the novella in arabic: a study in fictional genres

The Novella in Arabic: A Study in Fictional GenresAuthor(s): Roger AllenSource: International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 18, No. 4 (Nov., 1986), pp. 473-484Published by: Cambridge University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/163473 .

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Int. J. Middle East Stud. 18 (1986), 473-484 Printed in the United States of America

Roger Allen

THE NOVELLA IN ARABIC:

A STUDY IN FICTIONAL GENRES

Before broaching the main topic of this study, there seem to me to be two general issues involving terms in the title which need to be addressed: The one concerns nomenclature, the other the question of genres.

A certain vagueness colors most attempts at definition of the term "novella," something which seems the result of both the way in which the term has developed and the considerable differences of opinion among critics.' Thus the Oxford English Dictionary seems to reflect the relatively recent interest in the genre in the English-speaking world by not including the word at all in the main part of the dictionary and by defining it in the Supplement as "a short novel (as in the stories of Boccaccio's Decameron)." As Howard Nemerov points out, however, "the term 'short novel' is descriptive only in the way that the term 'Middle Ages' is descriptive-that is, not at all, except with regard to the territory on either side."2 The index to the English translation of Todorov's Poetics of Prose lists: Novella, see Tale.3 Such entries as these do at least convey to us the notion that the novella operates somewhere along a fictional spectrum, the two poles of which are the novel and the short story, but that is all. In search of more precision, the Oxford Dictionary may offer us some help under the entry "nouvelle" which is defined as "a short piece of fictitious narrative, frequently one dealing with a single situation or a single aspect of a character or characters." The Standard College Dictionary takes us further along the road to detail by talking of "a short tale or narrative, usually with a moral and often satiric, as the stories in Baccaccio's [sic] Decameron."4

If there seems to be a certain vagueness in the terminology of the European languages, the situation in Arabic with reference to fictional genres in general is no better. I have recently suggested elsewhere that the two major fictional genres mentioned above have generally acknowledged technical terms attached to them in Arabic: riwaya for "novel" and qissa qasira for "short story."5 This suggestion on my part is based on the term used by what seems to me to be the majority of critics whose works I have encountered on the subject, but I acknowledge that there are some notable exceptions. Two studies by Muhammad Yiisuf Najm, for example, use the term "qissa" (without any accompanying adjective) to mean "novel." His term for short story is "uqsusa."6 Muhammad Zaghlul Sallam does the same.' The second edition of the Encyclopaedia of Islam uses the article "kissa" to discuss the novel and its development. On the other hand, Faruq

? 1986 Cambridge University Press 0020-7438/86/040473-12 $2.50



474 Roger Allen

Khurshid uses the term "riwaya" to refer to the traditional narratives of an earlier period, although the title is, no doubt, intended to evoke the possibility of a continuum within the tradition.8 Needless to say, it is not for me to comment further on the process of natural development in language usage, but only to note that, in such circumstances, it is hardly surprising that no specific term exists in Arabic for the novella, apart, one supposes, from the European term transliterated into Arabic characters.

Turning to the topic of genre per se, we might well suggest that this very issue of definition may represent something desirable, particularly in an era in which, to quote Geoffrey Hartman, "something has gone wrong-flamboyantly, inter- estingly wrong-with the idea of separate or hierarchical genres."9 Needless to say, the notion of genres has been under challenge for some time. Benedetto Croce, for example, reacted strongly to the application of "natural selection" to literature, pointing out that, while genres might have some practical convenience as modes of classification, they were of little use in aesthetics. As a result, "the field is littered with the ruins of past definitions which have convinced no one save their author, and the advance of modern writing is so vast and multifarious that all classifications crumble in front of it."'0 However, as Northrup Frye has pointed out, "the purpose of criticism by genres is not so much to classify as to clarify such traditions and affinities, thereby bringing out a large number of literary relationships that would not be noticed as long as there were no context established for them." 1 Perhaps one might suggest: Si la nouvelle n'existait pas, il faudrait l'inventer. On a humbler plane we might perhaps pick up the phrase "practical convenience" with reference to criticism by genre and suggest that, while convenience may not represent the highest aspirations of literature scholarship, particularly in this age of what Denis Donoghue has termed "ferocious alphabets,""2 it is not without use or merit.

