Youssef Habchi El-Ashkar: writing is my salvationhttps://en.majalla.com/node/325268/culture-social-affairs/youssef-habchi-el-ashkar-writing-my-salvation
In a never-before-published interview, the late Lebanese novelist explains how the characters in his epic trilogy reflect his distaste for city life and lost faith in humanity
Youssef Habchi El-Achkar is widely regarded as the founder of the ‘self-awareness movement’ in contemporary Lebanese literature, characterised by existential introspection and psychological unrest.
He died in 1992, aged just 62, not long after publishing Shadow and the Echo in 1989, saying that he had fulfilled his literary mission and had nothing more to add. This novel concluded a trilogy—together with No Roots Grow in the Sky (1971) and Four Red Mares (1964)—that took nearly four decades to write.
He was known for taking his time and his meticulous revisions, sometimes rewriting the whole work three or four times. Writing was his sole purpose in life—a pursuit to which he devoted himself entirely.
With his trilogy, Youssef Habchi El-Achkar established the foundations of contemporary Lebanese literature and culture—one that had been profoundly shaken by conflict, not least the June 1967 defeat, the rise of the Palestinian resistance movement, and the Lebanese Civil War from 1975.
Overshadowed by war
From the late 1960s to the 1980s, conflict gave rise to a new war literature, resistance poetry, and what some called a “defeat culture”, as the ties that once unified Lebanese and Arab culture across multiple axes with distinct characteristics began to erode.
Despite efforts by Tawfiq Yusuf Awwad (The Mills of Beirut, 1972) and El-Achkar (Shadow and the Echo, 1989) to incorporate Lebanon’s wars into their fiction, these works were eventually overshadowed by the rift and alienation felt among Lebanese groups which soon sought exclusive cultural sources amid the conflict, which was, in one aspect, a struggle over identity.
With his trilogy, El-Achkar established the foundations of contemporary Lebanese literature and culture—one profoundly shaken by conflict
Rupture has been a defining feature of modern and contemporary Arab cultural life since the literary renaissance in the late 19th century, which broke away from Ottoman decadence and aligned Arabic literary language with the Western era and the ideals of modernity.
This led to the gradual obscurity of El-Achkar's works during the Lebanese Civil War, despite their previous acclaim as pioneering contributions to Lebanese literature in the 1950s and 1960s.
After reading El-Achkar's novel No Roots Grow in the Sky, Egyptian writer Naguib Mahfouz, who won the Nobel Prize for Literature, turned to Egyptian critic Ghali Shukri and asked: "How is it that we do not know of this genius? He is an exceptional novelist. Why is he unknown to the Egyptian reader?"
Dar Al-Nahar, the Beirut publishing house that originally released El-Achkar's trilogy from the 1960s to the late 1980s, began reissuing his works after years of absence and near-total obscurity. The first novel, Four Red Mares, was republished earlier this year. No Roots Grow in the Sky and Shadow and the Echo are set to follow.
To mark this revival, Al Majalla presents an unreleased article featuring an interview with El-Achkar, which was conducted a year before he died in 1992. Part of a research project on the sociology of literature, it offers a rare glimpse into the author's reflections on writing, his intellectual and social influences, and his personal literary journey.
At the entrance of the old rural town of Beit Chabab in Mount Lebanon—referred to as Beit Malat in El-Achkar's trilogy—we approached a young man standing in front of an old house bearing the flag of a Lebanese political party. We asked him for directions to El-Achkar's home, but he did not recognise the name.
Later, we asked an older man in his 60s. "Do you mean Youssef Habchi El-Achkar, the lawyer?" he asked, after hesitating. It showed how, despite never having practised law, El-Achkar's legacy had been overshadowed, even in his hometown. When we finally met El-Achkar, his local dialect remained dominant, seemingly untouched by his years of residence and work in Beirut from 1944-75.
A church bell tower overlooks the Lebanese capital, Beirut, from the town of Roumieh in the Metn region on January 21, 2016.
Having made only subtle modifications to his old family home, where his grandfather, grandmother, and parents had lived before him, the village and its heritage remained a source of solace for the author of No Roots Grow in the Sky, who once said city life brought him nothing but "doubt, anxiety, and disappointment," while "his roots run deep and extend into the village"—the land of his birth and the home of his ancestors.
El-Achkar sat before us in a traditional robe (dishdasha), a nod to his reluctance to leave his home, venturing out only twice a week to attend his job at the Social Security Administration in Beirut, returning swiftly.
There was a deep weariness in both his words and on his face, the fatigue of ageing, or the exhaustion of a life consumed by writing and reading, which he considered his sole salvation. Perhaps his only consolation lay in knowing that his life had not been in vain, having left behind ten novels and story collections.
No separation
He was born in this house, where his family had lived since the outbreak of the Lebanese Civil War. His father, Emile, was also born there, having inherited it from his own father. Until his father's passing in 1981, El-Achkar never truly separated from his family to establish an independent home, except for the brief spell at university. Even after marrying a distant relative in 1958, he chose to live under the same roof as his parents, together with his three children.
