Abdullah Al-Hawas: writing is a cry against stagnation

What idea were you hoping to convey by attributing seemingly contradictory traits to the main character, Al-Ashhab, who shares his name with the book's title?

Al-Ashhab is not a simple character. He has layered and contradictory characteristics—he is brave and a coward, rigid yet loves his freedom, yearns for belonging but is also detached, and is obedient and defiant—all at the same time. I wanted to convey that a person is not a homogeneous entity, but a complex individual in whom seemingly contradictory traits can coexist.

In societies quick to label and categorise, I felt it was important to craft a character who resists definition, someone elusive, who cannot be easily pinned down.

You were once asked: "Can history step out of abstraction and become tangible?" From your experience, how would you answer that now?

I believe that question came from a reader, and it's a valuable and thoughtful one. To make a long story short, I wanted to explore whether history could be reawakened as a living, breathing presence, rather than remaining a static record of past events.

For me, history lives in the voices of marketplaces, the scents of ancient cities, the footsteps of ancestors along worn paths. It is the living conscience of humanity, not just text confined to books. In that sense, the novel was an attempt to move history out of academic sterility and into human immediacy.

In your second novel, Unboob (Tube), you explored the idea of the ability to change reality. Do you believe that a novel can actually create change?

When I begin writing a novel, I'm not thinking about how it might change reality. I don't believe in placing burdens on fiction that exceed its natural scope. Throughout history, certain books have triggered major upheavals and become instruments of destruction or renewal, often without any such intention on the part of their authors.

My novels are not designed to shift grand equations. But they can provoke an inner unrest—a kind of noise that may lead to personal transformation.

If a reader's perspective changes, even slightly, then part of reality shifts as well. Fiction offers a new perspective, and that perspective is the starting point of any genuine change. A novel becomes a space to re-examine our questions and to challenge long-held certainties.

What is it you aim to achieve through your fiction, which often presents ideas that defy reality?

I wouldn't say that defying reality defines my writing. I am capable of accepting reality and adapting to it. The sense of rebellion in my work is not an end in itself, but a means of opening new horizons and exploring alternative possibilities through different characters.

What I hope is that readers will find in my stories a mirror for their own inner questions and come to see that change is possible—even if it begins with a small idea or a shift in perspective. At its heart, writing is a form of resistance against complacency.

Beyond literary themes, you explore social and intellectual issues through your podcast, Sanarah. Tell us about the podcast and if it is part of or separate from your literary journey?

Sanarah is a different kind of experience, though it remains closely tied to my literary journey. It is an audio window through which I explore the social and intellectual questions that concern me, but in a more immediate, conversational format. If the novel is an act of slow contemplation, the podcast is a live exchange; a direct connection with the listener that captures the present moment.

Each medium feeds the other. Literature gives the podcast its depth, while the podcast reconnects me with the pulse of the street and the voices of the people. I had hoped to continue it, but I had to take a break to attend to my writing commitments and manage the library.

Could you share the key areas you focus on in your role as head of the library at the King Abdulaziz Centre for World Culture (Ithra)?

Some might assume I'm fortunate to be surrounded by books each morning! But the administrative nature of the role has, at times, taken away the simple joy of immersing myself in the vast world of knowledge. So, I chose to approach it from another perspective—one focused on creating a positive impact for others.

My work at the Ithra library reflects a deeply held belief that a library is not merely a collection of shelves, but a living space for engagement and exchange. I am committed to making reading a rich, personal experience for everyone, not just a cultural habit. That's why we strive to make the library a place of wonder and discovery, where readers can reconnect with texts on a personal level. In this sense, managing a library is not just a job; it is a cultural responsibility to both the present and future generations.

How do you view the current pool of young Saudi writers? Has the cultural renaissance in the Kingdom opened up more creative possibilities?

Young Saudi writers today possess a confidence that was not as visible in the past. The country's cultural renaissance has opened up new horizons, offering this generation unprecedented opportunities to explore writing in all its forms.

We are now witnessing a diversity of voices, a variety of literary styles, and an increasing willingness to experiment. This is a historic moment in the Kingdom's cultural journey, and I believe its impact will be felt for generations to come.

Are you currently working on a new literary project?

Yes, I'm in the final stages of a new novel. All I can say for now is that it leans more towards local memory, seeking to capture the often-overlooked details of our everyday lives. For me, a text is only ready to be written once it has fully formed within me. Only then does it make its way to the reader. That is why I see writing as a long journey, one that cannot be rushed.