Syria

Dark Poem-tales in ‘A Tree Whose Name I Don’t Know’

“But I hate it that I keep watch over the name I was given to capture me, that I drag it & it drags me, and that it’s stuck to my face and has become part of my voice.”

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Syrian Novelist Maha Hassan on Trying ‘To Pay Respect to the Victims of War’

In “Good Morning, War,” my mother, who didn’t believe in her death, is the main narrator, speaking from the grave. The shock of my mother’s death, in which I also didn’t believe, and the shock of the fall of my country and its continued destruction, drove me write to hold on to our humanity, so that war victims don’t become numbers.

Translated Excerpt: ‘Aleppo Metro’ by Maha Hassan

“All of France now, for me, is simply a hotel, or hospital, or bridge between two mountains, a station here that I’m waiting in for a train going to my country over there. I’m waiting to reclaim my life. To return the duplicated Sara to the original one. I’m here waiting for my feet to slip at every French moment, to take me to Aleppo.”