In Asmaa Alatawna’s mesmerizing and clear-sighted debut novel, A Long Walk from Gaza, the long journey of migration is revealed as a dense mosaic of innumerable moments—a gathering of the many steps one takes in growing up, in fighting back, and in learning the truths about one’s own life. From the Israeli occupation to the daily violences of womanhood, Alatawna’s story links our contemporary conflicts to the perpetual challenges of human society, tracking a mind as it steels itself against judgment and oppression, walking itself towards selfhood’s independent definitions. We are proud to present this title as our Book Club selection for the month of September; as Palestine remains under assault, A Long Walk from Gaza stands as a powerful narrative that resists the dehumanizing rhetoric of war.
The Asymptote Book Club aspires to bring the best in translated fiction every month to readers around the world. You can sign up to receive next month’s selection on our website for as little as USD20 per book; once you’re a member, join our Facebook group for exclusive book club discussions and receive invitations to our members-only Zoom interviews with the author or the translator of each title.
A Long Walk From Gaza by Asmaa Alatawna, translated from the Arabic by Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman, Interlink Publishing, 2024
There are some books that grab you from the very first line and hold your attention tight, right through every single word to the end; even once you’ve finished reading them, they keep delivering with their exquisite phrasings and stunning imagery, their deft, original storytelling. Asmaa Alatawna’s A Long Walk from Gaza, co-translated by Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman, is one such novel. Through her enthralling and thoughtful prose, Alatawna unfolds idea after idea, fact after fact, emotion after emotion, recounting a tumultuous upbringing and journey that moves with both personal and universal resonance.
A Long Walk from Gaza is Alatawna’s debut in both Arabic and English—a semi-fictionalized, coming-of-age novel. Originally published in 2019 as Sura Mafquda, it explores the struggles of a teenage Gazan girl as she rebels against her surroundings, both at home and at school, and her heartbreak as she leaves Gaza for a new life in Europe. Her escape doesn’t resolve her problems but instead introduces new challenges, revealing the persistent, ongoing internal conflict of exile. While portraying life and a childhood under Israeli occupation and oppression, Alatawna also takes an incisive, knowing look at the patriarchal system of her own people.
The novel chronicles the moments that often come to define one’s formative years, such as innocent crushes or sneaking off to play in the neighborhood, while also capturing the cruel conditions of the surrounding world. Beginning in Europe and moving backward to her own birth and early childhood, Alatawna’s creative narration is fast-paced, direct, and straightforward, using the protagonist of the novel, Asmaa, as a compelling alter-ego to describe a migration from Gaza to France that is fraught with challenges, from the bureaucratic hurdles of immigration to the psychological toll of displacement.
When the story opens, Asmaa is leaving everything behind as though it had never been, intent on never looking back, and it soon becomes apparent that this insistence on renewal is what has propelled her forward in life despite all the obstacles—first in Gaza, and then as part of the Palestinian diaspora. “I left to find some personal space,” writes Alatawna, “a few square meters of my own where I could put a bed and a table.” Asmaa rebels against all forms of oppression, from occupation to societal norms; she actively challenges the stereotypes imposed upon her as a Palestinian woman, insisting on her right to make her own choices, even if they seem trivial to others. Rejecting the role of the suffering victim, she asserts her right to flee for personal reasons:
The way they profiled me—Palestinian, immigrant, woman, fleeing war. Everyone ignored that I was a human first, above all else, and that, as a human, I too have the right to escape my past for very personal reasons. Even if they seem trivial, they are important to me.
The novel effectively captures the emotional turmoil and resilience of individuals caught in such circumstances, offering a powerful reminder of the human capacity for hope and perseverance. It also highlights how individuals can be shaped by both past and present experiences. Asmaa grapples with the tension between her Palestinian heritage and her experiences in France, yet her willingness to confront authority reveals an immovable self-possession. When a soldier asks her to get off the bus because the Egyptian checkpoint has closed for the day, she says: “I’m not moving. I’m not getting off this bus. You’ll have to shoot me first!” Asmaa’s resilience in the face of adversity is admirable, and what lies beneath this steely resolve is a search for connection and meaning.
