On Making and Remaking Egyptian Myth
With Muhamad A. Jamal and James Scanlan
In this conversation, part of a special section around The Children of Nut and Other Myths, ArabLit editor M Lynx Qualey talks to author Muhamad A. Jamal and translator James Scanlan about why Egyptian myth is largely absent from contemporary fiction and how we get it back.
The first question is for Muhamad. As a young child, my favorite book was D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths — and from there I moved to Norse, Japanese, and others. But even though I did discover Inea Bushnaq’s 1986 Arab Folktales collection as a kid, I never had a collection about ancient Egypt. So the child in me wonders . . . might you ever consider writing a book for children?
Muhamad A. Jamal: I think that I too, as a child, never came across impactful works about ancient Egyptian civilization, whether historical or mythological. I vividly remember loving two titles from the once-popular children’s series «أولادنا / Our Children»: The Trojan Horse and The Return of the Warrior, which introduced The Iliad and The Odyssey in a form a young Arab reader could grasp. But I cannot recall any comparable work that left a mark on me about ancient Egypt. That is why I believe the idea of writing a children book about Egyptian mythology, would excite me deeply. It may not be part of my immediate plans, but it is certainly an inspiring path I would love to pursue.
And James: What initially drew you to Muhamad’s writing, and then to this book in particular?
James Scanlan: I became overly excited when I read the blurb of Flying at Diwan in Zamalek. Alexandrians, airborne! Bonkers. Devoured it thrice. It was so inventive and thrilling and fun—culminating in utter madness. But also thought-provoking and touching. And this book? It was a case of sit down again with Mr. A. Jamal and learn about his ancestors. A book purpose-made to be accessible and featuring Anubis. Brilliant.
Muhamad, reading your introduction made me wonder: Why haven’t the Egyptian myths been mined more by Egyptian writers? There are some novels that center ancient Egyptian history (like Mahfouz’s first three novels), but now that you mention it, I’m sure I’ve seen more appearances of minor figures from the Greek myths in Arabic novels than any figure from the Egyptian pantheon.
MAJ: Greek mythology is, in a sense, relatively “modern.” It was written down in later centuries (roughly the first millennium BCE) by poets and dramatists who were fully aware that they were creating works of literature rather than religious texts. Literature in its recognizable, modern sense had already begun to emerge. This made things infinitely easier for those who came later and wished to draw on it.
Egyptian mythology, on the other hand, is thousands of years older, dating back almost to the dawn of history itself. Writing was then still a relatively new invention, and in Egypt it was used almost exclusively for religious, political, or practical purposes. As a result, what we have of Egyptian myth is written in a devotional, symbolic language—mysterious, ritualistic, and unconcerned with drama or narrative structure.
So when the tides of translation and globalization came, and when Greek mythology was absorbed—often excessively—into modern disciplines like psychology, it was much easier for an Egyptian writer in search of myths to fall in love with Oedipus, Narcissus, Ulysses, or Prometheus, than to wrestle with Horus, Isis, or Thoth. The latter demand an entirely new dramatic architecture that still has to be built from scratch.
Add to this the general religious climate in Egypt, where speaking of ancient “pagan gods” can be… problematic.
History, by contrast, is always a safer ground for fiction: historical novels are warmly received, whether they take a nationalistic tone by likening present rulers to the great kings of the past, or a critical one by using ancient rulers as veiled commentary on the leaders of today.
Still, I believe that once a few writers take the bold step of crafting strong, foundational works rooted in Egypt’s mythological heritage—and if those works succeed—many others will follow. When that happens, we will begin to draw deeply and freely from the vast well of Egyptian myths.
I have to admit, I always got the impression (I guess from Egyptians?) that the Egyptian pantheon was too complicated for normal people to understand. James, did you have to do any additional research into the pantheon of Egyptian gods? Or is it all there on the page?
JS: I once ate chicken at a place called Zenga Zenga (complete with portrait of Gaddafi waving) somewhere between Mit Ghamr and Mansoura in the Nile Delta. I found out later that “somewhere” was Bana Abu Sir—formerly Busiris, the cult center of the Lord of the Underworld, Osiris. Perhaps if the pantheon was easier to understand then Zenga Zenga would be Osiris Fried Chicken. So be careful what you wish for. And let’s not forget that Flying contains a creation myth involving the Primordial Seabird. The ancient Egyptian creation myth is a doddle by comparison. But yes: all there on the page. On a personal note, I used google for the spellings and learned that a “barque” is a type of ship.
