A Return to My Native Country
- By Aamer Janbey
A Review of Fadi Azzam, Huddud’s House. Translated by Ghada Alatrash. Northampton: Interlink Publishing, 2024.
What does it mean to truly belong? Is it the soil beneath our feet? Or is it the echoes of our memories, the whispers of our ancestors, and the silent pull of our heritage? In a world fractured by displacement and longing, how do we reconcile the fragments of our identity with places we once called home? Can we ever truly return to these places?
As a twenty-one-year-old Syrian who has not set foot in my homeland for thirteen years, reading Fadi Azzam’s Huddud’s House was an experience that stirred the deepest recesses of my identity. The vivid world of Damascene and Middle Eastern landscapes transported me back to my childhood summers, making me feel an intense longing for a time and place that now seems almost mythical.
The Syrian civil war has kept me in a state of perpetual exile—physically removed from the land that shaped my early years and psychologically distanced from a past that feels increasingly distant. Before the civil war, I used to spend entire summers in Syria with my family, immersing myself in the rich tapestry of our culture and heritage. Azzam ignited a sense of melancholic nostalgia that I had never felt before. Memories long buried in the recesses of my mind surfaced with each turn of the page. I can now taste the bouza (ice cream) my cousin and I used to buy with the 25-lira coins given to us by our parents, coins with an eagle engraved on a stainless-steel center surrounded by a golden ring of aluminum and bronze—now a vision vividly re-engraved in my memory.
This novel not only reconnected me with those cherished memories but also provided profound insights into themes that resonate with my personal journey. In the pages of Azzam’s novel, I found not just a story, but a mirror reflecting my fragmented self, an odyssey that resonated with my own quest for identity and belonging. It beckoned me to explore the philosophical depths of my existence, questioning the very essence of what it means to belong to a place, to a culture, to a history that continues to shape me even in its absence.
Fadi Azzam’s Huddud’s House is a profound narrative that intricately weaves the themes of identity and exile, finding meaning in apparent hopelessness, memory and historical consciousness, freedom and authority, love and redemption. Through the life of its protagonist, Fidel (also known as Fadl), Azzam offers a nuanced exploration of personal and collective struggles, resonating deeply with any reader who comes to pick up this novel. Azzam’s storytelling evokes a moving and thought-provoking reflection on human existence, one that still interrupts my sleep cycles at night.
Is Identity Inherent or Constructed?
The theme of identity and exile is central to Huddud’s House, offering a poignant exploration of a fragmented self. Fidel’s dual name, bestowed by his father and uncle, encapsulates the conflict between secular and religious ideologies. His father’s communist aspirations and his uncle’s religious convictions pull Fidel in opposite directions, reflecting the broader societal divisions in Syria.
The concept of identity can be explored through a variety of lenses: existentialism, postmodernism, and the philosophy of self. Existentialists like Jean-Paul Sartre argue that identity is not predetermined but rather constructed through our choices and actions. Sartre’s idea that “existence precedes essence” suggests that individuals are not born with a fixed identity; instead, they continually create and recreate themselves through their experiences and decisions.
Postmodern philosophers like Michel Foucault and Jacques Derrida also contest the notion of a fixed, essential identity. Foucault’s idea of identity as a product of power relations and societal structures aligns with Fidel’s struggle, as his identity is shaped by the conflicting ideologies of his father and uncle, as well as by the societal pressures of his homeland and the diaspora. Moreover, Derrida’s concept of deconstruction can also be applied to Fidel’s dual identity, suggesting that identities are inherently unstable and fluid, constantly being renegotiated and redefined.
Azzam’s portrayal of Fidel’s life in exile highlights the perpetual quest for identity. The disconnection from his homeland forces Fidel to grapple with his sense of belonging. In Dubai, he navigates a complex cultural landscape, balancing his British-Syrian identity while yearning for his roots. Fidel’s struggle is a microcosm of the immigrant experience, where the search for identity is a continuous process influenced by external circumstances and internal reflections.
Azzam’s treatment of exile is both literal and metaphorical. Fidel’s physical separation from Syria mirrors his psychological alienation. The narrative evokes a profound empathy for those living in exile, emphasizing the pain of displacement and the longing for a place that exists more in memory than reality.
As someone who has not visited my homeland in over a decade, I understand the feeling of being caught between two worlds. Like Fidel, I navigate a dual identity, balancing the cultural heritage of my Syrian roots with the influences of my current environment. This duality often leads to a fragmented sense of self, making the search for belonging a fundamental aspect of my identity.
Azzam’s narrative suggests that identity is not a static entity but a fluid construct, continually shaped by external forces and internal introspection. Fidel’s journey illustrates the existentialist notion that identity is something to be actively constructed rather than passively inherited. His experiences in Dubai and his longing for Syria reflect the ongoing negotiation between different aspects of his identity. Existentialism emphasizes the individual’s responsibility to create meaning and identity through choices and actions, while postmodernism highlights the fluid and constructed nature of identity. Together, these philosophies underscore the complexity of the immigrant experience, where identity is both a personal creation and a response to external influences.
