Jokha Alharthi; translated by Marilyn Booth
Bitter Orange Tree by Jokha Alharthi, translated from the Arabic by Marilyn Booth, unfolds in the first-person voice of Zuhour, a young Omani student studying at a British university. Zuhour braids together four threads in a non-linear structure, dipping spontaneously in and out of the threads until each is gradually revealed in its entirety. Her voice is plagued with guilt, regrets, and unshakeable sorrow.
The primary thread explores the back story of Bint Aamir, Zuhour’s adoptive grandmother, who dies shortly after Zuhour leaves Oman for her studies. Bint Aamir’s back story reveals the struggles of her early childhood after she and her brother are cast out of their home. Upon her brother’s death, she moves in with her relatives, Zuhour’s grandfather and his family. She raises Zuhour’s father as if he were her son, and raises his children—Zuhour and her two siblings—as their surrogate grandmother. Zuhour describes Bint Aamir as tall, proud, intelligent, selfless, and a childless spinster fiercely protective of the adopted children under her care. Taken for granted, ignored, blind in one eye, Bint Aamir’s physical condition deteriorates with age until she is no longer able to walk. After her death, Zuhour is haunted by the sound of her voice, pleading for companionship.
The second thread is of Zuhour’s older sister, Sumayaa. Described as an energetic, lively, talkative dynamo in her youth, she enters her marriage full of hopes and dreams. Her husband physically abuses and torments her, and despite her repeated attempts to return to her family, she is always sent back to live with him. After his accidental death, Sumayaa loses her voice and will not—or cannot—speak.
The third thread involves Zuhour’s class mates, two Pakistani sisters, Kuhl and Suroor. Kuhl is in love with Imran, a young Pakistani from a rural, impoverished background. She marries him in secret, afraid to tell her parents who would never approve of her marriage to someone beneath her social class. Zuhour becomes part of their circle and is attracted to Imran.
The fourth thread depicts Zuhour’s struggles with living in a foreign country, speaking a foreign language, and accommodating to a foreign culture.
The narrative constantly shifts between these four threads in a series of vignettes and anecdotes. Peppered throughout are Zuhour’s dreams, memories, and glimpses of Omani life. A mournful tone permeates as Zuhour considers the plight of different generations of women who have in common cultures that deny women freedom and agency. She is burdened with grief over the trajectory of her grandmother’s life, her sister’s crushed spirit, and Kuhl’s need for secrecy. The narrative offers no resolutions, no expressions of hope—just sorrow and despair.
Alharthi demonstrates sympathy for the plight of women and their suffering. She successfully captures a sense of mourning and profound sadness, but the novel is missing narrative build-up, movement, and character development. All that is offered are a series of vignettes of thwarted female aspirations. That may be sufficient for some readers; but others may be left wanting and hoping for more.