Generally, I consider introductions to fictional works to be eminently skippable, but yours charmed me instantly. Muhamad: Why & at what point did you decide you wanted an introduction?
MAJ: In the case of this particular work, the introduction felt necessary to set the context. It is not a novel, nor a short story collection, nor a set of essays, nor a work of history—and yet it is, in some sense, all of these things at once. In contemporary Arabic literature, works that resist clear categorization are not very common, nor are they especially popular. So the introduction became essential to clarify exactly what kind of book this is, and what it is trying to do.
But… Even beyond necessity, I confess I’m rather enamored with the very act of introducing. For me, introducing a book feels a bit like putting on a sharp suit, stepping out onto a stage, and showing off a new creation (like Steve Jobs unveiling the iPhone). Of course, most readers have little patience for this; they want to skip the speeches and get straight to the work itself (Enough, Steve, just hand me the damn iPhone).
Since I’m self-aware of this almost childish impulse in myself—the desire to linger on the threshold of the book and speak about it before letting the work speak for itself—I made peace with it. And I decided that if I were to indulge in introductions, they must serve a real purpose: to add something to the work, to open up dimensions it could not have achieved on its own.
Take my previous novel, Flying, for example. It can be read and fully enjoyed without its introduction. But if you circle back and read that introduction afterward, it offers you fresh interpretations, entirely new ways of seeing the novel, enough to reread the whole thing in a different light.
James — you use capitalization in a fun way in this translation. I sometimes feel it’s right to use it in the English when the Arabic is doing something witty that I can’t see how to otherwise replicate. When & why do you find capitalization is the Thing to Do?
JS: Not sure. though i do have some notion of when it’s the WronG ThinG to dO. As to Why? I find Muhamad’s style inherently amusing, and I find unexpected capital letters amusing in equal measure. Plus the willy-nilly use of Honorifics seems so much part of the language of Egypt that I couldn’t help myself, really. Maybe the ability to write in uppercase without actually using capitalization is a skill of the greatest stylists, and all Arabic writers.
I realize it’s in the afterword, but for the people who haven’t read your book (yet), what were some of your key sources, and where did you find them?
MAJ: Places and books.When I set out to write this book, I embarked on a wondrous journey through the temples of Upper Egypt, an experience that profoundly prepared my heart for the work ahead.
As for the sources of stories and knowledge, they were, above all, books, ranging from texts translated directly from their ancient originals, such as the funerary literature translated by Professor Sherif el-Saifi, and On Isis and Osiris by Plutarch, or specialist works by distinguished Egyptologists, most notably Egyptian Mythology: A Traveller’s Guide from Aswan to Alexandria by Garry J. Shaw and The Complete Gods and Goddesses of Ancient Egypt by Richard H. Wilkinson, in addition to many other works that I reference extensively at the end of the book.
I also drew much from the writings of E. A. Wallis Budge, the pioneering Victorian Egyptologist, though I must admit I had to, as we say in Egypt, “squeeze a lemon on myself” in order to endure the racist attitudes and colonial view, with which he wrote from his vantage point at the infamous British Museum.
And James, if you were going to make a video trailer for this book, as you did for Flying, what would it include?
JS: An egg, some pipe cleaners, a sheet of A3 paper (black) and a favorable wind.
Lastly, طيران / Flying already feels myth-adjacent. What is it about the language of myths and legends that you — that we — find so compelling?
MAJ: While I was writing Flying, I was also translating into Arabic Joseph Campbell’s famous The Hero with a Thousand Faces—and perhaps that book itself contains part of the answer. For ancient myths were the very first stories: the earliest attempt the human soul made to grapple with its deepest questions: Who are we? Why are we here? How can we endure existence? And in essence, these are the very same questions we are still fumbling to answer today, with almost the same bewilderment.
I believe that all subsequent literary attempts are, in one way or another, incomplete efforts to touch the essence of that primordial myth. Which is why it is no surprise that, from time to time, we find ourselves returning to mythology, seeking inspiration, seeking ourselves.
Also read:
The Introduction: ‘The Children of Nut and Other Myths’
‘The Children of Nut’: A Cast of Characters
Excerpt from Muhamad A. Jamal’s ‘Flying’