Divided into two parts, the novel distinguishes between “Leave” and “Return”, each with starkly contrasting narrative styles. While the second section offers a meticulous account of Asmaa’s life, the first is brief, as though Alatawna is still grappling with the enormity of leaving Palestine in 2001. In it, the reader can glimpse how Asmaa’s life in Gaza—a place she left for a supposedly more peaceful existence—continues to shape her narrative.
“A body on the cobblestones. Just lying there. I shake him gently to see if he is still alive.” This is how the novel opens. Gradually, Asmaa narrates her tale of leaving Palestine with José, an archaeologist working in Gaza, who helps her escape to Madrid. She then flees to France after José insists on marrying her. Asmaa confesses, “I knew that I hadn’t escaped the chokehold of my neighborhood and my father’s authority only to willingly throw myself into another prison. I wasn’t going to let someone else suffocate me.”
The central theme of the novel, which is carried through both sections, is the traditional, chauvinist, and abusive treatment of women by most men. The male characters’ names, such as Abu Shanab (a man with a moustache), Abu Kirsh (a man with a belly), and Harb (war), affirms the patriarchal atmosphere of the events. “Return” especially reveals the true misery of women’s lives, not only in poverty and the early burdens and pressures placed on girls, but also in the discrimination faced by the daughters of laborers—also known as “camp girls”. Asmaa narrates:
Most teachers in refugee schools paid more attention to the daughters of other teachers and principals. As for us—the camp girls, the daughters of workers—we were treated no better than rats. During morning assemblies, they would line us up to get vaccinated against some disease or another for fear of an outbreak that could spread among us and be transmitted to the citizens of Gaza.
The stubborn Asmaa, resistant to humiliation, refuses to remain silent in the face of this indignity. She steals the classroom key, locks the teacher inside, and rushes to her clique, singing a victory chant:
Like a barrel, she’ll bulge and swell,
The bear goes over to the well,
She met the pig, and down she fell,
Trapped inside, the cover shut,
Our Miss Zainab is a butt.
“I was feeling proud of myself for getting back at her,” says Asmaa, “Not just for myself but for the other kids in our neighborhood too. The UNRWA schools discriminate against us. They can’t even see us.” But soon after this bold defiance, she recalls her fear of her mother’s switch, her grandfather’s crutch, and her father’s leather belt, which would leave red welts and bruises all over her body.
Despite these searing recollections, Alatawna also showcases moments of humor and joy. Young Asmaa was nicknamed “Nus Nseis” in her neighborhood, a nickname that stuck throughout her school years due to her reputation for constantly dodging fights. She was someone who would escape to play boisterous games with the boys, returning home with dirty clothes and facing beatings; in these descriptions, we encounter a different kind of girl—albeit one who is recognizable in the woman: a tomboy who leads a small clique with her friend Abdullah, skilled at using a slingshot to hurl stones during protests or to hunt birds during the quiet days.
In effect, A Long Walk from Gaza provides a valuable commentary on the political and social issues of Palestinians, highlighting the injustices of occupation. As Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman hearteningly state in their brief translator’s note:
A Long Walk from Gaza now stands as a testament of a Gaza that will never be the same, one that is destroyed. But it is also here to show that the people will resist and will return. It is a document for our future.
Alatawan’s novel is both personal and political; at its heart, it’s a story about freedom. Not by any means a quick read despite its slim page count, the prose is rich, profound, and has a tremendous depth of imagination. In both its honesty and vulnerability, I personally found A Long Walk from Gaza to be one of the most potent and impressive Arabic works that I have read in a long time. It has found in Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman translators worthy of the task, and their seamless iteration deserves to be widely read. Passing through its pages gives one the sense of observing an intricate painting; there is the chance to get closer, to study the picture’s details until the world it depicts begins to move and grow, eventually coming to merge with one’s own.
Ibrahim Fawzy is an MFA student at Boston University. He’s a two-time graduate of the British Center for Literary Translation (BCLT) Summer School. He was awarded a mentorship with the National Center for Writing, UK (2022/2023) as a part of their Emerging Literary Translators Program. He was also a recipient of Culture Resource’s Wijhat grant. He’s an editor at Rowayat, Asymptote, and Minor Literatures, and podcasts at New Book Network (NBN). Ibrahim won a 2023 PEN Presents award for his Arabic to English translation of Kuwaiti author Khalid Al Nasrallah’s The White Line of Night.
