Between nomadism and urban life in new Saudi novels

Saudi writers are rediscovering the Arabian Peninsula, not least the tensions and conflicts that emerged from the Bedouin way of life, shaped by its customs, traditions, and challenges.

Lina Jaradat

Saudi writers are once again interested in the nomadic way of life and how that conflicts with life in an urban environment.

Between nomadism and urban life in new Saudi novels

Ibrahim Adel

last update on 24 Jul 2025

Since the dawn of humanity, the arts have been inseparably woven into the fabric of human existence. In literature, specific genres have been associated with specific environments. The nomadic life of the desert, for example, has long been linked with the rhythm of poetry, while the metropolis—a far more recent construct—has been linked with the novel, such that the Hungarian critic György Lukács once declared: “The novel is the daughter of the city.”

Of course, the novel transcends such spatial boundaries, venturing into deserts and remote regions to convey the full range of human experience across diverse landscapes. Interestingly, over the past year, a wave of Saudi novels has embraced this expansive narrative approach, choosing to revisit the historical narrative of the Arabian Peninsula, exploring its historical layers, and chronicling its pivotal early transformations and moments of enlightenment as it moved toward urbanisation. These works, detailed here, delve into the tensions between the Bedouin world—steeped in custom, tradition, and challenge—and the urban realm, with its comforts, stability, and modernity.

Tears of Sand

By: Shtaywi Al-Ghaithi

Published by: Tashkeel House

Winner of the 2024 Golden Pen Award for Most Influential Novel, Tears of Sand is a return to history from its opening lines. The narrator resolves to chronicle the life of his grandmother, Noweira, believing her story is worthy of preservation, for “life is memory”. Though 40 years have passed since her death, her story remains vivid in his mind. As the narrative unfolds, her personal journey expands to encompass the broader tale of her father and tribe, locked in a continuous struggle for survival.

As the narrative shifts to Noweira’s perspective, the desert appears in its stark austerity: tents woven from goat hair, meagre supplies, and a tribal society governed by strict customs and expectations. For a woman alone, survival is fraught; she must seek protection under a man’s care—even if, like Noweira, she possesses a resolute spirit, rebuffs suitors, and carves out a space for herself within her world. When her father leaves for war, she is eventually compelled to marry Abu Salem, the man she fiercely rejected. He marries her solely to father a son, then divorces her. Yet fate draws her back to him.

The narrative moves seamlessly between Noweira’s harsh desert life and the wartime backdrop against which the novel unfolds. The storyteller is deeply committed to documenting a pivotal chapter in Saudi history, focusing on King Abdulaziz Al Saud’s campaigns to unify the northern regions of Najd—especially Ha’il and its environs—despite limited resources. In stark contrast, Ibn Rashid wielded formidable strength, supported by state-of-the-art Ottoman military equipment and logistical backing.

The desert appears in its stark austerity: tents woven from goat hair, meagre supplies, and a tribal society governed by strict customs and expectations

The depiction of Dhari, Noweira's son, vividly captures the encounter between tradition and modernity. His awe upon seeing cars for the first time in Ha'il reflects the magnetic pull of urban progress. Yet the narrative probes further, examining his ethical and political dilemma: should he remain loyal to power, or to the rightful heirs of the land? Ultimately, Dhari and his father find themselves—against their will—on opposing sides, aligned with Ibn Rashid's might but not his justice. This realisation leads Dhari to withdraw from the conflict, perhaps sealing his tragic fate and leaving the novel's central question suspended in the reader's mind.

The story returns to Noweira, painting a powerful portrait of a woman who defies Bedouin societal norms. After resisting marriage, she bears Dhari, who later joins the war, leaving her once again to face solitude. The novel masterfully depicts the complexity of her life, caught between a tribe that both honours her independence and seeks to confine it. The narrative reaches its conclusion with the birth of her second daughter—the narrator's mother—thus bringing the story full circle.

The Tribe That Laughs at Night

By: Salem Al-Suqour

Published by: Miskaliani

Al-Suqour crafts a narrative set in the present day, yet saturated with echoes of the past, where the tribe's enduring dominance casts a long shadow. The conflict between urban modernity and Bedouin tradition shapes the protagonist's entire reality, saturating his world with the tension between city and desert.

The protagonist wrestles with an intense internal struggle: his yearning to become a father is stifled by the rigid customs of tribal society, which dictate his behaviour and suppress his ability to express his desires. Seeking relief, he retreats into memory, invoking stories from the past to soothe his pain and emotional wounds.

The novel unfolds across a single day, framed by two transformative events in his life: the long-awaited birth of his daughter, and the devastating news from doctors that her life is at risk. He clings to hope, desperately awaiting a sign of her recovery. Yet the narrative transcends this personal ordeal, returning to the tribe's lasting authority, which continues to govern both men and women.

