When it was first published in 2019, A Long Walk from Gaza resounded with Asmaa Alatawna’s evocative descriptions of girlhood, migration, and life under occupation, gathered in an acute testament against the societal and political repressions of a woman’s liberties. Today, in light of the events over the last year, it also preserves a city that has since been overwritten with violence, layering the streets, neighbourhoods, and homes of memory over the present map of destruction. In this following interview, translators Michelle Hartman and Caline Nasrallah discuss their process in translating this nuanced portrait of Palestinian life, the element of double marginalisation within the narrative, and the emotionality of working with a story that evokes the now-gone.
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Ibrahim Fawzy (IF): How did you come across A Long Walk from Gaza?
Michelle Hartman (MH): I have a relationship with Interlink Publishing. It’s a smallish, independent publisher based in Northampton, Massachusetts, and the only Palestinian-owned publisher in the United States. It’s committed to doing many different things, particularly bringing fiction written in Arabic to English readers—and it’s been doing this for a very long time. There’s a significant list of Arab writers whom the publisher wants to bring to life in English. They occasionally send me novels, and A Long Walk from Gaza was one of them. As Caline and I were working on another project at the time, I sent this book to her for her opinion.
Caline Nasrallah (CN): As Michelle said, we have already worked on several things together, so we have this relationship of her sending me books to read. I’ll then go through these books and decide if we could continue working on them. Once she sent me Asmaa’s novel, I was so taken by it, and I thought it was an important project we had to work on. I felt a duty. I read it, then we discussed it more, and we went ahead.
IF: That’s great. As a literary translator, I usually read a book and find something that speaks to me, motivating me to translate it. What drew you to this book? What are the elements that convinced you to spend much time with it?
CN: Asmaa’s novel is a must-read because of the way it describes life under occupation and all of the hardships that come along with that, specifically in Gaza. There’s little that comes out of Gaza because of the situation on the ground, so the book felt like a lens into something we had never really seen before—that made it feel more relevant. Asmaa reveals this double layer of life under occupation, tracing life as a girl and a woman under occupation, the reality of occupation and internal issues impacting the society in which she lived. While united within a cause, women were also affected by society’s actions. It’s imperative to recognise this aspect, even though it’s often overlooked in literature focusing on a common enemy. Calling out injustice wherever it exists is essential.
MH: The text presented many complex challenges even before we agreed to translate it. The Arabic-English translation is difficult because one has to also work with the different contexts. Asmaa’s book is told in a different chronology, and it has various plot lines and all these things that we knew would be a challenge, but still, we didn’t want to let that stop us from being able to render this work in English; as Caline said, we felt it was essential to translate it.
IF: The original Arabic title is ‘صورة مفقودة / A Missing Picture’, but I like your solution with the title. What does it evoke for you?
CN: We consider the title throughout the process when working on a book-length translation, but ultimately decide on it at the end, allowing us to experience the book’s flow and the rationale behind the original title. We can then determine if it translates well into English. From the get-go, we didn’t see a direct link between the original title and the story, and we went into the translation thinking about other options for the title.
But we didn’t want to categorically decide that we wouldn’t keep ‘A Missing Picture,’ because maybe something would come up. To be honest, we both agreed that we wanted a title more evocative of Gaza because the book is Gaza-centred. We also didn’t want to make such a drastic change without speaking with Asmaa, so we had a group chat to facilitate our conversations throughout the process. We tried to pick her brain and see what she thought about changing the title, and surprisingly, it turned out that she didn’t choose the Arabic title herself. After knowing that, we were more ready and confident to change. We wanted something more drawn out, something a bit slower. As you wrote in your review, the novel’s first part is fast-paced, and Asmaa goes through so many places in a minimal number of pages, but then the rest, in Gaza and trying to get out of Gaza, is slow-paced. We wanted to mirror that with the title.
MH: From a translator’s perspective, it may be intriguing, but from a purely human standpoint, it was complicated. In September 2023, we were nearly finished but experienced some slight delays in the timeline, so we said, ‘Oh, it’ll be no problem. We’ll just finish in October.’ We hit a pause, but we just started talking about the title less than a year ago, we had already decided that we want to have Gaza in the title. Then, after what happened last year on October 7th, we felt that we had to put Gaza. We went through this process and spoke to Asmaa, who is very collaborative. The three of us exchanged numerous ideas, considering various permutations that were similar, and we were pleased to finally set aside the title Asmaa was never fully convinced about in Arabic.