"This was profoundly significant in my life and in the lives of my children, who grew up in the presence of both their parents and grandparents, figures who became an integral part of their existence," he said. "The truth is, I never felt the need to separate from my family or live apart from them. This shielded me and my children from any sense of alienation or identity conflict."
Ironically, this deep-rooted familial bond stands in stark contrast to the themes explored in his trilogy, where characters are often consumed by struggles, existential reflections, and philosophical debates on love, faith, society, life, and death.
I never felt the need to separate from my family or live apart from them. This shielded me and my children from any sense of alienation or identity conflict.
Youssef Habchi El-Achkar
Emile Habchi El-Achkar, Youssef's father, was a well-known writer who devoted his entire life to literature, historical writing, and storytelling. He relied financially on a small inheritance from his father and the income generated from publishing a magazine and newspaper from 1912-15 in Beit Chabab, which had been a major commercial and industrial centre in Mount Lebanon since the late 19th century.
In 1929, he launched the quarterly magazine Al-Layali, dedicated to publishing historical fiction about Arab and Islamic figures, much like Jurji Zaydan. The magazine ceased publication in 1949, after its owner had made a living from its subscription income in Lebanon, Syria, and Jordan, where it was widely distributed and popular. At the time, printing was done manually using primitive techniques.
Turning to poetry
For 12-year-old Youssef, a formative experience was his infatuation with a girl in his village, which ended when the girl and her family left for Africa. "This early experience of social and emotional repression led me to withdraw into myself and turn to poetry," he said. "Spending most of my time writing poetry made me neglect my studies."
In 1944, he moved from Beit Chabab to Beirut for university studies, but found city life unappealing. "Neither the tram, nor the tall buildings, nor the diversity of the population, nor the complexity and intermingling of urban life impressed me," he recalled. "My time in the city neither led me to reject its world and values nor to fully adapt to them."
"Beirut in the 1940s comprised large neighbourhoods, largely self-contained, with minimal interaction between their residents. This gradually instilled in me an aversion to city life and its civilisation, deepening my passion for the simplicity of village life.
"Perhaps in this, I resemble Alexander, the protagonist of No Roots Grow in the Sky. Modern civilisation, which emerged from cities, has contributed nothing to human existence but confusion, pain, exhaustion, anxiety, dissatisfaction, and a profound alienation from the self."
Overtaken by doubt
Until 1951, El-Achkar primarily wrote free verse poetry, publishing some of his poems in literary magazines. His transition to prose came after meeting Lebanese novelist Fouad Kanaan, then editor-in-chief of Al-Hikma magazine, who encouraged him to write short stories. In the 1950s, Al-Hikma was a hub for emerging short story writers, as the genre had become a literary trend at the time.
Among them was Maurice Kamel, a leftist writer who disliked his given name and changed it to Salah. Another was Fouad Haddad, known for his short stories and his anti-Gamal Abdel Nasser articles, which he published under the pseudonym Abu Al-Han in Al-Amal newspaper. El-Achkar published his first short story collection, The Taste of Ashes, in 1952, followed by his second, Winter Night.
"A storm of doubt overtook me, leading me to see coincidence as the origin and foundation of existence," he said. "My obsession with how chance dictates human fate plunged me into a state of existential fragmentation, with city life as its defining backdrop. This state of existential fragmentation compelled me to question the fate of a being estranged from himself within the city.
"I longed for an escape, but the only refuge I found was in the world of the village. In the summer of 1957, I returned to Beit Chabab, still burdened with existential questions, so I wrote about my return to my roots in my short story collection, The Breaking of Dawn. Yet that did not free me from my turmoil, for the city had begun encroaching upon the villages, leaving me in a state of loss with no resolution."
Modern civilisation, which emerged from cities, has contributed nothing to human existence but confusion, pain, exhaustion, anxiety, dissatisfaction, and a profound alienation from the self
Youssef Habchi El-Achkar
Salvation and prayer
El-Achkar's first novel, Four Red Mares, marked a turning point in his literary career, sparking considerable debate within Beirut's literary circles. The novel explores the concerns, anxieties, and relationships of the 1950s generation living in the city.
His second novel, No Roots Grow in the Sky, was composed using newspaper news and real-life events, which he recorded as raw observations before shaping them into a narrative. The novel underwent up to four rewrites, a process he also applied to Shadow and the Echo, whose draft manuscripts were four metres high.
For El-Achkar, writing was "never a means of livelihood" but was "more like salvation and prayer". He said: "I could never embrace ideological commitment, for history has shown that doctrines and ideologies never endure. I remain convinced that only God governs the world, yet I also believe that justice is alien to this existence and that human life is inherently marked by suffering—from which only writing offers me solace.
"Doubt has shaken the very ground beneath my feet. I believe every generation faces its own earthquake, and the loss of faith has been mine. I cannot tell where this tormented being is heading, nor what fate awaits him."