For Fidel, like many in the Syrian or other diasporas, the homeland represents a lost part of the self, a place where one’s identity was once whole and unfractured. This longing is not just for a physical place but for a time when identity felt more coherent and secure. The exile experience, therefore, becomes a continuous process of trying to reconcile these fragmented parts into a cohesive whole.
Finding Meaning in Hopelessness
The search for meaning in the face of apparent hopelessness is a poignant theme in Huddud’s House, embodied most clearly in the character of Dr. Anees. An accomplished heart surgeon living in London, Anees confronts a profound existential crisis upon receiving news of his inheritance in Syria. His journey back to Damascus, a city marked by decay and repression, forces him to confront the void left by his estranged family and the loss of his cultural roots.
Azzam’s narrative delves into the philosophical depths of existentialism, exploring how individuals find purpose amidst chaos and despair. Anees’s meticulous routine and clinical detachment in his professional life mask an underlying sense of futility. His life in London, characterized by precision and order, contrasts sharply with the chaotic and decaying environment of his homeland. This juxtaposition highlights Anees’s inner turmoil and the seeming absence of meaning in his life.
The existential philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche famously proclaimed that “God is dead,” suggesting that traditional sources of meaning and morality had lost their power in the modern world. Nietzsche argued that in the absence of these traditional values, individuals must create their own meaning through a process of self-overcoming and the exercise of the will to power. Anees’s return to Syria can be seen as a Nietzschean journey of self-overcoming. Faced with the disintegration of his past and the emptiness of his present, Anees must forge a new sense of purpose and identity.
In the face of his existential crisis, Anees could succumb to nihilism, the belief that life is meaningless and devoid of value. Nihilism looms as a tempting option for Anees, particularly given the hopelessness that pervades his homeland and the disconnection he feels from his past. However, instead of succumbing to despair, Anees chooses an existentialist path, seeking to create meaning despite a seemingly indifferent universe. Witnessing Anees’ journey and his determination to forge meaning despite his bleak circumstances resonated deeply with me—suggesting that, even in our darkest moments, we have the power to impose our own significance on a chaotic world.
Existentialism, as articulated by philosophers such as Sartre and Albert Camus, posits that individuals must create their own meaning through their choices and actions. Anees embodies this existentialist journey through his experiences in Syria. His involvement in the dungeons and “murdering people” under Dr. Saad’s command represents a dark period, where he is forced to confront the moral ambiguities and atrocities of his past. Anees spent nights sleeping in the corners of prisons, places that epitomize human suffering and degradation. These haunting memories challenge his sense of self and force him to grapple with the ethical implications of his actions. Much like Viktor Frankl, who found meaning even during his time in the concentration camps of WWII, despite having no hope of escape, Anees discovered purpose through his reflections and the small acts of kindness and resistance he could muster. His ability to find meaning in such dire circumstances underscores the existentialist belief in the power of individual choice and responsibility.
To confront the moral ambiguities of his past, Anees reflects deeply on his actions and their consequences. He revisits the memories of the atrocities he was part of, recognizing the weight of his choices. This introspection is painful, yet it is through this process that he begins to seek redemption. This journey of reflection is reminiscent of Carl Jung’s concept of “looking back into the darkness,” an act one of my dear friends encouraged me to partake in when I myself was afraid of life and of myself. According to Jung, one must face and integrate the darker, repressed aspects of the self—the “shadow”—to achieve psychological wholeness.
Anees reaches out to old friends and attempts to make amends for his past deeds, seeking forgiveness and understanding. He also engages in acts of compassion, trying to alleviate the suffering of those around him, even within the confines of the prison. These efforts are not just about seeking forgiveness from others; they also help him to forgive himself and find a way to live with the person he has become. Through such actions, Anees constructs a new sense of purpose, demonstrating that, even in the darkest circumstances, individuals may find ways to assert their humanity and strive for redemption.
Anees’ reconnection with his past, his tentative steps towards reconciling with old friends, and his reflections on his family’s legacy contribute to a nuanced portrayal, a model of the human capacity to discover meaning in seemingly hopeless situations. This theme resonates deeply, reminding readers that the search for purpose is an intrinsic part of the human condition, even in the darkest times. Azzam’s narrative thus becomes a powerful exploration of existentialism and existence, illustrating how individuals can find meaning through their actions and choices, even in the face of overwhelming despair.
The Pull of Subjective Memory
Memory serves as a powerful narrative device in Huddud’s House, shaping characters’ identities as well as their actions. Fidel’s memories of his father, a fervent communist, and of his youth in Damascus are juxtaposed with his present life, creating a tapestry of past and present that defines his existence. Azzam masterfully illustrates how memory is selective and subjective, often manipulated to serve current needs and narratives.