We also discussed the book cover and what it should look like with the publisher, who was open to suggestions and committed to working against stereotypes often associated with book covers—especially with books translated from Arabic. We wanted to avoid clichés, so we didn’t want the cover to be red or to convey a typical image seen in the news. Instead, we chose a light blue colour and an image of the sea to convey a sense of serenity. The cover presents the sea, and it’s open to various interpretations.
IF: How has Alatawna balanced the fiction and non-fiction in the novel?
MH: We understand the book as a text conveying a truth and drawing a portrait of Gaza. There are facts—specific historical events and geographical locations. The destruction and annihilation of life in Gaza gives this book a new significance, as it serves as a document to better understand the overall truth and a holistic portrait of a world that was internal to Asmaa, as well as to many people in Gaza.
CN: Yes, we delved into Asmaa’s novel and its inspiration during our conversations. For example, she described how intentional cloudiness in the book is used to depict the impact of trauma. She walked us through the deliberate vagueness in the story, which focuses on Gaza itself and its history.
The novel is Asmaa’s personal narrative, and the specific details establish the storyline’s foundation. Yet the aim is to provide a broader perspective on life in Gaza, the challenges of leaving, and the experience of having left.
IF: Asmaa, the protagonist and narrator, is doubly marginalised, yet the female characters in the novel are strong. Although Alatawna tackles gender violence, she doesn’t contribute to the stereotypical image of the Arab woman who is oppressed. Do you have any thoughts on this?
MH: We have lots of thoughts on the female characters. That kind of double marginalisation is one of the book’s most essential elements; the intertwining of patriarchy and occupation is crucial to understanding the whole text and understanding this particular female experience of growing up in Gaza.
That double marginalisation makes the female characters strong. They’re all different. The book is brilliant because it portrays female characters facing multiple layers of repression, and also depicts the Afro-Palestinian community living alongside the native Gazans. The various communities are given rich and diverse portraits, and the book shows the different hierarchies. This portrayal makes it challenging to stereotype someone, and highlights the characters’ complexity. It’s also important to note that some female characters in the book uphold the patriarchy while others fight against it.
CN: The fact that Asmaa depicts these characters while still being true to herself is a testament to how her oppression has shaped her into who she is: the stories she weaves intimately explore the intersections of oppression and how they shape individuals. Her feminism means that even in the face of oppression, Arab women are active participants and take a role in constructing their realities, demonstrating agency despite what they endure. Asmaa isn’t just showing the image of the Arab woman that people expect or assume exists. There is so much richness, and any attempt to flatten the existence of women based on their situation or location is defied by Asmaa.
IF: The novel utilises humour to mitigate violence inside and outside the home. Is irony here a form of resistance?
MH: There’s a couple of hilarious scenes where she even addresses the question that you just brought up; she shows that gaze on her, and how she’s expected to act a certain way, or she’s expected to be a specific thing because she’s an Arab woman or a Gazan woman or a Palestinian woman, especially when she’s in France and Spain. She makes fun of it, sometimes explicitly and sometimes implicitly. She lightly satirises, for example, the Palestine solidarity community in France. She talks about all of these various French people who want to be there for her, but they also add to her struggle, and she does so in a mean but hilarious way that is affectionate, to let readers know there’s a subtle critique.
CN: Regarding specifically the stories of the nickname given to her—‘Nus Nseis’—which reference being a tomboy, coming back home all torn up and dirty, I think they’re a coping mechanism and her own form of resistance, to grapple with the explicit and the implicit forms of violence that she’s being subjected to both inside and outside the home. Because there’s no shortage of violence in the book, I think these episodes gave a little bit of a breathing space, and further shows her strength.
IF: What were some challenges of translating this book?
MH: In the novel, there are local expressions from Gaza, so we had to learn about this place that has been under siege for seventeen years. When translating novels, I usually visit the areas where the stories are set, allowing me to understand the context and settings, but in the case of Gaza, Caline and I have never been there, so we had to work with a context that we were not as familiar with. This presented an enormous challenge.
While we understand the language, there are differences in the way people use words. For instance, we encountered specific challenges when translating the prominence given to the Afro-Palestinian community in the book, and the inter-community relations discussed in the novel. The protagonist lives in a neighbourhood traditionally inhabited by people of African descent, and this area is central to the text. Therefore, many Arabic terms referring to the community and the neighbourhood do not directly translate well into English, especially considering the historical and cultural context of black communities in the United States. This made it challenging to accurately convey the Gazan specificity without invoking a series of racialised relations that aren’t precisely the same, despite some commonalities. It’s important to acknowledge the commonalities and differences in these contexts, and seek help understanding and addressing these tensions.