As the protagonist searches for a way to save his daughter, he revisits his past, recalling the intricate web of relationships that both bound and constrained him to his family and tribe. The society around him appears urban and civilised, but the primal essence of Bedouin life and tribalism permeates every detail. From the operating room, he reflects on the origins of his marriage—how his family and tribe intervened, and how they impatiently demanded an heir mere days after the wedding.

In this tribal framework, every member claims the right to intervene in others' lives, as though they were stakeholders. All notions of freedom and individuality vanish, replaced by mandates the individual must obey. As he puts it, marriage is like death—no one can predict what lies ahead, whether it is a tribal wedding in a remote village near the Empty Quarter or a sleek ceremony in a postmodern gallery in Paris.

In this tribal framework, every member claims the right to intervene in others' lives, as though they were stakeholders

The Tribe That Laughs at Night is also the title of a story often told by the protagonist's father—about two warring tribes sharing a single water source. By day, one may prevail, but at night, one tribe's camp resounds with laughter while the other wallows in confusion and grief. The reason lies in the children: the laughing tribe has them, their voices illuminating the night, while the other has neither children nor joy.

This tale becomes a mirror for the protagonist's own longing. He yearns for the child he has waited for so long—as if deprived of both laughter and life itself. His memories, his past, and the tribal legends become relentless torments, haunting him from the novel's first page to its final lines.

Saden

By: Jureidi Al-Mansouri

Published by: Rasham

Author Jureidi Al-Mansouri invites the reader into a rich and layered exploration of two opposing worlds: urban modernity and Bedouin tradition. The story begins with Jahar, the protagonist, departing his village in Taif for the city on a deeply personal mission. He is accompanied by his friend Dhubyan—a devoted son of the desert, steeped in Bedouin knowledge and tradition.

Jahar, a villager who has managed to build a life in the city, serves as a conduit between these two realms. Together, they embark on a unique journey in search of a camel named Ghurab, which they believe holds a cure for Jahar's uncle's illness. As the plot unfolds, the narrative shifts fluidly across time, tracing the personal and social histories of both men before returning to the present.

Al-Mansouri embraces a bold literary challenge: to traverse not just physical geography, but the cultural terrain of memory, identity, and generational change. Through vivid passages, he guides the reader across Taif's valleys, plains, and hills, capturing the richness and complexity of Bedouin life.

Dhubyan is portrayed as an extraordinary youth—skilled in hunting, herding, and facing the desert's trials with confidence and instinct. In contrast, Jahar, having reached adulthood and moved to the city, finds himself immersed in a world wholly unlike the one in which he was raised. At first bewildered, he quickly adapts, embracing knowledge with zeal and distinguishing himself among urban peers who have known only comfort and predictability.

The narrative moves between past and present, weaving together the lives of Jahar, Dhubyan, Aunt Salma, and her daughter Muhammada—nicknamed "Zaafaran." Through Salma, the novel offers a finely drawn portrayal of women within Bedouin society. Though firmly rooted in tradition, she dreams of a more refined and prosperous future for her daughter—dreams kindled during visits to Riyadh, where she glimpsed the possibilities of modern life.

She is torn between two suitors: the Najdi officer, who symbolises a decisive leap into modernity, and Jahar, her daughter's cousin and beloved, whose entire journey is driven by his love for Zaafaran. As Jahar journeys through the desert in search of Ghurab, Saden becomes a living record of Bedouin customs, particularly in the villages of Taif and the surrounding regions.

Through vivid passages, the reader is guided across Taif's valleys, plains, and hills, capturing the richness and complexity of Bedouin life

Al-Mansouri carefully documents marriage traditions, songs, and celebratory chants. The narrative broadens to include archaeological and historical landmarks encountered in Tihama—Jabal Affaf, the hot spring, and Hajar al-Kitab—alongside close encounters with the Sarawat Mountains of Bani Saad and the legendary Jabal al-Kunooz near Gharabah.

Eventually, the journey leads to Okaz, the famous pre-Islamic marketplace once central to trade and poetry, where the novel reflects on the cultural and geographic significance of the site. In the end, it is the city—and its rational worldview—that prevails. Jahar, after his long and arduous journey, returns to himself with renewed clarity. He comes to see his earlier belief in the healing powers of a camel's gallbladder as superstition, a vestige of a past that modern medicine has left behind.

No illness, he realises, can be cured by such means, no matter how firmly some still cling to such folk practices. This internal reckoning marks a pivotal moment in the narrative, revealing the deeper meaning of his journey and functioning as a device through which the novel gradually discloses its core truths.

Ultimately, what sets Saden apart is not merely its tale of a personal quest, but its broader function as a cultural and historical bridge. It interweaves past and present, memory and heritage, and the evolving relationship between Bedouin identity and urban transformation. Al-Mansouri achieves all this through a tightly constructed and cohesive narrative that holds the reader's attention to the final page.

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