At the outset, Evil Eye is a meditation on the quest for self. A narrative delicately woven around marital discord and passive aggression, it comes with all the familiar tropes. But as you delve deeper, Palestinian-American author Etaf Rum’s second novel becomes a nuanced exploration of exile filled with the sharp poignancy of immigrant experience. It evokes a sense of gloom and qualm while posing some difficult questions.
The protagonist of Evil Eye is a woman in conflict with her environs, even herself, as she navigates an incompatible relationship. It takes the reader to the realm of displaced lives who grapple with cultural codes and borderlines.
Evil Eye is the memoir of Yara, a young mother and Palestinian-American woman raised in Brooklyn. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters, works at the local college and aspires to become a full-time art lecturer. Despite her conservative upbringing, Yara is not happy with her seemingly privileged life. Her Arab identity is often equated with oppression and when a colleague makes a racist comment at a faculty meeting, it touches a raw nerve, forcing Yara to react. Following the incident she is put on probation and asked to undergo counselling by the college authorities.
At home, she faces consistent gaslighting which traps her in the throes of guilt, shame and anguish. As her therapy progresses, Yara comes face-to-face with intergenerational trauma, a cycle she must break. A common superstition in Arab culture, ‘evil eye’ refers to misfortune caused by jealousy. Yara’s mother Meriem attributes her suffering to a curse, and even the blue-eyed hamsa charm she wears can’t remove its negative aura. The curse manifests itself in many ways, drowning the women in loneliness and a sense of loss.
Counting Arab motifs
Yara aches for belonging and carries the burden of unresolved trauma from another generation as she belongs to Palestine, a home that is no longer theirs. As her grandmother recalls the ‘nakba’, the mass exodus of Palestinians during the 1948 war, the bombing of their olive orchards and the dismal refugee camp life, it paints a picture of another curse. It’s the curse of the Palestinian people who are forced to endure a never-ending ordeal.
For Yara, Palestine is the only place where she could watch her mother come alive ‘like a bright campfire in a darkened field’. Evil Eye is interspersed with umpteen Arab motifs, sights, sounds and smells. At times, it takes the form of an elaborate dinner spread, the sound of the oud or the verses of Mahmoud Darwish. In a dreamy sequence, it captures Palestinian women slipping off their headscarves to dance, “their bodies radiant with freedom”.
It also maps the resilience — people ready to suffer harsh winters and scorching summers hoping to return some day, men and women clutching rusted wrought iron keys of their homes and dreaming about the sparkle of the Dead Sea. While Evil Eye chronicles Yara’s interior and intimate worlds, it also becomes the tale of Palestine and its homeless, nameless people.
Evil Eye
Etaf Rum
HQ
₹499
navamy.sudhish@thehindu.co.in
Published - February 16, 2024 09:00 am IST