My Pen Is the Wing of a Bird: New Fiction by Afghan Women

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My thanks to Grand Central Publishing and NetGalley for the DRC of “My Pen Is the Wing of a Bird: New Fiction by Afghan Women”. This review is voluntary and contains my honest opinion about the book.

The blast spared neither the women who sought refuge in the corners of the hall, nor those who hid under tables. It sent them from ground to air, air to ground, in a matter of seconds. An] arresting collection . . . Written in simple, direct prose and offers vivid snapshots of a country beset by war and violence . . . It seems more important than ever to read the work of these courageous writers” Financial TimesAs always, I rated the stories individually. Of the twenty-three stories, ten stories reached or crossed the 4-star mark, and most of the rest were clustered around the 3-star rating. Here are my favourites, with 4.5 stars and above: An] arresting collection . . . Written in simple, direct prose and offers vivid snapshots of a country beset by war and violence . . . It seems more important than ever to read the work of these courageous writers" Financial Times A second open call, in early 2021, focused on the more isolated parts of the country. The word was spread on social media, via radio broadcasts, and on posters in the smaller towns and villages. This time, 200 writers in 20 provinces sent in work from internet cafes, home computers and mobile phones. One of the stories in this collection was written by hand, photographed, and sent via WhatsApp messages through a chain of people before reaching Untold. A team of Afghan readers then selected writers from the open calls to collaborate with international editors and translators in an editorial process supported by a range of donors, including the Bagri Foundation. This book is the culmination of that two-year project: the first anthology of short stories by Afghan women, written in the languages Dari and Pashton, and translated by Afghan translators.

The collection’s lyrical title is a quote from one of the writers, Batool Haidari, which is worth repeating in full: “My pen is the wing of a bird; it will tell you these thoughts we are not allowed to think, these dreams we are not allowed to dream.” The first of Haidari’s two memorable stories is about a young man who, conflicted by his sexual identity and frustrated by an unforgiving culture, yearns to dress in women’s clothing and wear make-up. The second, “Khurshid Khanum, Rise and Shine”, is about a father who, desperate to return to his family after having been kidnapped for six years, discovers that his wife, believing him dead, has remarried. The fact of this book: that the stories were written down, that they were gathered and translated and eventually published together in this splendid volume is a monumental acheivement. In “D is for Daud” by Anahita Gharib Nawaz (translated from the Dari by Zubair Popalzai), a school teacher risks everything to help a young boy whose sister is being abused by her husband. A woman's fortitude saves her village from disaster. A teenager explores their identity in a moment of quiet. A petition writer reflects on his life as a dog lies nursing her puppies. A tormented girl tries to find love through a horrific act. A headmaster makes his way to work, treading the fine line between life and death. I like a short story format from time to time in my reading and I think the form really suited these dificult stories as over a longer form it might be too much to digest. After each story there was time and space for me to read and decompress what I'd just experienced. It's not one to really "race" through as I needed to think about each story and process the emotions I felt.Her father was saying, “When you were little, your mother sewed this for you. She embroidered the image of your lips on it with her hands. This is your only keepsake from her.” These are extraordinary and intense glimpses into a shuttered world, written by women who have to struggle daily to make their voices heard' - Lissa Evans She stood on her right leg and spun the pot to raise the smoke from it. She took some coal and espand from the dirty bag on her shoulder and put it in the pot to make more smoke. She could remember her father’s words with the burning of every rue seed. She said to herself, These are infidels. Their place is at the deepest part of hell. They have to die to rid the world of cruelty and depravity. Men always want to speak on behalf of Afghan women, but now it is time for Afghan women to speak for themselves. Without fear, we want to share our stories with the world.