The immediate stimulus to attempt this application of novella theory to Arabic literature came from a re-reading of the several articles on fiction which have appeared in the Journal of Arabic Literature. The word "novella" is used several times to refer to a small number of works, suggesting perhaps a general, if tacit, consensus.'3 However, part of the general issue of genre definition can be gauged from the following selected montage of opinions. Katrina McClean describes Yahya Haqqi's Qindfl Umm Hishim as "this short story or rather novella," while Professor Fatma Moussa-Mahmoud reviews the same work as a novel.14 Constance Berkley describes al-Tayyib Salih's cUrs al-Zayn as a novella "though briefer than most novels." Ahmad Nasr also describes Salih's work as a novella,15 while Denys Johnson-Davies terms CUrs al-Zayn, Bandar Shah, and Maryud as both novellas and short novels.16 The present writer has to place himself in the arena, having described Yusuf Idris's Qda al-MadLna as being "in the form of a novella."'7 In what follows I would like to survey some general works on the novella genre and then see how far the findings are applicable to three works in Arabic fiction: QindTl Umm Hishim, CUrs al-Zayn, and QaC al-madTna. 8

As we attempt to describe and analyze the novella genre, the comments of scholars on the uselessness of prescriptive genre categories are well taken. The German school of Novellentheorie has been a particularly fertile source of



The Novella in Arabic 475

characteristics and typologies, as scholars such as E. K. Bennett, J. H. E. Paine, and Judith Leibowitz have pointed out.'9 There has been a great deal of interest in the genre on the part of both German writers and critics, and it is probably this, coupled with the vigor of the French and Spanish traditions, which led Henry James to make his well-known and typically acerbic comment about the novella:

It had taken the blank misery of our Anglo-Saxon sense of such matters to organize, as might be said, the general indifference to this fine type of composition. In that dull view a "short story" was a "short story" and that was the end of it.20

However, Harry Steinhauer points out the negative side of this situation in Novellentheorie when, in an article hopefully entitled "Towards a definition of the novella," he lists in horror no less than 29 criteria for the genre, many of which are directly contradictory.21

The positioning of the novella along a spectrum between the novel and short story has tempted some critics to essay a definition based on length.22 Since all such descriptions will be relative and suggest merely that most novellas are longer than short stories and shorter than novels, this seems not particularly helpful. A more fruitful tack seems to be found in the suggestion that the novella concentrates on one event, situation, or character.23 Traditional criticism has attempted to refine these guidelines further by decreeing that the novella should be concerned with something unusual or striking: Georg Lukacs expresses the concept as "an extreme situation."24 There should be some concrete symbol within the fabric of the work which is expressive of an inner meaning. There will often be manipulation of the element of time, a process in which the technique of framing may be involved. But the most persistent of the more traditional characteristics of the genre is that of the "turning-point" (Wendepunkt), a term usually associated with the Novellen-writer and critic, Ludwig Tieck.25 According to this prescription the novella builds up to a single climax, as a result of which a distinct change is to be seen in the life and/or behavior of the character who is the work's primary focus.

More recent criticism has been unsympathetic to this type of categorization, as might be expected from some of the above comments on the application of genre theory. The notion that such a list can constitute a kind of sine qua non in identifying novellas has been challenged. Judith Leibowitz, for example, notes that, while these criteria may be found in some or even several novellas, "a study of techniques will not lead to an understanding of generic narrative purpose." An investigation of the effect produced by the genre will be more satisfactory than a "definition" based on a mere listing of its devices. For her, the primary feature of the novella is its unique ability to combine the economy of the short story (which she terms "intensity") with the openness of the novel (termed "expansion"). While the theme is kept under the strictest control, implication and suggestion serve to expand the work's impact.26 In the colorful phrase of Walter Silz, the aim is "to compress infinite riches in a little room."27

As we turn from a summary of theory on this subject to its application in Arabic fiction, it is, no doubt, already clear to those who are familiar with Yahya Haqqi's Qindil Umm Hashim, long since acknowledged as one of the abiding



