An Omani Novel That Delves Into the Depths of Human Anxiety
By Arwa al Hashimi
In the quiet, sun-drenched villages of Oman, a pioneering voice emerges from the desert sands—Zahran Alqasmi, whose novel Al-Ru' (meaning 'The Shadow') is redefining contemporary Middle Eastern literature. Unlike conventional narratives rooted in political upheaval or cultural revival, Alqasmi's work plunges deep into the labyrinthine corridors of the human psyche, inviting readers into a landscape haunted less by external conflicts and more by the intangible fears that reside within us all.
Al-Ru' is not a story told with shock or spectacle but a delicate exploration of fear as an enduring presence. At its heart is Mahjan, a modest school bus driver living in a remote Omani village, who, seeking solace and purpose, tends to his late mother's neglected farm. His act of reclamation begins innocuously—a simple scarecrow built to keep away pests. Yet, this unassuming figure, which Mahjan christens Al-Ru', morphs into something far more complex: a symbol of dread that slowly infiltrates his consciousness and, through his eyes, the entire community.
The novel's brilliance lies in its poetic restraint. Alqasmi does not elevate fear into grotesque horror but gently reveals its subtle power—how it seeps into solitude, distorts perception, and ultimately isolates the individual. The scarecrow, crafted with care, becomes more than mere straw and cloth; it embodies Mahjan's suppressed anxieties, ancestral guilt, and universal vulnerability. As the story unfolds, Alqasmi deftly explores how societal reactions—whispered accusations of sorcery, suspicion, and madness—serve as reflections of collective fear and intolerance.
In contrast to Middle Eastern writers like Syrian novelist Nihad Sirees, whose works tend to address societal upheaval and political dissent directly, Alqasmi's Al-Ru' offers an inward journey. Sirees' narratives are often woven with sharp critique of authority, presenting societal struggles in loud, confrontational tones. Conversely, Alqasmi employs a quiet, lyrical voice—one that whispers rather than shouts, inviting introspection rather than activism. His novel shares thematic kinship with Hanan al-Shaykh's explorations of internal conflict and mental disquiet, yet it remains rooted distinctively in Omani rural life, a setting that embodies tradition, isolation, and resilience.
But how does this compare with international literature on internal fear and shadowy spectres of the mind? Consider Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, a quintessential modern Gothic that examines haunted spaces and psychological fragility. While Jackson's haunted house is an externalised projection of inner turmoil, Alqasmi's Al-Ru' transforms the internal fears into an externalised entity—an embodied shadow that haunts not just Mahjan but, more broadly, societal perceptions of normalcy and madness. The comparison highlights how different literary traditions grapple with fear—some viscerally external, others subtly internalised—and yet both remain compelling in their exploration of human fragility.
Alqasmi's distinctive achievement is weaving local Omani customs and landscapes into a narrative that resonates on a universal level. The palm groves, dusty paths, and village rituals anchor the story in a tangible reality, yet the psychological undercurrents elevate it into a reflection on the fragility of the human mind and the universality of fear. Through minimal but deliberate language, Alqasmi crafts a lyrical, contemplative style that allows readers to step into Mahjan's world—seeing, feeling, and questioning alongside him.
His prose, measured and evocative, echoes the slow unfolding of internal chaos. Silence becomes a powerful motif—what is left unsaid, what is implied beneath the surface, and how the absence of words can be more telling than their presence. The novel's pacing mirrors Mahjan's internal unraveling; it invites readers to dwell in uncertain spaces and contemplate the shadows they themselves carry.
What elevates Al-Ru' beyond a mere psychological novel is its subtle critique of societal response to deviation and difference. The community's suspicion and fear of Mahjan's creation reflect broader themes of alienation and otherness—a mirror to how societies often reject what they do not understand. This dynamic is echoed in Flannery O'Connor's Southern Gothic tales, where outsider figures and internal fears are central. Yet, where O'Connor's stories grit and shock with their intense symbolism, Alqasmi's prose exudes quiet power, whispering truths in a tone more contemplative than confrontational.
Thus, Zahran Alqasmi's Al-Ru' stands as a landmark example of Middle Eastern literature's evolution—an intricate dialogue between tradition and modernity, locality and universality. It elevates the genre of psychological fiction with its poetic subtlety and cultural depth, positioning Alqasmi among contemporary writers who dare to explore the unspoken fears lurking beneath the surface of everyday life.
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By Arwa al Hashimi In the quiet, sun-drenched villages of Oman, a pioneering voice emerges from the desert sands—Zahran Alqasmi, whose novel Al-Ru' (meaning 'The Shadow') is redefining contemporary Middle Eastern literature. Unlike conventional narratives rooted in political upheaval or cultural revival, Alqasmi's work plunges deep into the labyrinthine corridors of the human psyche, inviting readers into a landscape haunted less by external conflicts and more by the intangible fears that reside within us all. Al-Ru' is not a story told with shock or spectacle but a delicate exploration of fear as an enduring presence. At its heart is Mahjan, a modest school bus driver living in a remote Omani village, who, seeking solace and purpose, tends to his late mother's neglected farm. His act of reclamation begins innocuously—a simple scarecrow built to keep away pests. 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Sirees' narratives are often woven with sharp critique of authority, presenting societal struggles in loud, confrontational tones. Conversely, Alqasmi employs a quiet, lyrical voice—one that whispers rather than shouts, inviting introspection rather than activism. His novel shares thematic kinship with Hanan al-Shaykh's explorations of internal conflict and mental disquiet, yet it remains rooted distinctively in Omani rural life, a setting that embodies tradition, isolation, and resilience. But how does this compare with international literature on internal fear and shadowy spectres of the mind? Consider Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House, a quintessential modern Gothic that examines haunted spaces and psychological fragility. While Jackson's haunted house is an externalised projection of inner turmoil, Alqasmi's Al-Ru' transforms the internal fears into an externalised entity—an embodied shadow that haunts not just Mahjan but, more broadly, societal perceptions of normalcy and madness. The comparison highlights how different literary traditions grapple with fear—some viscerally external, others subtly internalised—and yet both remain compelling in their exploration of human fragility. Alqasmi's distinctive achievement is weaving local Omani customs and landscapes into a narrative that resonates on a universal level. The palm groves, dusty paths, and village rituals anchor the story in a tangible reality, yet the psychological undercurrents elevate it into a reflection on the fragility of the human mind and the universality of fear. 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