*****
Read more on the Asymptote blog:
Announcing Our September Book Club Selection: A Long Walk From Gaza by Asmaa Alatawna
Alatawan’s novel is both personal and political; at its heart, it’s a story about freedom.
In Asmaa Alatawna’s mesmerizing and clear-sighted debut novel, A Long Walk from Gaza, the long journey of migration is revealed as a dense mosaic of innumerable moments—a gathering of the many steps one takes in growing up, in fighting back, and in learning the truths about one’s own life. From the Israeli occupation to the daily violences of womanhood, Alatawna’s story links our contemporary conflicts to the perpetual challenges of human society, tracking a mind as it steels itself against judgment and oppression, walking itself towards selfhood’s independent definitions. We are proud to present this title as our Book Club selection for the month of September; as Palestine remains under assault, A Long Walk from Gaza stands as a powerful narrative that resists the dehumanizing rhetoric of war.
The Asymptote Book Club aspires to bring the best in translated fiction every month to readers around the world. You can sign up to receive next month’s selection on our website for as little as USD20 per book; once you’re a member, join our Facebook group for exclusive book club discussions and receive invitations to our members-only Zoom interviews with the author or the translator of each title.
A Long Walk From Gaza by Asmaa Alatawna, translated from the Arabic by Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman, Interlink Publishing, 2024
There are some books that grab you from the very first line and hold your attention tight, right through every single word to the end; even once you’ve finished reading them, they keep delivering with their exquisite phrasings and stunning imagery, their deft, original storytelling. Asmaa Alatawna’s A Long Walk from Gaza, co-translated by Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman, is one such novel. Through her enthralling and thoughtful prose, Alatawna unfolds idea after idea, fact after fact, emotion after emotion, recounting a tumultuous upbringing and journey that moves with both personal and universal resonance.
A Long Walk from Gaza is Alatawna’s debut in both Arabic and English—a semi-fictionalized, coming-of-age novel. Originally published in 2019 as Sura Mafquda, it explores the struggles of a teenage Gazan girl as she rebels against her surroundings, both at home and at school, and her heartbreak as she leaves Gaza for a new life in Europe. Her escape doesn’t resolve her problems but instead introduces new challenges, revealing the persistent, ongoing internal conflict of exile. While portraying life and a childhood under Israeli occupation and oppression, Alatawna also takes an incisive, knowing look at the patriarchal system of her own people.
The novel chronicles the moments that often come to define one’s formative years, such as innocent crushes or sneaking off to play in the neighborhood, while also capturing the cruel conditions of the surrounding world. Beginning in Europe and moving backward to her own birth and early childhood, Alatawna’s creative narration is fast-paced, direct, and straightforward, using the protagonist of the novel, Asmaa, as a compelling alter-ego to describe a migration from Gaza to France that is fraught with challenges, from the bureaucratic hurdles of immigration to the psychological toll of displacement.
When the story opens, Asmaa is leaving everything behind as though it had never been, intent on never looking back, and it soon becomes apparent that this insistence on renewal is what has propelled her forward in life despite all the obstacles—first in Gaza, and then as part of the Palestinian diaspora. “I left to find some personal space,” writes Alatawna, “a few square meters of my own where I could put a bed and a table.” Asmaa rebels against all forms of oppression, from occupation to societal norms; she actively challenges the stereotypes imposed upon her as a Palestinian woman, insisting on her right to make her own choices, even if they seem trivial to others. Rejecting the role of the suffering victim, she asserts her right to flee for personal reasons:
The novel effectively captures the emotional turmoil and resilience of individuals caught in such circumstances, offering a powerful reminder of the human capacity for hope and perseverance. It also highlights how individuals can be shaped by both past and present experiences. Asmaa grapples with the tension between her Palestinian heritage and her experiences in France, yet her willingness to confront authority reveals an immovable self-possession. When a soldier asks her to get off the bus because the Egyptian checkpoint has closed for the day, she says: “I’m not moving. I’m not getting off this bus. You’ll have to shoot me first!” Asmaa’s resilience in the face of adversity is admirable, and what lies beneath this steely resolve is a search for connection and meaning.