476 Roger Allen

masterpieces of modern Arabic literature, that it is the dream of the more traditional novella theorist.28 The work is unequivocally focused on a single character, Ismac'l, the Egyptian brought up in traditional surroundings who travels to Europe to study medicine (actually ophthalmology) and who returns to his native land to confront all the complex issues implicit in the meeting and clash of cultural values. The course of the narrative selects with the greatest care only those elements which contribute to the analysis of Isma'il's upbringing; for, as Mustafa Badawi notes, this work is "of the type of writing ... known as the Bildungsroman."29 While all this may not be enclosed within the more traditional frame-story encountered in, say, Alf layla wa-layla, we can point to the fact that the third-person narrative concerning Isma'il is actually narrated by his nephew, who, along with a more generalized "we" and "us," provides an outer layer of first-person narration.30 Furthermore, the manipulation of the element of time in this work is one of its more obvious and notable features, a process which involves the identification of those aspects which will contribute directly to the major theme of the work as a whole. There is to all this much of the circularity associated by Joseph Campbell and other critics with the great monomyth, along with all the implicit possibilities of parallelism and repetition.31 Thus the first two sections before Isma'il's departure are set in the family home and the mosque square in turn, and the same order is followed in sections eight and nine following his traumatic return from England. However, as we have noted above, the most prevalent element in traditional novella theory has been that of the "turning-point," an extreme event which brings about a radical change in the life of the principal character. If the title of Haqqi's work gives us some assistance, then the contents provide copious evidence of the centrality of the mosque lamp (and, by extension, its oil) in the narrative. In fact, the initial sections of the work give a powerful impression of the prevalence of Islamic belief in the life of the family and community. Isma'1l's father's business flourishes "through the blessings of Umm Hashim," and "the future was in the hands of God."32 The dome of the mosque is "diffused with an irridescent light growing now dim and now bright," and the lamp itself gleams with "a blinding light." It is "his last memory of Cairo before leaving."33 When Isma'il revisits the mosque towards the end of the story once the crisis is over, the lamp is described with a simile which seems of great significance: it was "burning like a beautiful eye," the point of similarity being precisely that very part of the body which is the object of his scientific expertise, something which has at that point in the story failed to cure the illness of his fiancee, Fatima.34 Upon his return from England he has smashed the bottle of oil; now he asks Sheikh Dardiri for more. Within this total narrative framework, the smashing of the lamp of Umm Hashim using his father's own stick becomes the central act and indeed the turning-point of the entire story. The religious faith with which he leaves for study in Europe is initially "replaced by a stronger faith in science," but, as a result of the series of events which follow his return to his homeland and trigger a reassessment of his values and beliefs, he comes to realize that science and religion are not totally incompatible. This process of reconciliation carries over to his relationships with his fellow countrymen and family. We are led to believe that it brings about the




recovery of Fatima,35 and that the remainder of Isma'il's life is a happy one. The explicit statement "There can be no science without faith" surely makes Qindil Umm Hashim the apologue of the novella theorist's dreams.36

If Yahya iHaqql's masterpiece offers such a rich supply of characteristics identified by novella theorists, it can also be used to illustrate the notions of intensity and expansion as preferred by less prescriptive critics. Here a large theme with considerable spread of both time and place is treated in a comparatively brief work in a way that is both aesthetically satisfying and thought- provoking. We have already suggested some of the ways through which this is achieved: the limited number of characters involved and the means used to portray them; the use of flashback and repetition to underline the significance of key events in the narrative; and, above all, the skillful use of symbols (and I have certainly not identified all of them here) to suggest ways in which the events and characters portrayed may be seen in a larger framework.37 And, while this is not the occasion for a detailed analysis, mention should also be made of Haqqi's superb style which, through its economy, imagery, and skillful use of the colloquial medium adds in a unique way to the total impact of this great contribution to modern Arabic fiction.

As several critics have noted, al-Tayyib Salih's CUrs al-Zayn is not so much a work which should be viewed in isolation but rather one of a whole series of fictional works which deal with the author's own environment, primarily a village on the Nile in the Sudan. This is not, of course, to maintain that they have to deal with the same theme. Each of the works looks at the community as a whole and at certain of its characters from a different perspective, or, as it were, through a different lens.38

