yet deeply grounded in realism.

I recalled my early days as a journalist when I had the opportunity to interview astrophysicists who were also poets. It struck me as entirely logical. Imagining the universe demands an extraordinary level of creativity. The greatest astrophysicists are highly imaginative individuals who weave together ideas and later prove them through mathematics. As I explored this further, I became increasingly captivated by it.

I believed it would offer a fresh perspective on the connection between the systems I explored in the novel—familial, social, political, global, cosmic, bodily, and even narrative systems. For me, this book is inherently multi-layered.

Becoming Palestine reflects your father's family's migration journey from Palestine. How has your cultural background and personal history shaped your writing style?

I've touched on this before, but I'd like to delve deeper into another aspect of my family's history on my father's side, particularly their migration story. My maternal grandparents were immigrants from Italy, and another branch of my family might have roots in Spain, so I see myself as a writer and researcher profoundly shaped by the experience of migration.

Having lived with my family in various places through different conflicts, engaging with this subject feels natural. As a Palestinian attempting to cross borders into the land of my ancestors, I was confronted with profound injustices.

This personal history pushed me to write about my family's past, examining what we lost and gained, the concept of origin, whether people can truly adhere to a single origin, and what identity ultimately means.

Travelling through the Levant raised countless questions for me, making it almost inevitable that I would engage in this type of writing. Since then, writing about Palestine has become my most significant project, with two books and numerous articles.

More than a year has passed since the genocide in Gaza started. While it's not the first war on Gaza, something feels different this time—something that has profoundly impacted our souls and minds. What is your opinion?

I agree. For a long time, the violence against Palestinians was a form of slow violence or gradual erasure. Quiet and less extreme, it was rarely covered by the media. Only significant attacks or heavy shelling by Israel on Gaza or the West Bank would make the news. Yet the truth is that violence through killing, imprisonment, deportation, and hatred toward the Palestinians has persisted continuously for at least 76 years.

Today, Israel sees itself as above international law, using the 7 October 2023 attack as a pretext to legitimise its violence, framed as an act of self-defence. In reality, it is indiscriminately erasing Palestinians while attempting to seize their land and erase its culture and history.

This is shocking to us because what we are seeing today is genocide. For the first time, we are seeing it unfold daily on social media. This is perhaps the first war that is being observed in real time online, with such an overwhelming display of violence. Sometimes, you just have to turn away from the screen to process the sheer scale of brutality you are watching.

I am deeply concerned. Due to the geopolitical interests of the world's most powerful nations, nothing is being done to stop it. Many countries seem to be coming to the gradual normalisation of this reality, enabling Israel to advance its plans of land seizure and the erasure of Palestine.

Your writing is often described as rhythmic. Can you share how you develop this unique style and the role music plays in your work?

Rhythm and musicality infuse life into my writing, guiding the narrative forward with a cadence akin to jazz. This style resonates deeply with my own heartbeat. Just last night, I attended a conference where two Latin American writers discussed the music they listen to while writing. They described entering a trance-like state that helps them write—not by mimicking the rhythm they hear but by being immersed in it.

That doesn't happen to me. Instead, I create music while writing, requiring complete silence to connect with my own rhythm. I often read my work aloud, which is one of the ways I ensure the cadence feels just right. Achieving that rhythm is incredibly satisfying and integral to my process.

Your works have been widely translated. Do you feel this affects the essence of the original text?

Translation undoubtedly impacts the essence of the original text, particularly its rhythm, but I don't see it as a problem. Writing is a process of constant transformation. Even if I edit the translated text, significant changes will inevitably occur.

This is why I often feel that my writing is akin to the style of jazz musicians. Every performance of a jazz piece is unique, with improvisation allowing each instrument to bring something new. External circumstances, including the chaos and violence surrounding us, also influence the text.

When my work is translated into languages like English, French, Italian, Japanese, or Arabic, it adopts a new musicality. I always advise translators: 'Don't worry too much about literal translation. Stay true to the essence but choose words that suit your language and preserve the musicality as it exists in your linguistic context.'

Readers often assume that authors, particularly women, write novels based on their own lives. How do you challenge this notion?

I completely agree. Women are frequently asked how much of their work is autobiographical, as if male writers are free from the same personal influences. This focus on personal experience tends to diminish the literary and aesthetic value of a work, and I see it as a way to belittle female authors.

In fact, I made a conscious effort to challenge this assumption while writing Seeing Red. As I mentioned earlier, I initially intended to write a novel but then briefly considered a memoir. I resisted because I recognised the issue at hand. Ultimately, I created a novel inspired by my experience but deliberately distanced it from being a purely autobiographical account.

Tell us about your upcoming projects or themes you wish to explore in the future.

This year, I published several short books. One is a collection of personal essay reflections on growing up under dictatorship, while the latter explores the dilemmas of contemporary feminism. Although the latter is an extended essay, it adopts an imaginary approach by presenting the discussion as a dialogue between two stray dogs.

I also released a collection of short stories written over 30 years. Looking ahead to 2025, I intend to continue writing about Palestine. If all goes well, I plan to embark on a new novel centred around the theme of war.