CN: We encountered another difficulty that was more emotional than technical or linguistic. As Michelle mentioned, we had to translate a place that we weren’t familiar with—Gaza, which has been significantly cut off from the world in a deplorable way post October 7th. We suddenly had live footage on our phones showing the death and destruction raining down, and when this happened, we were already done with the translation and in the editing stages of the manuscript. One night, I was watching the footage come from Gaza and saw a place mentioned in the book; it triggered memories of reading about Asmaa playing there, and seeing the destruction was very jarring. I was so emotional that I didn’t send the footage to Michelle until days or weeks later.
MH: We were almost finished and very close to finalising the manuscript, but we delayed some of the last bits because we wanted to make the translation even better. As any translator knows, there’s always the feeling of ‘I’m just going to fix one more thing, check over one more thing, or read it one more time.’ The temptation to do this was much more complex because we had done so much research, asking for pictures and looking them up on the Internet. And then suddenly, we couldn’t access these things.
CN: I remember we still had questions to ask when everything started to happen, and I was thinking, ‘How on earth am I going to ask Asmaa this question right now?’ We’re all humans, and we’re all impacted by this, so a very human element also needs to be considered.
IF: What ethical considerations are involved in translating a work that deals with sensitive and personal issues?
CN: Any translation is sensitive and personal, and the ethical considerations for this book specifically were about being true to history and the reality on the ground, as she describes it. We also wanted to be faithful to Asmaa. When holding the book, I remarked on how precious it was—a collection of her memories that now only exist in her imagination. So we needed to have an ongoing conversation with Asmaa to make sure that we understood her points and that she was comfortable with our suggestions.
MH: I agree with all of that. We have been faithful to the author, the story, context, history, and politics. We were very conscious of all these various levels, which meant that we highlighted the ethics of our translations; we are both very committed to that as a practice. I mention here for your readership that the ethical imperative for Arabic-English translators is crucial because of the history of Arabic-English translation itself. This is true of other underrepresented languages, but we must emphasise that the history of Arabic-English translation is fraught.
Historically, ethical concerns have often been overlooked in English translations of Arabic literature; authors have been treated disrespectfully, their works have been exploited, and translations have frequently been distorted. This legacy continues to shape the landscape today. While many Arabic-to-English translators are working to rectify these issues, we operate within a history that has been far from ethical. English-speaking audiences often have preconceived notions about the subjects we’re translating, viewing them negatively. This creates a challenging context for us. Given the historical and cultural factors at play, it’s even more crucial for us to prioritise ethical considerations in our work.
CN: It was such a tightrope to balance being true to Asmaa’s voice and her powerful emotions while ensuring that readers would understand and appreciate her message. Choosing the right words was challenging due to the historical context and potential biases. so we had to make careful ethical choices to avoid perpetuating stereotypes or overshadowing Asmaa’s intended meaning.
IF: Can you talk briefly about your hopes and fears for the reception of A Long Walk from Gaza?
CN: We wanted to be careful with our language because we knew everything would be picked at, especially in this context. We wanted the deep humanity of the book to shine through. After all, it’s a portrait of Gaza and what comes out of Gaza.
MH: We have been deeply touched by the number of people who have read and been moved by the book. Many individuals have reached out to us, and it has been widely circulated, which is remarkable. It may not be the work that would be written today; in some ways, it’s not quite the book for this moment because it reflects a specific time, and so much has changed in Gaza since then, which is part of what makes it specific. But that also makes it more complex when considering how diverse audiences receive it, as it requires an extra level of consideration. It may not answer the questions people have when they check their phones or look at the news this period.
IF: You have co-translated four books. Could you speak a little about your experience?
CN: We have a unique approach to our work. A few years ago, we translated a book titled Without. Each chapter had a different narrator, so we decided who would translate which narrators to ensure that each chapter had a distinct voice. We extensively reviewed each other’s translations, so we didn’t each translate the entire book separately. But for A Long Walk from Gaza, we were both struck by the novel’s reverse chronology. To experiment with the translation, we started at the end and worked our way back to the beginning, following the protagonist’s journey chronologically. This approach required both of us to translate the entire manuscript.
