I haven’t read a book as captivating as Bitter Orange Tree by Jokha Alharthi in a really long time. Through prose that is delicate, the writer crafts a narrative that feels less like a traditional novel, and more like a beautifully curated collection of poignant moments. The expression is so beautiful that I was in awe of the author who was able to tell a story spanning generations in just 214 pages.
Set in the backdrop of Oman, Bitter Orange Tree is a story told by the young Zuhour as she tries to navigate her life as a student in Britain. As memories of her grandmother, Bint Aamir, both comfort and haunt her, she takes us through the complex but rich tapestry of relationships spanning three generations of her family. Although Bint Aamir was Zuhour’s grandmother without the traditional ties of marriage, she remains the central figure in her life, especially in her growing-up years. The novel, then, is both their stories, and not just Zuhour’s.
Zuhour’s story is interwoven to the stories of the many people surrounding her, including her grandfather, Salman and his wife, her father, Mansour and his first wife Kaffa, her mother, sister, a suitor her grandmother never got the chance to marry, and her friends. All these characters that make up Zuhour’s life are a reminder that we are never truly just “I”, the individual. Instead, we are tied to a lot of other threads – the knots only visible if you care to turn the fabric and look at the back. And yet, without these knots, we would not be our present selves.
And so, like a skilled artisan, master storyteller, Alharthi, weaves this beautiful tale that oscillates between past and present, Zuhour and Bint Aamir, and all the characters in their lives; sometimes unsettling you with this movement as you switch from one chapter to another, and then settling you back down quickly into whichever character or time you are reading at that moment. And in doing so, it tells you how the world has changed in just three generations; how Bint Aamir and Zuhour, and all the other women in the story have their own battles to fight – be it Zuhour’s sister’s abusive marriage, or her father’s first wife, Kaffa, and the feelings of suffocation she feels in her marital home.
The story is essentially about familial ties and relationships, those forbidden, those known, those imaginary, and those whose loss is too tremendous to bear. How did Bint Aamir come to be Zuhour’s grandmother when she was not married to her grandfather? Did Bint Aamir have her own dreams, or was raising this family her only purpose in life? Why did she never get married? How will Zuhour navigate a new country without her anchors? Will the values passed down to her hinder her, or give her strength as she tries to figure out her place in a world so alien to her? And then there’s old age – its infirmity, and solitude (when the grandmother becomes infirm and needs company more than ever before but no one has time for her), the wars that were instrumental in how Bint Aamir’s life shaped, poverty and its different layers and presentation; opportunities, bad parenting styles, and dreams (like Bint Aamir wanted to own an orchard), and forsaking those dreams.
The text is so beautifully written, that you might end up yellowing (or oranging, or fluorescent greening– whatever you prefer) the whole book with your highlighter. It almost seems like someone has understood what you thought were your tangled, suppressed, confused feelings, and aired them so simply. For example,
“We had a lot of confidence in life….Confidence in our youth, our pleasures, the paths we were taking, our house, and home…..The house was ours; it never crossed our minds that there could be any possibility of losing it. Sofas and beds and pillows and windows and door knobs and the Sony cassette player, and school bags- it all belonged to us… And we had the trees my grandmother had planted in the garden, we had shoots growing the pots, clothes hanging on the hangers, open letters sitting in drawers, spoons and forks and knives and plates on the kitchen shelves…”
These lines reminded me of what it felt like to be a young woman. It was this immense and obvious confidence in everything that was my reality at that time- my family, my home, my friends, my school, and above all, a future with real possibilities. That was both the arrogance and ignorance of youth; its naivety being its blessing. These lines hit me harder than I expected, leaving me with a sadness for a lost time, that youth, that innocent faith – a feeling I’ll never get back.
And then there are these small obvious observations that you might have made subconsciously, but never said out loud. The writer illustrates this perfectly both through her dialogue and descriptions.
“…I was mortally afraid of turning out to be like my mother. Many times, Christine had reminded me of Oscar Wilde’s words, ‘All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy’…”
And dare I add that the majority of men become like their fathers – a lesson I have learnt from observing relationships and people.
Each character gets their own voice as they navigate their life in the novel. It is a story after all, and each character within the story has their own story too.
A chapter worth noting and that resonated a lot with me was Pardoning. It tells the feelings of a father whose daughter has agreed to get married. “How could he forgive her for going away…She left him. Him….She left him voluntarily, happily, finely dressed and adorned…”.
This whole chapter is dedicated to how Kaffa’s father feels betrayed by his daughter’s eagerness to go away with a stranger while he has loved her more than absolutely anyone or anything else he can love, while no one else knows her as well as he does, no one can care for her as much as he can. Eventually he keeps quiet about his feelings but his sadness, worry, and grief continue to cause him pain. Overall, Bitter Orange Tree is a lyrical and contemplative novel – a treat! Rich, poignant, lyrical, layered- is how I would describe this novel. The translator, Marilyn Booth, has done a commendable job preserving the spirit as well as the words of the book, making it a compelling read.
