Exile: When you can go home but never return

‘We are in a tide,’ he had said back in the passionate days of the Arab Spring, when he was trying to convince me to return to Benghazi with him, ‘in it and of it. As foolish to think we are free of history as it would be of gravity.’

BOOK REVIEW: MY FRIENDS BY HISHAM MATAR

SB Veda

<Calcutta>

The subject of exile is one much explored in literature, particularly the psychological exile that emerges within a given diaspora. That said, the way in which Hisham Matar explores the subject in My Friends is a profound change in trajectory in that it narrates actual exile from Qaddafi’s Libya during a time in which people are killed for merely expressing their thoughts – those which might be construed as critical of the regime.

 

Matar is a serious novelist best known for his works such as In the Country of Men and The Return. His recent novel serves as a shift from Matar’s more acclaimed novels to a more introspective and personal form of writing. In this first-person narrative reflection, written almost as a memoir, Matar navigates the intricacies of friendship, delving into both the immediate and the ethereal connections that shape people’s lives.

He weaves the political and historical into deeply personal examinations of relationships. In doing so, My Friends stands out as a contemplative work that blends memoir with philosophical musings, providing a candid glimpse into the author’s personal sphere.

The book is structured around a series of vignettes that explore principally, the friendships of three Libyan exiles, who become intimately connected by an act of explosive and repressive violence, which occurs at a protest in front of the Libyan embassy in London.

Initially, we learn that the narrator, named Khaled has been dragged to the protest by his patriotic and subversive friend Mustafa – both students at a university in Edinburgh. They make the trip from Scotland to the capital on the spur of the moment, and neither expects what awaits them at the gathering. We know that Khaled is inspired by the writing of Hosam who for much of the story is present in the impact of his written words rather than physical presence.

As the narrative progresses, each chapter serves as a meditative essay on the nature of these relationships, how they have impacted the narrator. As time passes, the bonds of friendship forged early on, including one of friendship by absent admiration, evolve with the inevitable passage of time that alters them.

Matar’s prose is evocative and elegant, capturing the nuances of both the joys and sorrows inherent in friendships as well as the longing for home embedded in the psyche of each exile.

One of the most striking elements of My Friends is Matar’s ability to infuse his reflections with a sense of universality. Although the experiences he recounts are deeply personal to the narrator, they resonate on a broader scale, touching on themes of human connection and the search for meaning. Anyone who has experienced a longing for home and friendships around this can easily relate to the work.

The lyrical writing style enhances the introspective quality of the book, drawing readers into a contemplative space where they are invited to reflect the deeper meaning behind longing for home and staying at a place as well as the relationships one forges compared to the friendships that bind inextricably.

The book is not just a collection of  anecdotes but also a broader commentary on how friendships shape our identities and how we grapple with their impermanence. Matar’s reflections are interspersed with poignant observations about the nature of existence and the passage of time, making the book as much a philosophical treatise as it is an essay on friendship and belonging as well as reflections on what it means think of home.

What is interesting about the plot is that the incident, which drives the narrative forward in the beginning, and as we learn connects not only Khaled and the Mustafa, the friend and compatriot who accompanies him to the protest, but also a third member, Hosam, whom Khaled admires and Mustafa resents for his fame and lack of conviction, recedes into the background. It is ever present but its significance in the minds of the characters fades as the time passes.

While Khaled’s journey starts off with Mustafa by his side as his classmate and family friend from Libya, his unification with Hosam occurs as a chance encounter at a hotel in Italy while Mustafa is earning money as an estate agent in the UK.

Characters such as Khaled’s parents and sibling as well as both his English girlfriend and Hosam’s Irish one, add colour to the story and help tie up the loose ends in the plot. While not necessarily contributing to the intimacy of the friendships, the European women stand in contrast to highlight the closed triangle that these friends ultimately form, bringing them closer to their national identity in the process – at least for Mustafa and Hosam, less so for Khaled.

For much of the novel, there is talk and contemplation of Libya, its past and what it could be and the aspirations, which the exiles have for it juxtaposed with the despair that possibly things will never change and they will forever be bound to stay in foreign lands. The story culminates with political struggle – in this act, Khaled is a spectator and his two friends are the actors. Their interaction in the Libyan component of the Arab Spring brings them closer together. By the end, Mustafa has completely changed, and Hosam finds his courage.

Khaled remains reflective on all the events, which transpire, and in that sense remains a constant observer in the book – a steady frame of reference – even as the world around him changes. The change in him, rather, doesn’t come with the changes in the middle east; he finds himself inextricably changed by exile, itself leaving him unable to resettle in the new Libya. The simple act, in the final scene, of making his bed in his London flat, serves to emphasize this.

In the end, My Friends, is a gracefully constructed exploration of friendship and identity. Matar’s poetic prose and insightful contemplations make the book a compelling examination of the home and the world as well as the people that tie them together. In the process, the story exemplifies the power of personal narrative as a means to illuminate some broader truths about the interaction of people who share a common ancestry, and places they leave behind: they may succeed in coming back to them, but can never truly return to the home that they left.