Duna Ghali on Writing, Translating, and Publishing Between Arabic and Danish

Last week, we shared an excerpt from Iraqi author Duna Ghali’s acclaimed novel Orbits of Lonelinessin maia tabet’s translation. This week, Duna talks with us about the differing receptions of work by men and women, in Danish and in Arabic, how literary translation feeds her writing, and how sometimes nowhere is the right place to write.

In your thoughtful and sometimes very funny essay, “On Dictatorship, Language, and Women,” you discuss — among other things —  the differing approaches of men and women writers: word choice, crafting sex scenes. You briefly toy with the idea of, like Karen Blixen, publishing under a male pen name. How does the reception of women’s writing differ from the reception of men’s, in your opinion, in Arabic, in Danish, in other languages you read? How can you imagine the reception of your novels would be different—the critical language about them, the points readers focused on—if you had published under the pretense of being a man?

Duna Ghali: The author’s name still makes a difference in the reception of the text. I still believe that a woman’s name influences the reading of both male and female readers. I believe the gender of the writer colors the reading of the text in certain ways. But when writers are in the midst of the act of writing, they are focused on the text itself. The writer herself (or himself) is already in a transformational moment where one is not woman or man. Virginia Woolf spoke about the angel in the house, who stood behind her to warn her when she wrote, so she had to consider what should be said and what should not be said as a woman. After some time being tormented by this angel, she threw the inkwell at her and killed her. To me, it’s about the uniqueness of individuals and texts. The prevailing judgment still revolves around men addressing major issues, while women write about “daily life” (as referred to in the book My Struggle by Knausgård), but it must be acknowledged that much has changed today, and what remains are the sensitivities of reading.

Another question about reader reception—how has the critical reception of your books been different in Danish vs. in Arabic? You have at least five books in Danish, I think, and at least nine in Arabic. Does your relationship with your readers differ?

DG: I have published four literary books in Danish, in addition to a cookbook written by my daughter and me, which also included historical anecdotes and excerpts related to food and cooking in Mesopotamia. The reception of my books has generally been encouraging. Books in Danish by authors of different origins are very few. We have a few names that have left their mark on the Danish scene, notably the (sadly) late poet Yahya Hassan. Readers are different; some only read books by Danish writers, or only European or Western writers. I find that the terms can be difficult at times – I am neither a Danish author writing in Danish nor a foreign writer translated into Danish. This places me in between having one foot in the Arabic literary world and one foot in the Danish literary world. I feel however that the two can inform and inspire one another.

When you select Danish writers to translate, what are your considerations? Enriching Arabic literature, finding something that will resonate with Arab audiences, just translating something you enjoy, learning from the writers you translate, or something else? Do you feel these translations influence your writing? I’m particularly interested in the two years you spent translating Hans Christian Andersen.

DG: I have been very happy to translate different major works of Danish literature, such as the project of translating Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytales. This project was a huge intellectual, linguistic and literary inspiration. I had the opportunity to be among specialists and researchers and serious enthusiasts of Andersen’s literature who shed a great deal of light on his worlds. To convey material, you must know the background presented. As a literary translator, you do not just translate from one language to another, but also transfer a culture that is different in many aspects from your own. It requires in-depth knowledge of the cultural and cognitive background, the history, geography, recipes, morals and values of society, behaviors, characters, customs, and mood. From there, terms are derived from the original language, which are not found in the target culture, in this case Arabic. And all of this also does not happen unless you have a passion for translation to be able to create an honest, smooth, and understandable dialogue between the source language and the target language. Translation is thus fundamentally a creative process that contributes to my own literary work and transforms it. The books I chose were a labor of love, to convey works I found important for Arab writers to know. Danish literature is completely unknown to Arabs except perhaps Karen Blixen and the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. I was surprised by the Arab readers’ interest in my translation of the novel Havoc by the Danish author Tom Kristensen, which was published in 1930 and talks about a historical period after World War II and the emptiness felt by Europe, leading the protagonist of the novel to gradually collapse. Somehow, the themes of the book struck a note with contemporary Arab readers. Furthermore, I have translated books by Danish authors who are close to me in terms of what they think and try to convey to the world. I have a great passion to continue translating Danish literature.

Going back in time, your first book I believe was the short-story collection Harb Namah in 1998, six years—I think—after you moved to Denmark. What are your journey from growing up in Basra to leaving for Denmark to publishing your first book? Has your experience of publishing in Arabic while living in Denmark changed since the late 90s? That is, now you can do a Zoom launch event with Arab readers, while in the 90s…?

DG: For political reasons concerning my family, I did not write before I arrived to Denmark; or rather, I did not publish. Writing was a lifesaver for me because everything seemed chaotic, obscure, and encrypted, and it was necessary to sit down and calmly think to decode what we had been through. The two experiences are completely different, as Denmark is a stable country that is open to the world and governed by international and local publishing laws that facilitate the publication of a book whenever the publishing house agrees to release it. Publishing troubles, on the other hand, are endless in our Arab region due to the volatile political situation, which affects the economic situation of the country. My first publisher was delighted with the first manuscript, which contained prose texts and short stories, because he found in them a vision that correlated with what my Danish writer peers presented, and on the other hand, perhaps something distinctive from the background raised in the text.

Yes, the situation has changed today and it is indeed incredible that it is possible to communicate with readers everywhere. But because I live in Denmark, when I publish a new book in Arabic – with the distance to the Arab world – it sometimes feels a bit sad to receive your newly printed book in the mail (if this is even possible), without the joy of receiving it and celebrating with your own publishing house like we do with Danish publications here in Denmark.

Where do you write? At home or elsewhere? At a set location, or do you move around? How does what you write interact with where you write? 

DG: In the beginning, I used to write in a two-bedroom apartment with my husband and two children present, and still I managed to write and publish two books. I do not know if age plays a role in this, but today I feel the need for an isolated space. Writing needs isolation, it’s something you do in secret, like working secretly in a forbidden party. I have always sought writer’s retreats and the likes to finish my manuscripts, whether my own writing or my translations. After the corona virus, the situation worsened. Sometimes I share an office with my writer colleagues in central Copenhagen, and sometimes I prefer to work from my home office. The most difficult thing is that sometimes no place is ideal. Or the rest of your world doesn’t comply with your needs!

Is there any advice you would share with other Danish libraries, or perhaps any other libraries looking to acquire Arabic literature?

DG: There has been a significant decline in the interest that libraries have traditionally shown in acquiring Arabic books for the resident communities in Denmark, and this is of course part of the rationalization that has affected the state’s allocations to libraries in general. This aspect is also very important for strengthening the mother tongue and developing a culture of love for books from a young age for bilinguals. The one who undertakes this task should have knowledge and experience regarding Arabic literature. There has been a significant surge in the publication of novels in the Arab world in the last couple of years. Speaking only about Iraq today, especially after 2003, a multitude of new writers have emerged onto the scene. And it takes time to stay up to date!

Among Iraqi writers you’ve read lately, who do you recommend?

There’s the Iraqi writer Falah Rahim, who resides in Canada, I believe. I’ve read his first novel, and it was very beautiful. I haven’t read the rest of his novels, but he’s a skilled writer and translator as well. Some of his books: