From ‘This Moment,’ by Beesan Nateel
The poems, essays, and genre-encompassing reflections in the THIS MOMENT section of the ArabLit Quarterly Spring 2024 “Gaza! Gaza! Gaza!” issue were curated by issue co-editors Muhammad Zaqzooq and Mahmoud […]
The poems, essays, and genre-encompassing reflections in the THIS MOMENT section of the ArabLit Quarterly Spring 2024 “Gaza! Gaza! Gaza!” issue were curated by issue co-editors Muhammad Zaqzooq and Mahmoud […]
By Graham Liddell Words fail spectacularly in the shadow of 2,000 pound bombs. Palestinian author Anton Shammas recently described his own incapacity to respond in writing to the slaughter and […]
This short story was first published in the independent Palestinian newspaper Al Ayyam on January 16, 2024. Strange Things Happening Outside By Ziad Khaddash Translated by Victoria Issa I am […]
Compiled by ArabLit Staff Below, we share twenty (plus) Palestinian short stories that are available in translation online, from across historic Palestine and beyond, by young writers such as Ameer […]
“Wild Thorns is an ambulance ride of a book, complete with a red light and blaring siren. It’s urgent and essential.”
Roseway, an imprint of Fernwood Publishing, will be publishing Thyme Travelers, an anthology of speculative fiction by Palestinian writers edited by Sonia Sulaiman.
In an essay that originally appeared in Turkish, novelist Süreyyya Evren explores the deaths in works by Ghassan Kanafani and Adania Shibli.
These are the opening pages to Akram Musallam’s powerful novella, A Girl from Shatila. In the aftermath of the 1982 Sabra and Shatila massacre, we walk through the memories of a survivor, the Mermaid, and follow her journey in Hamburg, Germany recollecting the pieces of her past.
There goes the bell. I’ve been waiting for so long! I quickly pull my hand from the tub of water where the empty bottles are piled up, ready to be washed and refilled with beer, then loaded up and taken to the city’s bars and nightclubs. There, they’re poured straight into mouths whose thirst will never be quenched. They soon come back to me, empty, waiting to be washed.