The novel delves into the philosophical notion of historical consciousness, challenging readers to consider how history is recorded and remembered. Fidel’s recollections are imbued with nostalgia and bitterness, reflecting the complex interplay between personal and collective memory. Recalling stories that my father has told me about our family’s history in Syria, I realize how these narratives have shaped my understanding of who I am and where I come from. These memories, though sometimes painful, are a vital part of my identity and my connection to my homeland. Azzam’s narrative suggests that the past is not fixed; it is a living, evolving construct that influences the present.
Azzam’s exploration of historical consciousness has made me reflect on the significance of personal and collective memory. The author suggests that our understanding of the past is shaped by the narratives we construct and the experiences we choose to remember—something that my neuroscience professors would also happily confirm, given the ways our hippocampus seems to reconsolidate our memories. The novel’s depiction of memory as both a source of solace and a burden resonates with my own experience of holding onto the past while navigating the present.
Freedom and Authority: Understanding the Struggle
The struggle for freedom against various forms of authority is a recurring theme in Huddud’s House. Fidel’s interactions with the Mukhabarat (Syrian intelligence) and his navigation of the oppressive political landscape reflect the broader struggle for individual autonomy in the face of authoritarian regimes. Azzam’s portrayal of this struggle is nuanced, avoiding simplistic dichotomies of good versus evil.
Does freedom merely involve the absence of external constraints, or does it require positive conditions that enable self-actualization? A narrative analogue to Jean-Paul Sartre’s concept of “existential freedom,” Fidel’s journey illustrates that true freedom involves making authentic choices despite external domination and internal limitations. Sartre’s notion that “man is condemned to be free” highlights the inherent responsibility that comes with freedom, emphasizing that individuals must create their own paths in a world that often resists such efforts. Fidel’s quest for personal autonomy is mirrored in his professional and personal life, where he strives to assert his individuality despite societal pressures.
Albert Camus’s exploration of rebellion and the struggle against oppressive systems also resonates deeply with Fidel’s journey. Camus’s notion of “the rebel” who asserts their freedom through acts of defiance against authoritarian regimes is reflected in Fidel’s quest for personal autonomy. Despite the oppressive political landscape, Fidel’s actions demonstrate an existential rebellion, where he seeks to define his own path and resist the forces that work to constrain him. His journey embodies the existential angst of those who seek to define their own path in a world fraught with constraints.
Philosophically, the novel interrogates the nature of freedom. Fidel’s journey illustrates that true freedom involves resisting both external domination and internal limitations. His quest for personal autonomy is mirrored in his professional and personal life, where he strives to assert his individuality despite societal pressures.
Azzam’s depiction of authority thus extends beyond the political realm, exploring how personal beliefs and values can empower and constrain individuals. Fidel’s internal struggle with his father’s communist ideals and his own ambitions exemplifies this tension. The novel’s exploration of freedom and authority is deeply moving, capturing the existential angst of those who seek to define their own path in a world fraught with constraints.
Love (and Redemption)
Azzam also raises questions about the nature of love. Is it a selfless act of giving, or is it inherently possessive and controlling?
Love, in its various forms, permeates Huddud’s House, intersecting with the novel’s themes of redemption and transformation. The relationships between characters are fraught with emotional complexity and moral ambiguity, reflecting the multifaceted nature of love. Fidel’s bond with his father, his connections with lovers, and his encounters with old friends are depicted with raw honesty, magnifying both the beauty and pain of love.
Reminiscent of Søren Kierkegaard’s exploration of love as a conscious act of will and commitment, rather than mere emotion, Fidel’s journey is complex. Kierkegaard’s concept of “agape” (selfless, unconditional love) mobilizes love as spiritual and ethical responsibility. However, Fidel often finds himself struggling with commitment. His relationships are marked by a persistent fear of vulnerability and a reluctance to fully engage, which leads to a recurring pattern of emotional withdrawal and detachment.
In Azzam’s narrative, redemption is closely tied to love. Through genuine connections and acts of compassion, characters find moments of redemption and renewal. Fidel’s journey is marked by his attempts to reconcile with his past and seek forgiveness for his transgressions. The novel suggests that love has the potential to transcend personal flaws and historical wounds, offering a path toward healing.
Few of us have not been torn and healed by love. The pages on my copy of Azzam’s novel bear the marks of my tears colliding the blue ink of the pen I used for notetaking. His narrative aids us in recognizing that love can be a path toward reconciliation with the past and identity as a whole, despite its equal capacity to destroy.
We craft our struggles, our reflections, and our relentless pursuit of understanding into the narrative of our existence. In the quiet moments between its lines, Huddud’s House reaches into the depths of our souls, urging us to confront our deepest fears and embrace our fragmented selves. The novel reminds us that in the search for belonging, we often discover the most significant truths about who we are. Meaning is not something we find, it is something we create. Azzam’s work has left me with resolve—to live purposefully, to love deeply, and to face the unknown with resilience and hope.
AAMER JANBEY is a student at the University of Victoria, majoring in Philosophy and Biopsychology with a focus on Neuroscience. On a personal note, he wishes to thank both Fadi Azzam for the voyage Huddud’s House made possible as well as his mother, Ghada Alatrash, for translating him into this world.