As is the case with Haqqi's work, Salih's 'Urs al-Zayn does not present the sequence of events in chronological order. If anything, the manipulation of time is even greater in Salih's work: the beginning takes the form of a reaction by three villagers to the news represented by the title itself, that al-Zayn is to get married. This occurs relatively late in the ordering of events included in the story, and is repeated several times. Indeed, on the last occasion the three villagers whose reactions are recorded at the beginning are presented in the same order; yet again the element of repetition is present.39 The use of these techniques in the treatment of time has a number of ramifications. In the first place, the narration begins by focusing on the villagers and their amazement that al-Zayn should be getting married. Not only does this arouse the reader's curiosity as to why such a fact should be amazing (something which is soon revealed), but it places the operative level of the narration on the village as a whole. While al-Zayn himself, Ni'ma, Sayf al-Din, and the Imam, are treated as separate individuals, thus confirming their importance within the narrative, there is always a return to the village level, culminating in the communal festivities of the wedding itself. This is not a story about a village as place; we learn almost nothing about its geography or outward appearance. Instead it is about the village as groups of people, and their attitude to their surroundings is captured in a small but remarkable section in the center of the work in which there is no mention of village people whatsoever. Instead the Nile and the land that it



478 Roger Allen

irrigates are described in a passage replete with metaphor: "the Nile's breast, like that of a man in anger, swells up," "the moon's face is rounded," the land is "as though it were a woman of boundless passion preparing to meet her mate," and the earth has its bowels "astir with gushing water."40 The unique quality of this short section emphasizes the impact of nature-the Nile and the earth-on the village community, but while this background is always implicit, the concentration in this work is on people.

It will be recalled that a frequent characteristic of the novella genre cited above was the use of a relatively small number of characters. The treatment of an entire village might seem to render that impossible in this instance, and yet such is not the case. Throughout the work the village community is presented in groups. This is most obvious later in the work when the community is subdivided into three "clearly divided camps" according to its reactions to the Imam.41 The same technique is to be found elsewhere: "Mahjuib's gang," as they are called late in the work, appear as a group throughout (although each gets a thumbnail sketch at one point),42 and the women divide into two groups over the feud between Amina and Sa'diyya.

In such a context the singling out of a character for particular attention is obviously a matter of some consequence. Ni'ma stands out for her great beauty, something of which the village is well aware, for her "sense of responsibility," her education, and her tenderness towards al-Zayn, the more so after his visit to the hospital.43 It is also presumably significant that the section describing Ni'ma immediately follows the section on nature just mentioned and that she imagines to herself: "As the Nile floods its banks, storms rage, the date palms produce their fruit each year, as the corn sprouts, the rain pours down and the seasons change, so would her marriage be."44 Sayf al-Din, who represents everything that is antagonistic to the village's interests-family loyalties, public morality, and support of the indigent-first attacks al-Zayn and then is almost killed when the latter takes his revenge. The Imam, as we noted above, serves as the symbol of official religion in the village and as the major catalyst for the subdivisions within the male segment of the small community, but he is also clearly identified as "perhaps the only person al-Zayn hated."45 Thus each one of these characters has a particular role to play vis a vis al-Zayn himself, whose central place, implicit from the title, is thus confirmed.

That al-Zayn is unusual is clear almost from the outset of the story. His birth, appearance, laughter, and behavior are all extraordinary.46 He is prepared to tackle hard tasks and breaks down barriers between the village and the surround- ing nomadic communities.47 He is popular with the young and makes a special effort to take care of those unfortunates "whom the villagers regarded as abnormal," the crippled and lame.48 If these traits are unusual, then his relationship with al-Hanin brings into the story an element of mystery or even the mystic. He is described as a saint of God and "a pious man wholly dedicated to his religious devotions."49 It is he who dubs al-Zayn "the blessed one of God," a term which is picked up and expanded by the villagers into "the legendary leader. . . perhaps an angel sent down by God."50 It is al-Hanin who admonishes Mahjiib that "Al-Zayn's no imbecile. . . he's a blessed person. Tomorrow he'll




be marrying the best girl in the village."5' It is, of course, this relationship between al-Hanin and al-Zayn and the fact that the villagers pay such credence to a personification of popular Islam as al-Hanin that is the root cause of the ill feelings between al-Zayn and the Imam.

