Fathy Embaby on using history to understand the present

In your series, you relied on historical sources to trace the stories of cities, places, their architecture and alleyways, and many of the defining events that shaped these countries' past and present. What were you searching for as you delved into this history?

When you leaf through The Equatoria Province by Dr Jamil Ubaid, and discover that in the 19th century the Egyptian flag flew along the entire length of the Nile—from its mouth to its equatorial sources—and that the kingdoms and tribes of the Equator bore that flag and pledged allegiance to the Khedive of Egypt, it's surprising and makes you more curious.

Neither history nor schoolbooks mentions that the Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser foolishly erased a legacy of political, cultural, and military engagement that had defended the unity of the Nile Basin countries for a century and a half.

We have turned a blind eye to the loss of Sudan and the surrender of the Nile's sources—the river that is the lifeblood of Egypt. Mohamed Naguib, the nation's first republican president, was Sudanese, born in the city of Wad Madani; Anwar Sadat's mother was Ethiopian. One's mind reels in horror at how the Nasserist regime neglected Sudan, chasing fragile unification schemes that crumbled like a spider's web.

And it reels again, in fury, when recalling that Muhammad Ali Pasha—and the nationalist wing of his sons and grandsons—grasped the Nile's strategic significance.

Prompted by a warning that European powers coveted its sources, he swiftly dispatched exploratory missions and military campaigns, securing the river in its entirety and bringing the peoples along its banks under Egyptian influence.

Does the series have any parallels in our modern Arab political and social landscape?

Yes. Historical patterns continue to shape the Egyptian psyche today, both politically and culturally. The quintet examines the nature of the Egyptian character and the lives of peasant communities under six centuries of slave rule (the Mamluks) sustained by religious authorities.

It reveals the extraordinary adaptability of Egyptian peasants, yet also their failure to fully comprehend the deeper meaning of freedom, both individually and collectively.

Passion recounts events that echo what is currently taking place in Sudan: killings, looting, rape, and displacement, with a brutality that mirrors the past, all under the guise of fundamentalist religious belief and an ideology that despises women and subjects them to enslavement.

Read more: The tragedy of Sudan's forgotten war

From your debut novel, The Wedding, onwards, you've explored obscure chapters of Egyptian and Arab history, largely unfamiliar to the average reader. Are you working on a broader project to document the history of Egypt and the Arab region through fiction?

I have a deep passion for knowledge and for exploring events trapped in obscurity. But overall, I write to hold a torch for freedom and justice and to resist oppression.

How should a novelist approach history?

There are many forms of historical fiction. Some focus on pivotal events or well-known historical figures to draw out dramatic moments that showcase courage and heroism— an approach that appeals to a broad readership. Others use specific historical episodes to shed light on contemporary events. Some use the past as a mirror to comment on the present, especially if they are trying to evade government censorship.

For me, the core reason for turning to history was Israel's defeat of Egypt and Syria in 1967. I wanted to understand the nature, composition, and historical evolution of the Egyptian character, much like psychology investigates a person's past and childhood. Deciphering history helps me understand Egyptian identity.

How do you know which historians to trust when researching for your novels?

There are two types of historical sources. The first are original sources penned by great historians distinguished by intellect, discernment, and insight, figures such as al-Tabari, Abd al-Rahman al-Jabarti, al-Maqrizi, Abd al-Rahman al-Rafi'i, Naoum Shuqair, Prince Omar Toussoun, and Dr Jamil Ubaid. These writers recorded history with rare integrity.

The second category includes numerous Orientalists who wrote the history of the East through a biased lens and viewed its people as sub-human. Then, there are native historians who echo the Orientalists' claims in a servile manner, and others who distort history and defile it to serve a sectarian, religious, ethnic bias, or ideological agenda.

The writer Emil Cioran once said: "A book must deepen wounds, even provoke them." You seem to embody this in your River series. Why reopen the Arab wound now?

I belong to a generation raised, nourished, and shaped in the shadow of the Nasserist dream. We genuinely believed we would reach the sky, but everything came crashing down with the 1967 defeat.

Many in my generation, including myself, resisted that defeat. We fought for the right to go to war. But after October 1973, everything began to deteriorate, values crumbled, morals eroded, merit lost meaning, competence was scorned, freedoms shrank, the rule of law faltered, the currency plummeted, and the city cried by night from poverty and misery.

And now, our wounds are being reopened when we watch in agony the people of Gaza being murdered and maimed every day, stabbing at our conscience and reminding us of our impotence and failure.

How can literature protect history from distortion?

The distortion of history occurs in the very act of its writing. Literature, by default, comes after and cannot prevent such distortions. Yet under certain circumstances, the novel can return to history, rereading it, reinterpreting events, and re-evaluating the figures and roles that shaped a particular historical moment.

What are the main challenges of writing of historical fiction?

Constructing a novel that addresses a particular historical period or figure, and rebuilding an entirely new, singular world that transcends the past into something deeply human and epistemological, demands exceptional creative energy and unique intellectual capabilities. It requires a genuine passion for history, its tales, myths, and the individuals who played pivotal roles in key moments in a people's destiny. Equally important is the writer's ability to do rigorous historical research, delving into books and sources with scholarly dedication.

Do you believe the Arab writer can dissociate from politics when writing?

There are certainly writers whose works are closely tied to politics. A living example would be the Syrian novelist Hanna Mina, whose novels are largely grounded in his socialist worldview.

On the other hand, Abdel Hakim Qasem's gripping novel The Seven Days of Man barely touches on politics. Meanwhile, Moroccan writer Mohamed Choukri, in For Bread Alone, stayed far from overt political commentary, yet offered a searingly transparent depiction of the lives of the homeless.

But everything is related to politics one way or another. For example, most of Naguib Mahfouz's works are inherently political, but even not engaging in politics is itself a political stance.