MH: We met to compare our work, and worked on different chapters at different times, sometimes alone and sometimes together. We would sit alone, translate, then combine our manuscripts, review them, and make improvements. We repeated this process for the entire book, which was a very different experience from our previous work. We used to work together on translations, but this time, it was a more intense and collaborative process of making joint decisions. We often compared our work, discussed it, and argued over our final decisions.
IF: Awesome! You two were both the translators and the editors for one another’s translation.
MH: As a translator, you become attached to your material, so when two translators collaborate, it’s interesting to see how their interpretations can differ, even when working on the same text. This process gives you a deeper understanding of the text and allows you to see it from different perspectives. Despite the challenge of choosing the best interpretation for a translation, the process is enriching and thought-provoking.
CN: We approached the translation not only as translators but also as writers. We put a lot of thought into how we structured the sentences and how we wanted the rhythm of specific paragraphs to feel. Sometimes it was choppy, reflecting the stress in the mood and conveying the brevity of Asmaa’s approach. For instance, there’s a part about a chicken running around, and Asmaa is trying to catch it. The whole section was purposedly written as one long sentence to reflect that chaos. We also read the text out loud before submitting it.
IF: Michelle, you’ve translated Shahla Ujayli, Eman Humaydan, and Jana Fawwaz Elhassan. Each author is distinctive—some have opinions about how they sound in English; some are just hands-off regarding how they appear. Can you talk a bit about working with Asmaa?
MH: I’ve been so lucky because the authors I’ve worked with are amazing, and they’re all very different. Asmaa was wonderful to work with.
Before October 7th 2023, we progressed in understanding Asmaa’s perspective on the situation in Gaza. Our conversations were deepening, and we were starting to see how her personal experiences would shape the story. But then, everything changed. The events of October 7th created a tense atmosphere, and we had to pause our discussions about the book. Our focus shifted to supporting her and staying informed about the situation. Despite the challenges, Asmaa remained incredibly generous. She shared her insights, images, and conversations but never tried to micromanage the process. Our relationship was smooth and collaborative, similar to my experiences with other authors.
IF: Caline, what did your work on this novel teach you as a translator?
CN: As a translator, finding a middle ground to convey the political nuances of Arabic is challenging. This was something we focused on and something that I refined a lot in this book. We had to delve into the essence of something and understand how we felt in conveying that feeling to the reader. I respect and honour this in all of my work.
With this project, I focused on capturing the sense of what’s trying to come through rather than just the words themselves. This meant we sometimes had to change certain passages or words, raising questions of ethics and responsibility, but we always discussed any changes or additions. The more we worked on things, the more confidence it gave us to trust our intuition. For example, if we felt that something needed to be adjusted, we would try it out to see if it worked, but ultimately, it was about how it felt to us. Confidence also came from openly communicating with Asmaa—which wasn’t always possible, but I think that was the most crucial aspect of the process.
Caline Nasrallah is a literary translator, editor, and researcher based between Montreal and Beirut. Her extensive editing and translation work spans fiction and non-fiction, with a particular emphasis on using language as a tool for feminist resistance. She has co-translated multiple novels into English, such as Without by Younis Alakhzami, Memoirs of a Militant: My Years in the Khiam Women’s Prison by Nawal Qasim Baidoun, and A Long Walk from Gaza by Asmaa Alatawna. Additionally, she has worked on the translations included in What the War Left Behind: Women’s Stories of Resistance and Struggle in Lebanon, co-authored by Malek Abisaab and Michelle Hartman. Her translations have also appeared in British literary magazine Wasafiri, and she has worked as an English editor and translator for multiple issues of Beirut/Montreal-based Al-Hayya magazine and Journal Safar. Caline is pursuing her PhD at Concordia University, focusing on the nuanced communication of resistance and asserting translation as a form of resistance. She endeavours to put language at the service of liberation in each of her projects.
Michelle Hartman is a professor of Arabic Literature at McGill University and literary translator of fiction, based in Montreal. She has written extensively on women’s writing and the politics of language use and translation and literary solidarities. She is the translator of several works from Arabic, including Radwa Ashour’s memoir The Journey, Iman Humaydan’s novels Wild Mulberries and Other Lives, Jana Elhassan’s IPAF shortlisted novels The Ninety-Ninth Floor and All the Women Inside Me as well as Alexandra Chreiteh’s novels Always Coca Cola and Ali and His Russian Mother.
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.
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