Al-Zayn thus emerges as a powerful symbol of the village's better instincts and more charitable virtues. When Sayf al-Din attacks al-Zayn and sends him to hospital, the latter gets a glimpse of another world (one with clean sheets, no less). When he returns to the village, it is "as though al-Zayn had been transformed into another person."52 It is this changed person who attacks Sayf al-DTn with "an immensely terrifying strength with which no one could deal."53 It is only the intervention of al-HanTn which saves Sayf al-DTn in what seems a classic example of a turning-point. Al-Zayn has already undergone a transformation, but "the incident of al-Hanin" (as it is called) is followed by the "year of al-Hanin,"54 and changes of all kinds come thick and fast. The government decides out of the blue to begin a whole series of projects in and around the village, and this, coupled with a good price for cotton, improves the village's economy. The earth becomes very fruitful, and so do the women of the village. Sayf al-DTn is completely transformed, too, much to the amazement of the villagers, and is reconciled with al-Zayn. As the narrator tells us, "miracle followed miracle in a fascinating manner."55 All these changes also affect the Imam and the villagers' relationships with him: Sayf al-DTn, the hero of the unbelievers, now becomes a staunch member of the Imam's "camp."56 This entire process of transformation is brought to a climax in the ritual joy of al-Zayn's wedding. Al-Zayn and the Imam are at least partially reconciled, the outlying communities are all involved, and the new-found prosperity and fertility are symbolized by the wedding of Ni'ma to al-Zayn. The latter's only regret is that al-Hanin is not present to witness it.

Once again I believe that many of the elements generally associated with the novella genre have been shown to be present in abundance in this superb contribution to Arabic fiction. A work which shows a comparative economy in its portrayal of character and in its choice of events manages to evoke images and themes far beyond the people and passions of a small Sudanese village on the Nile.

Yusuf Idris's QaC al-madTna forms part of what a recent critic has called "a decade of realism," a vast outpouring of short stories, plays, and novels which Idris saw published in book form beginning in 1954.57 While many of these works have been the subject of detailed analysis, Qac al-madTna seems to have encountered a certain reticence on the part of critics, at least on the basis of those reference works which are available to me. While there can be no doubt that Idris's output in the realm of the short story played a major role in the continuing development of that genre, it is perhaps a certain doubt as to where exactly QaC al-madmna fits along the spectrum of fiction already referred to which may account for this situation, even though it looms comparatively large-literally--in any list of Idris's earliest published output.58

The analyses of the works of Haqqi and Salih which we have essayed above may have illustrated strong affinities with what might be termed the classic



480 Roger Allen

novella tradition, and it is perhaps worthy of mention once again at this point that many contemporary theorists of fictional genres would not regard the identification of such characteristics as a requirement for identification of a novella. Yisuf Idris's story presents us with a case in point, in that it has to be stated from the outset that Qa' al-madmna does not display all the more traditional novella characteristics. However, those scholars who are aware of Idrns's undoubted abilities as one of the most imaginative and spontaneous geniuses in the history of modern Arabic fiction will probably not be surprised by that fact. We search in vain, I believe, for the unusual or mysterious in Qai al-madTna. Judge 'Abdallah, for example, is portrayed by the narrator as being completely ordinary; his life is described as "boring and monotonous," while he himself is "average in everything."59 The entire work is an illustration of the author's ability to portray both character and, above all, background with a vivid realism and economy-two features which have contributed directly to the appreciation of his short stories. The latter feature is no more evident than in the memorable journey to the "city dregs" of the title, a passage which, in my opinion, qualifies as one of the most brilliant descriptive pieces in the whole of modern Arabic fiction. That there are few characters in the story is obvious from even a cursory reading, but what must be investigated further is the narrative strategy of the work.

It will be recalled that the central part of the story is taken up with an account of the Judge's relationship with Shuhrat, the married woman who comes to his flat purportedly as a cleaning woman but actually to serve as the object of his complex sexual frustrations and urges. This account is told by the Judge himself to his old friend, the actor Sharaf. A great deal is made of Sharaf's abilities as a listener to stories and, in particular, to the Judge's accounts of his activities.60 The situation portrayed by the Judge himself and the ensuing events serve to place a particular focus on Shuhrat herself. Other features support this notion. The first chapter of the work is devoted to a wonderfully sardonic portrait by the narrator of the Judge and his various speculations as to how he might have lost his watch. The second chapter begins with the single short sentence: "It must have been Shuhrat."61 This is the first mention of her name, and its introduction in this fashion, coupled with the story's fierce concentration on her conduct, home environment, and eventual downfall, all serve to make her, in my opinion, the primary focus of the author's narrative purpose, albeit through the agency of the Judge's actions and motives. Can we not regard the new blouse which Shuhrat (now called Amira) is wearing at the conclusion of the study as a concrete symbol of her fate?62 The Judge himself has already guessed the significance of the change from mildya to blouse and skirt and has refused to pay for the purchase of a new blouse; hence the need for her to steal the watch.63 The final scene in the story is merely a confirmation of his worst suspicions, although, in keeping with his own moral weakness so well portrayed at the beginning of the story, he shows no signs of remorse.