Divided into two parts, the novel distinguishes between “Leave” and “Return”, each with starkly contrasting narrative styles. While the second section offers a meticulous account of Asmaa’s life, the first is brief, as though Alatawna is still grappling with the enormity of leaving Palestine in 2001. In it, the reader can glimpse how Asmaa’s life in Gaza—a place she left for a supposedly more peaceful existence—continues to shape her narrative.
“A body on the cobblestones. Just lying there. I shake him gently to see if he is still alive.” This is how the novel opens. Gradually, Asmaa narrates her tale of leaving Palestine with José, an archaeologist working in Gaza, who helps her escape to Madrid. She then flees to France after José insists on marrying her. Asmaa confesses, “I knew that I hadn’t escaped the chokehold of my neighborhood and my father’s authority only to willingly throw myself into another prison. I wasn’t going to let someone else suffocate me.”
The central theme of the novel, which is carried through both sections, is the traditional, chauvinist, and abusive treatment of women by most men. The male characters’ names, such as Abu Shanab (a man with a moustache), Abu Kirsh (a man with a belly), and Harb (war), affirms the patriarchal atmosphere of the events. “Return” especially reveals the true misery of women’s lives, not only in poverty and the early burdens and pressures placed on girls, but also in the discrimination faced by the daughters of laborers—also known as “camp girls”. Asmaa narrates:
The stubborn Asmaa, resistant to humiliation, refuses to remain silent in the face of this indignity. She steals the classroom key, locks the teacher inside, and rushes to her clique, singing a victory chant:
“I was feeling proud of myself for getting back at her,” says Asmaa, “Not just for myself but for the other kids in our neighborhood too. The UNRWA schools discriminate against us. They can’t even see us.” But soon after this bold defiance, she recalls her fear of her mother’s switch, her grandfather’s crutch, and her father’s leather belt, which would leave red welts and bruises all over her body.
Despite these searing recollections, Alatawna also showcases moments of humor and joy. Young Asmaa was nicknamed “Nus Nseis” in her neighborhood, a nickname that stuck throughout her school years due to her reputation for constantly dodging fights. She was someone who would escape to play boisterous games with the boys, returning home with dirty clothes and facing beatings; in these descriptions, we encounter a different kind of girl—albeit one who is recognizable in the woman: a tomboy who leads a small clique with her friend Abdullah, skilled at using a slingshot to hurl stones during protests or to hunt birds during the quiet days.
In effect, A Long Walk from Gaza provides a valuable commentary on the political and social issues of Palestinians, highlighting the injustices of occupation. As Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman hearteningly state in their brief translator’s note:
Alatawan’s novel is both personal and political; at its heart, it’s a story about freedom. Not by any means a quick read despite its slim page count, the prose is rich, profound, and has a tremendous depth of imagination. In both its honesty and vulnerability, I personally found A Long Walk from Gaza to be one of the most potent and impressive Arabic works that I have read in a long time. It has found in Caline Nasrallah and Michelle Hartman translators worthy of the task, and their seamless iteration deserves to be widely read. Passing through its pages gives one the sense of observing an intricate painting; there is the chance to get closer, to study the picture’s details until the world it depicts begins to move and grow, eventually coming to merge with one’s own.
Ibrahim Fawzy is an MFA student at Boston University. He’s a two-time graduate of the British Center for Literary Translation (BCLT) Summer School. He was awarded a mentorship with the National Center for Writing, UK (2022/2023) as a part of their Emerging Literary Translators Program. He was also a recipient of Culture Resource’s Wijhat grant. He’s an editor at Rowayat, Asymptote, and Minor Literatures, and podcasts at New Book Network (NBN). Ibrahim won a 2023 PEN Presents award for his Arabic to English translation of Kuwaiti author Khalid Al Nasrallah’s The White Line of Night.
*****
Read more on the Asymptote blog:
Contributor:- Ibrahim Fawzy
; Language: - Arabic
; Place: - Palestine
; Writer: - Asmaa Alatawna
; Tags: - autobiographical novel
, - exile
, - feminism
, - Interlink Publishing
, - liberation
, - migration
, - occupation
, - Palestinian literature
, - social commentary
, - War
, - Women Writers