Fun fact: I'm taking a contemporary Arabic literature class, so this and at least five other reviews will be about books written in the Middle East or North Africa. I hope you read some of them, especially if you don't know much about the literature of this part of the world!
Young Layla (pronounced LYE-la) Suleiman is an adolescent in Egypt in the 1950's, when the country decided it had enough of British imperialism. Egypt is the site of the Suez Canal, an extremely important trade route whose possession is a powerful decider of world politics. The revolution for Egyptian independence is originally made up of mostly youths, and Layla's older brother Mahmud is a fervent activist. Unfortunately, as a girl, Layla is cloistered by her parents and unable to follow Mahmud's example. She is also beleaguered with awful suitors who consider her nothing more than property. Layla steels her heart against the injustice that occurs to her, but in doing so she misses the chance to accept the love of Husayn, a revolutionary who has made it his mission to make Layla free at heart. Separated from her family and countrymembers by ideology, behavior, and war, Layla struggles to find an escape from restriction without leaving behind everything she loves.
There's a problem with this book: it's a tremendous allegory. There's no getting around it. Layla is Egypt; her father and suitors are colonial countries, etc. Even knowing very little about modern Egyptian history, this was obvious to me. In fact, I think my ignorance on the subject made the story more enjoyable than knowledge would have done.
But that's enough griping. Apart from the allegory, Layla is a likable protagonist if only because her problems are deep but relatable. I approve of the fact that she doesn't know what she wants for most of the story, because this is so true of everybody I know. She's not out on a mission; instead, she's dealing with the everyday problems of a young woman in a restrictive society. Her desires and failings are understandable if the story is taken at its own pace. There's quite a river of metaphor through which to wade, so you might as well get wet.
Most of the male characters irritated me. As a man who doesn't make a habit out of psychologically enslaving women, I tend to have two harsh reactions to these portrayals: sympathy for the female characters so victimized, and indignation that I and my fellow dudes should be established as creeps. Al-Zayyat gets slack from me because I believe her descriptions are accurate toward middle-class Egyptians of the time. The only exception is Husayn, whose role as the "good guy" ranges from amusing to maddening. At times he even hints about the end of the book; either he read ahead, or al-Zayyat spoiled it for him.
Overall, I found The Open Door to be about average in terms of entertainment and tired in terms of morality. It's not about female empowerment, but Marxism, and even that has to be read pretty closely between the lines. I don't regret reading it, but as recommendations go, I'd hold off until I've read other Arabic novels.
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