Qa' al-madTna describes a situation in which two lives come into contact and then proceeds to develop it in one direction: moral weakness in one contributing




to moral downfall in the other. This is achieved through manipulation of time and also by framing, and the downfall itself is symbolized in a vivid fashion. All this occurs within an economical narrative environment in which characters and characterization, time and space, are restricted to those elements necessary to the narrative purpose of the work. Qa' al-madTna does indeed seem to show elements of "intensity and expansion."

What conclusion, if any, can we draw from this brief foray into the question of the novella in Arabic fiction? Those who have moved to what Paul Hernadi terms "Beyond Genre" will say that I have merely shown three works of Arabic fiction to be somewhere along a spectrum which has an infinite number of positions based on a whole host of criteria, with prescriptive devices near the bottom of the list of priorities, if present at all.64 These are works of narrative fiction, and that is all. However, I have in each case attempted to link any features which have been identified to the narrative purpose of the work, and in Frye's words to "clarify affinities." The works of Haqqi and Salih seem to emerge as clear examples of the classic European novella tradition, while that of Idris may be linked to them within the terms of reference of what might loosely be termed-at least within the Anglo-American tradition-the post-Jamesian theorists.65

I would like to finish on a more historical note. The newly published first volume of The Cambridge History of Arabic Literature states in its Editorial Introduction:

Contemporary Arabic writing owes much to European models, . . but it is gradually changing into a literature in its own right, rich in prose, verse .. .and writing for the stage.6

With reference to fiction, this addresses a subject to which I have referred earlier in a work on the Arabic novel. One of the more interesting recent trends in fiction has been the use to which earlier historical and literary texts have been put by writers such as Jamal al-Ghitani in al-ZTnT barakdt and 'Abd al-Rahman Munif in al-Nihdyat (and the list is by no means restricted to these). Here the writings of the past are being utilized in new and creative ways to illustrate possible directions for a vigorous tradition of Arabic fiction. The study under- taken here has continually suggested to me certain elements of continuity in the tradition of Arabic narrative. If critical schools have been in search of time manipulation, framing, symbol, and the mysterious or striking, do we need to look further than Arabic's largest and most famous collection of tales, allusion to which is still as powerful as ever as seen in the title of a recent novel by NajTb Mahfuz, Laydl alf layla? Here the work of such scholars as Faruq KhurshTd and Shawqi 'Abd al-Hakim, both significantly creative writers in their own right, become both indicative and useful, suggesting that the discovery of "affinities" such as those attempted here may illustrate a continuing tradition in Arabic, something on which Jabra IbrahYm Jabra has long insisted.68 While the influence of Western literature has been and will probably remain strong, continuing investigation of and experiment with the narrative heritage may through an



482 Roger Allen

invigorating oxymoron prove to be for some writers of fiction one of the elements of modernity (al-hadatha). In the words of the author of one of the works analyzed here, al-Tayyib Salih:

Actually, one of the most significant things modern thought is doing is taking another look at things of value to be found in the past. (Bal min ahammi ma yaf'aluhu 'l-fikru 'l-hadTth fT waqi' 'l-amri huw annahu yu'idu 'l-nazara wa-yaftahu 'l-'uyun 'ala 'l-ashya' 'l-qayyima fT '1-m-ad).69

DEPARTMENT OF ORIENTAL STUDIES

UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA

NOTES

'For the history of the terms, see Gerald Gillespie, "Novella, Nouvelle, Novella, Short Novel?-A Review of Terms," Neophilologicus, 51 (1967), 117-127 and 225-229.

