tl;dr

The Frankenstein monster as a means of discussing the effects of the Iraq War on the people of Baghdad.  It’s funny and visceral and horrifying and passionate.

opening remarks

I’m now jumping from one award to another, this time The Man Booker International Prize which featured Frankenstein in Baghdad by Ahmed Saadawi on its 2018 longlist.

knee-jerk observations

The catalyst for the novel is the 2005 suicide bombing at Tayaran Square in Baghdad, (a location that, incidentally, suffered an attack in January this year).  In amongst the rubble and death, a lost and lonely soul, disconnected from its body, finds a home in a vacated corpse:

There we so many suicide bombings in an around Baghdad in 2005 that it’s hard to know whether the Andalus Square attack referred to below is the same one that happened in July of that year or whether it’s a fiction of the author’s.  Not that it matters.  Bombing attacks occurred, according to Wikipedia which, by the by, splits the terror incidents in Iraq by year, across 80 days of 2005, or nearly two a week, with multiple attacks on a single day.

Earlier in the novel, there’s a scene where Elishva, an elderly woman, convinced her son Daniel will return home, even though he’s been pronounced dead, has a chat to a large picture of Saint George the Martyr who, it appears, talks back.  Of course, we assume she’s hallucinating or chatting to herself that is, until, our Frankenstein, now living with Elishva who, unsurprisingly, believes he is her son Daniel returned (even if his face is a patchwork of “crude stitches”) has an encounter with the Saint.  Can a soul possessed corpse also be hallucinating?  Or is the painting an instantiation of the divine spirit?  You’ve got to love a book that elicits this line of questioning:

Hadi is our Doctor Victor Frankenstein:

Hadi absolves himself of responsibility for the murderous actions of his creation. He was just a conduit.  Victor, on the other hand, chased his creature to the ends of the Earth. (I do love Hadi’s name for the monster).

There’s a dark vein of humour running through the book (given it features a shambling corpse possessed by a confused security guard, that may not come as a surprise).  In particular, the tongue is firmly in cheek with the introduction of the Tracking and Pursuit Department, a secret group run by Brigadier Majid (and overseen by the Americans) that has the mandate to keep an eye on any weird shit that may occur while also predicting future bombings.  Our Frankenstein monster has piqued their interest.  The senior astrologer believes he knows the name of the soul controlling the “criminal”.

Hadi’s monster, Whatitsname, interview himself, with the aid of a recorder, in the hope of explaining why he keeps killing people.  Like the literary Frankenstein, this patchwork of rotting body-parts is an eloquent speaker:

What’s compelling about Whatsitsname’s self-recorded interview is how it’s played straight.  There’s nothing satirical or ironic about the tone.  Instead, it’s passionate and angry and righteous, the monster speaking on behalf of a country:

Whatsitsname also has this extraordinarily existential debate about the provenance of his body-parts.  He is adamant that they not be sourced from criminals – because he only acts on behalf of the innocent – and yet as each piece rots away, he is forced to be less choosy. The creature reflects on the effect this will have on his soul.  As he replaces limbs and organs is he gradually becoming a criminal?

Saadawi never, ever lets you forget the human toll, the senseless death, torture and tragedy experienced by the Iraqi people – whether under Saddam Hussein or the American occupation.

The Gist Of It

When I reviewed Lisa Halliday’s debut novel Asymmetry, I critiqued the book for its take on the Iraq War – all surface no depth.  I pointed to Will Self’s Phone as, for all its numerous faults, nailing the stupidity and irrationality of the War.  Having now read Frankenstein in Baghdad, I have reconsidered my position.  While I stand by the assertion that Phone does an excellent job in lambasting the UK and US for starting the War over fuck all evidence, Self’s depiction of the Iraqi people is tempered by the fact he’s a white bloke looking from the outside in.  Ahmed Saadawi does not face the same problem.  As is most often the case, a novel written by a person who has lived experience of what they’re describing is always more powerful.  And that’s the case with Frankenstein in Baghdad.  His deep love for Iraq, for Baghdad, for its people, for the stupidity and the violence and awful horror of the War comes through clearly even as he highlights the cities many contradictions.

Those contradictions are embodied by Whatsitsname, Saadawi’s Frankenstein monster, who slots seamlessly into an environment where death and dismemberment from bombs and shrapnel is a near daily experience.  Whatsitsname is stitched together from the limbs, organs and flesh of the citizens that have lived and died in the city.  The souls of those body parts, each seeking justice for the crimes and violence committed against them duel for Whatsitname attention, pulling him in different directions.  The monster’s existential crisis that drives the second half of the novel – is he good, is he a criminal, is he something in between? – is (mind the pun) the blood and guts of the novel.

I was less interested in the fictive trickiness of the book, the question as to whether we are reading a truthful account or a fiction cobbled together from half-formed memories and outright lies, (a bit like the creature it’s describing).  Rather, Saadawi’s skill is to draw together the reality of an Iraq under constant threat from suicide bombings with the speculative, philosophical and tongue in cheek elements. (This is a funny book, maybe not of the laugh out loud variety but there’s certainly a cheeky, satirical tone throughout).

I’ve read bugger all of the longlist, but I do hope Frankenstein in Baghdad makes it on the Man Booker International shortlist.