to do in piecing together the history of the downtown and the numerous play- ers that have contributed to its development, he questions again the form his work has taken and the impulse compelling him to write. His only real frame, he concludes, has been that of Wust al-Balad (or Roman Cairo as many referred to the Western quarter) and his own story as part of the history of this district:
Novels, to my knowledge, do not impart their ideas in a reported manner . . . Rather, they incorporate the life of their characters, their comings and goings, their living and dying. The course of the characters life and fate embodies the details of a [particular] thought and perspective. It is not my concern to explain [all] the details and patterns, analyzing how and why Roman Cairo inherited what it did. I want to tell of the place where I was born. I don’t have any experi- ence in writing novels. I am not writing a novel. Rather I look to Wust al-Balad where my story is. I contemplate the old and what of its features have been made new. This is my intention.12
The passage suggests the instability and somewhat ambivalent position of the narrator. On the one hand, he suggests that it is only through the lives of the characters in a novel that one can understand and identify with a particular point of view. On the other hand, he rejects the idea that he is writing a novel and claims that the space of Wust al-Balad itself, what it was in the past and what it has become, has been the central protagonist. Thus the space of down- town becomes a character here, with a “course” and a “fate,” a life and a death. While playing the role of the spectator to the spatial play unfolding before him, the narrator is also, in certain chapters (as we will see), the actor, participating in the demonstrations and not merely watching.
Amina Elbendary referred to ‘Ashur’s approach in this novel as postmodern.13 She cites, for example, her use of pastiche—using, on occasion, archival material, footnoting certain facts—and her play with the voice of the narrator—moving between a first-person narrative and a detached, third-person chronicling of cer- tain events, rendering the narrator as unstable, yet having him intimately con- fide in his readers—as well as the montage-like quality in which her narrative moves between periods. Yet, to approach this work as “postmodern” is, I would argue after Marshall Berman, to neuter the powerful critique this novel seems to offer about the project of modernity as well as the line of continuity it draws with modern Cairo today. In other words, the novel is not beyond or past what we might call modern, rather it engages with the notion of modernity from the context of its beginnings in Egypt in the nineteenth century. The challenges for Egyptians to negotiate with modernity (in the context of British colonial hege- mony) in the early part of the twentieth century are not so radically different from the challenges Egyptians face in coming to terms with modern Cairo from the 1970s onward (in the context of American neocolonial hegemony). ‘Ashur,
as I will discuss later, clearly makes this link. Thus, while the novel surely sets out to deconstruct the grand narrative of the downtown as the liberal dream of Egypt, to expose the economic bricklaying that the community of foreigners put in place in an effort to ensure they would have a district reflecting their own elite tastes and interests, it covers this ground in an effort to show parallels with the modernisms of today’s elite neighborhoods in Cairo—Muhandisin, Misr al-Gadida, Ma‘adi, and so on. In this vein Berman writes,
Post-modernists maintain that the horizon of modernity is closed, its energies exhausted—in effect, that modernity is passé. Post-modernist social thought pours scorn on all the collective hopes for moral and social progress, for personal freedom and public happiness, that were bequeathed to us by the modernists of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment. These hopes, post-moderns say, have been shown to be bankrupt, at best vain and futile fantasies, at worst engines of domination and monstrous enslavement. Post-modernists claim to see through the “grand narratives” of modern culture, especially “the narrative of humanity as the hero of liberty.” It is the mark of post-modern sophistication to have “lost even nostalgia for the lost narrative.”14
Berman’s criticism of the postmodern position arises out of his desire to suggest why the questions once posed in the wake of modernity are still prescient for us today. He characterizes the contemporary age as having lost touch with the “roots of its own modernity” such that we have become a fragmented modern public speaking “numerous private languages.”15 He suggests the need for us to collectively reconsider certain humanist universals as the way in which we once sought to “be at home” and navigate our way through the modern world. Thus, while we might recognize certain formal aspects of ‘Ashur’s novel as a series of writing strategies employed in an effort to recast some of the questions that have been asked in prior novels, I would argue, in contrast to Elbendary, that the thrust of ‘Ashur’s novel returns us to the essential question of modernism as posed by Berman: “Have we really outgrown the dilemmas that arise when ‘all that is solid melts into air,’ of the dream of a life in which ‘the free development of each is the condition of the free development of all’?” I do not think so.”16 Berman calls for us to not be deceived by the idea of postmodernism as a herald- ing of the end of the questions and challenges posed by the modern age. Rather, he urges us to look to the impulses and failures underwriting the modernisms of the past in an effort to understand what we face in our continuously modern and rapidly changing present. ‘Ashur’s book takes up his challenge full force.
The opening chapters of the novel begin by juxtaposing two stories: that of Khedive Isma‘il as a young man in Vienna and then Paris, enchanted by all that he sees before him (an enchantment that would ultimately lead him to want to reproduce it in Egypt), and simultaneously as the story of an unnamed