2Howard Nemerov, quoted in J. H. E. Paine, Theory and Criticism of the Novella (Bonn, 1979), p. 9. See also Mary Doyle Springer, Forms of the Modern Novella (Chicago, 1975), p. 4.

3Tzvetan Todorov, The Poetics of Prose, Richard Howard, trans. (Ithaca, 1977), index. 4See the Standard College Dictionary (New York, n.d.), s.v. "Novella." 5See Roger Allen, The Arabic Novel: An Historical and Critical Introduction (Syracuse, 1982),

p. 93, fn. 99. 6Muhammad Yusuf Najm, Fann al-qissa (Beirut, 1966); al-Qissajf al-adab al- arabT(Beirut, 1966). 7Muhammad Zaghlul Sallam, DirasatfT al-qissa al-'arabiyya al-haditha (Alexandria, 1973). 8Faruq Khurshid, al-Riwaya al-'arabiyya: 'asr al-tajmTc (Cairo and Beirut, 1975). 9Geoffrey Hartman, New York Times Book Review, 5 April 1981, 11. '?Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics, ed. Alex Preminger (Princeton, 1974), "Genres,"

p. 308, col. 2. "Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (Princeton, 1957), pp. 247-248. See also Rene Wellek and

Austin Warren, Theory of Literature (New York, 1956), p. 234. '2Denis Donoghue, Ferocious Alphabets (New York, 1981). The title is a quotation from a poem

of Wallace Stevens. '3Mustafa Badawi, in Journal of Arabic Literature (= JAL), 1 (1970), 145; Fatma Moussa-

Mahmoud, JAL, 7 (1976), 151; Susan Grolman. JAL, 10 (1979), 117; Katrina McClean, JAL, 11

(1980), 80; Ahmad Nasr, JAL, 11 (1980), 88; Constance Berkley, JAL, 11 (1980), 109. '4McClean and Moussa-Mahmoud, ibid. '5Berkley and Nasr, ibid. '6Denys Johnson-Davies, Azure, 8 (1982), 16-17. Besides Nemerov's comment noted above, we

might cite Judith Leibowitz: "This is an unfortunate confusion because the short novel is a short version of the novel genre of fiction, whereas the novella is a different literary form, coinciding occasionally only in length with the short novel." See her Narrative Purpose in the Novella (The Hague, 1974), p. 9.

'7Yusuf IdrTs, In the Eye of the Beholder, ed. Roger Allen (Chicago and Minneapolis, 1978), Introduction, p. xvi.

SYahya Haqqi, QindTl Umm Hashim, Iqra' series no. 18 (Cairo, n.d. [1944?]); Al-Tayyib Salih, 'Urs al-Zayn (Beirut, 1970); Yusuf Idris, "Q' al-madina," in A laysa kadhalika (Cairo, 1957).

9E. K. Bennett, A History of the German Novelle (Cambridge, 1934, 1974). For Paine, see note 2, and for Leibowitz, note 16.

20Theory of Fiction: Henry James, ed. James E. Miller, Jr. (Lincoln, 1972), p. 104.

21Harry Steinhauer, "Towards a Definition of the Novella," Seminar 6, 2 (1970), 154-174. 22For example, Mary Springer, Forms of the Modern Novella, p. 9. 23Ibid., p. 129: "serious action centered on a single character."

24Georg Lukacs, Solzhenitsyn (London, 1969), p. 8.




25The very term is used in Salih's cUrs al-Zayn, although not in the technical sense. Salih, 'Urs al-Zayn (Beirut, 1970), p. 31; trans. Denys Johnson-Davies, The Wedding of Zein (London, 1969), p. 42.

26Leibowitz, op. cit., pp. 15-16, 18. 27Walter Silz, quoted in Leibowitz, p. 51. 28I should make it clear that in this analysis of Haqqi's work and those of Salih and Idris which

follow it, I am not aiming to present a comprehensive analysis of each work, but only to identify or even isolate those features which are germane to a theoretical discussion of the novella genre.

29Mustafa Badawi, JAL 1 (1970), 145. 30Salih, cUrs al-Zayn, pp. 6, 39, and 58, also 25 and 47; Wedding of Zein, pp. 2, 25, and 28, also 16

and 30. The matter of narrative point of view is investigated by Susan Grolmann, JAL, 10 (1979), 117-18.

3Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces (Princeton, 1949, 1968), Prologue, pp. 3-46. 32My quotations are from Mustafa Badawi's excellent translation, The Saint's Lamp and Other

Stories (Leiden, 1973), pp. 2 and 7. See also Qindil Umm Hashim, pp. 6 and 13. 3Haqql, Qindil Umm Hishim, pp. 11, 17, and 24; The Saint's Lamp, pp. 5, 10, and 15. 3Ibid., p. 54; ibid., p. 36. Others have noted the theme of light and blindness as a central motif:

Badawi, JAL, 1 (1970), 160, and McClean, JAL, 11 (1980), 80. 35For a discussion, see Badawi, JAL, 1 (1970), 159. 36Haqql, QindYl Umm Hishim, p. 54; The Saint's Lamp, p. 36. See Mary Springer, Forms of the

Modern Novella, pp. 18 ff. 3"The imagery of the work is well explored by McClean, JAL, 11 (1980), pp. 80-87. 38For such overviews of the works of al-Tayyib Salih, see Johnson-Davies in Azure, 8 (1982) and

Ahmad Nasr in JAL, 11 (1980), pp. 88-104. There is also extensive discussion in Constance Berkley's unpublished Ph.D. dissertation (New York University, 1979).

39Salih, Urs al-Zayn, pp. 5, 41, 87, and 116; The Wedding of Zein, pp. 31, 47, 78, and 107. 40Ibid., pp. 47-48; ibid., pp. 50-51. 41Ibid., p. 97; ibid., p. 90. 42Ibid., pp. 20, 62, 67, 78, 95, 100, 105-6, and 109; ibid., pp. 38, 58, 64, 73, 88, 93, 96-97, and 101.

The thumbnail sketches are on ibid., p. 108 and ibid., p. 99. 43Ibid., pp. 52 and 61; ibid., pp. 52 and 57-58. 44Ibid., p. 54; ibid. p. 54. 45Ibid., p. 100; ibid., p. 93. 46Ibid., p. 15; ibid., pp. 33 ff. 47Ibid., pp. 26 and 28; ibid., pp. 40 and 41. 48Ibid., pp. 21 and 36; ibid., pp. 38 and 45. 49Ibid., pp. 80 and 35; ibid., pp. 75 and 44. 5?Ibid., pp. 36, 65, 90, and 37; ibid., pp. 45, 63, 82, and 46. SIbid., p. 67; ibid., p. 64. 52Ibid., p. 61; ibid., p. 64. 5Ibid., p. 63; ibid., p. 61. 54For example, ibid., pp. 78, 81, and 101; ibid., pp. 73, 77, and 94. "Ibid., pp. 81, 89, 78, and 81; ibid., pp. 77, 80, 73, and 77. 56Ibid., pp. 101-2; ibid., p. 95. 57P. M. Kurpershoek, The Short Stories of YiisufldrTs (Leiden, 1981), Chapter III. 58In Kurpershoek's bibliography (see note 57) it is the first work to have required more than a

single issue of a newspaper or journal for first time publication (in this case, six issues of al-Jumhiriyya in August, 1956).

59Yusuf Idris, A laysa kadhalika (Cairo, 1957), pp. 280 and 282; Yusuf Idris, In the Eye of the Beholder, pp. 19 and 20.

60Ibid., p. 294; ibid., pp. 29-30. 61Ibid., p. 292; ibid., p. 28. 62Ibid., p. 364; ibid., 77. 63Idrfs, A laysa kadhalika, pp. 329 and 332; Idris, In the Eye of the Beholder, pp. 53-54 and 73. 64Paul Hernadi, Beyond Genre: New Directions in Literary Classification (Ithaca, 1972).



484 Roger Alien

65Leibowitz, p. 51. 66Cambridge History of Arabic Literature, Vol. I, Arabic Literature to the end of the Umayyad

Period (Cambridge, 1983), p. x. 67NajTb Mahffz, LayalTalf layla (Cairo, 1982). 68Jabra Ibrahim Jabra, YanabT' al-ru'ya (Beirut, 1979), pp. 68-71. 69"Tafasll fi 'Alam al-Riwaya," al-Adab, 1 (1981), 4.



the novella in arabic: a study in fictional genres

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