In pursuit of the great Gulf page-turner
Each week our Editor-in-Chief writes exclusively for you – subscribers to this newsletter. Today he looks at the lack of great fiction set in the Gulf
Hello ,
The universe of English-language novels set in the Arabian Gulf is not a crowded one.
Who, though, can forget the epic Dubai by Robin Moore? This story of "oil, gold and insurgency by the author of The Green Berets" (in large, embossed type) was published in 1976. It is a tale of yellow metal smuggling to India by a lantern-jawed mercenary type who has found refuge in the then sleepy emirate.
The Tentola Bar at Dubai Offshore Sailing Club, familiar to AGBI staff and no doubt many readers, is named after the protagonist's favoured watering hole in the novel.
Moore's Dubai is a story of quite extraordinary bloodshed. The hero, out on the high seas now and armed with a brace of lovingly described heavy machine guns, murders lots of Indian coastguards who are trying to uphold the law. Local knowledge is cursory.
But, it being 1960-something, the protagonist comes to Dubai from Tehran, as would be common then. Iran and its cities are the local metropoles. Different times and different perspectives.
Now comes The Peacock and The Sparrow by IS Berry, a former CIA analyst. This is an altogether more realistic book. Published last year and set in Bahrain during the Arab Spring, its lead is an archetypical spy novel antihero.
Drunk much of the time, yes; divorced, of course; and a rogue operator out of favour with his station chief and the establishment, just what is required. Local squeeze? Yes, yes.
The premise is a good one. Who is stirring up trouble on the island? Who are the good guys? It is replete with false flag operations – or not – local intelligence chiefs playing games of outlandish complexity, and lots of tradecraft as we shuttle around Manama losing tails to meet our Joe inside the opposition. There is fine atmospheric writing redolent of the real Gulf and decent takedowns of the expatriate lifestyle.
Ms Berry, though, refers a lot to Shia "slums". I would not describe villages and suburbs like Jidhafs and Sanabis as such. They are salubrious by world standards and not threatening.
The novel has been gilded with praise and won lots of awards. But it is a curate's egg. The first two thirds set in Bahrain are fine, if outlandish. Relations between an unmarried Muslim woman and a Westerner, while not unheard of, are problematic. Orphanages in Islam are also problematic.
More troubling is the plotting. No spoiler here but the hero – antihero – suddenly scoots off to Phnom Penh to procure stuff, drink some (lots) more and talk to shady types. But it is not clear until the denouement what that stuff is, what exactly the shady types are selling, and why. The novel ends hurriedly and incredibly. However, the auction for the film rights is almost certainly underway.
For the intellectuals, Cities of Salt is more serious. Abdul Rahman Munif's story is set in a mythical Gulf state and describes the multiple shocks as oil is discovered. However, this is an Arabic novel translated into English. Well worth a read.
So the universe of good English-language novels set in the Arabian Gulf remains uncrowded – and open for new entrants.
The Arabian Gulf and the wider region have yet to find their Le Carre. But he or she must be out there somewhere. So much has gone on – and goes on.
On reflection, this is in part because there are so many post 9/11 factual books with chunks set in the region that read like thrillers. Think The Hunt for KSM or the Yemen elements of The Looming Tower: Al-Qaeda and the Road to 9/11.
The Iraq war also provided a feast of novel-like memoirs and noir-esque reportage. The best fictional take that I can think of is not a novel but a 20-year old film based on a memoir.
Robert Baer, another CIA person, wrote See No Evil, a factual account of a thwarted coup attempt against Saddam Hussain set largely in Iraqi Kurdistan. Stephen Gaghan then converted the memoir into the great Syriana, much of which is set in the Gulf. We can surely describe this as a sprawling epic. It has the real feel of the region, as does The Peacock and the Sparrow – gleaming skyscrapers, humidity, blinding light and oil money – and an incomprehensible storyline.
This is allowed in the thriller genre, of course. No one understands the plot of The Big Sleep or Farewell, My Lovely. We read them for Raymond Chandler's flinty dialogue, lapidary prose and evocation of place. So it is with Syriana. If you haven't seen it, watch it.
