The above a book of autobiographical essays, by Arab women writers. What do women write of when they don’t feel free to express their deepest longings? They write of their inner prisons. Of the cultures they belong to and feel exiled from. They write about the constraints imposed upon them as women, of their sadness and their anger. They want to write of love, and when they do, that has to be done in secret. Writing about love is a male domain. The Arab woman must never bring dishonour to her family. To write of intimacy, dangerous territory for her. Without feeling free to fully express themselves, these women are in bondage. That’s why they live in a house of silence.
This is one of my much loved books. I know where the women are coming from. The details of their lives, illuminated by their deep need to voice their true feelings. It is, also, a worthy book to read for autobiographical writing.
The ebb and the flow of our inner tides take us on imaginative journeys. Writing can be an escape from reality. It can also be a foil to encounter our own reality. Liana Badr, describes her mothers warning against standing too long in front of the mirror. The premise: desire is dangerous, and mirrors are seductive.
“Above all, she wanted to protect me from the eye of the mirror because it is the eye of eyes, the one which sows destruction through its numerous reflections and infinite layers.”
Sometimes writing is like a mirror. We see facets of ourselves reflected in our stories. Badre elaborates more about the mirror in her essay. “The mirror has a deadly charm which penetrates deep inside a person. Tempting you to look at yourself and examine how you relate to the world, pushing you to the edge of insanity.”
Many of us have an inner craziness, when we deeply encounter the sharp edges of living. That can be awesome, and scary. This tests our innermost willingness to survive, adapt and renew ourselves. It’s easy to write about this, the actual experience is painful, confounding, and mournful, when birthing the self we never knew existed before a particular event or inner realisation.
David Whyte’s “Sweet Darkness,” has profoundly resonated for many enduring life’s stormy or uncertain passages. This was one of my meditation poems, when life had lost zest after bereavement. The Arab women "In A House Of Silence," are in grief. They mourn for the unattainable.
This is one of my much loved books. I know where the women are coming from. The details of their lives, illuminated by their deep need to voice their true feelings. It is, also, a worthy book to read for autobiographical writing.
The ebb and the flow of our inner tides take us on imaginative journeys. Writing can be an escape from reality. It can also be a foil to encounter our own reality. Liana Badr, describes her mothers warning against standing too long in front of the mirror. The premise: desire is dangerous, and mirrors are seductive.
“Above all, she wanted to protect me from the eye of the mirror because it is the eye of eyes, the one which sows destruction through its numerous reflections and infinite layers.”
Sometimes writing is like a mirror. We see facets of ourselves reflected in our stories. Badre elaborates more about the mirror in her essay. “The mirror has a deadly charm which penetrates deep inside a person. Tempting you to look at yourself and examine how you relate to the world, pushing you to the edge of insanity.”
Many of us have an inner craziness, when we deeply encounter the sharp edges of living. That can be awesome, and scary. This tests our innermost willingness to survive, adapt and renew ourselves. It’s easy to write about this, the actual experience is painful, confounding, and mournful, when birthing the self we never knew existed before a particular event or inner realisation.
David Whyte’s “Sweet Darkness,” has profoundly resonated for many enduring life’s stormy or uncertain passages. This was one of my meditation poems, when life had lost zest after bereavement. The Arab women "In A House Of Silence," are in grief. They mourn for the unattainable.
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