Abdellah Taïa: Snapshots of Morocco
Revisiting Taïa’s modest yet grand literary debut
Abdellah Taïa is undoubtedly one of North Africa’s biggest names in literature. His autobiographically-inspired books have led readers and critics alike to interest insights about life in Morocco and in Europe, about being queer in a variety of settings, about family and love, and about literature itself. His impressive career began with the short book Another Morocco: Selected Stories (in French, Mon Maroc). Another Morocco could be read in the span of a couple of hours, perhaps during a domestic flight or a quiet evening indoors. It is not, however, “light reading” if by that term we mean easily digestible and forgettable. Its vignettes of his childhood and youth in a working-class neighborhood of Rabat offer the whole range of human emotions (from humor to despair) and make sharp observations about the significance of them, setting the stage for what would become one of his country’s breakout literary figures in the twenty-first century.
Another Morocco is somewhat chronological, as it begins with Taïa’s birth and ends with his move to Geneva, Switzerland as a young adult for his studies. Taïa is less interested in linear narrative, however, than in leaving lasting impressions on the reader about his life. A tale about an old radio exposes the family dynamics of a couple of Moroccans with an elder son, multiple daughters, and two young children: men work, the mother is a housewife, and the rest of the children spend their days playing outdoors, at school, or together at home. Taïa remembers fondly his adventures with his sisters, with cousins and friends, and with relatives who have since passed away. School classrooms, movie theaters, and dumpsters become the stage for what would become a beautiful collection of Moroccan snapshots one day.
The references to some key themes Taïa is known for, such as queer identity and sexuality, are rather subtle. Although Taïa does hint at his difference as he grew up, Another Morocco is more interested in preserving the sweet moments of his Moroccan upbringing than in explicitly commenting on Moroccan society (the French title, Mon Maroc, emphasizes that Taïa is showing his Morocco only, the one of a working-class child in a suburb of Rabat). Still, it is impossible not to try to theorize society; upon moving to Switzerland, Taïa feels unseen and longs for the warmth of his family home. Urban anonymity may provide new freedoms, but it also loosens some links. As Samuel T. Herring of rock band Future Islands sings in “Seasons,” “they gain a piece but they lose one too.”
Another Morocco may not be the book Taïa is remembered for in the future. It is, however, a book that laid a foundation for a noteworthy literary career. As of today, Taïa continues to be one of the spokespersons for working-class people from his country and for queer people inside and outside his country. His personal reflections on class, gender, and sexuality precede and influence those of other big names in French-language writing, such as Didier Eribon and Édouard Louis. While focusing on the particular, Taïa has succintly captured the universal experiences of existing at the margins anywhere.
