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Sleep Phase - Softcover

Kheir, Mohamed

 
9781949641783: Sleep Phase

Inhaltsangabe

After seven years in prison, Warif is released to a changed Cairo. Freedom so far has been endless, inscrutable meetings with official-looking strangers, trying to get his job as a translator back. This new Cairo, busy with expats and bureaucrats, is proving disorienting: What is he supposed to make of these self-assured newcomers who are so certain of his obsolescence, his subjugation, his solitude? They seem happy to provide him with a salary, if he’s willing to give up the work that gave his life meaning. As his encounters more-and-more resemble interrogations and the futility of trying to escape the system set against him threatens to suffocate him, Warif escapes into the vivid colors of the city, looking deeper and deeper into the food, the people, the buildings, and the flowers, until what’s real blurs into fantasy.

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Mohamed Kheir is a novelist, poet, short story writer, journalist, and lyricist. His short story collections Remsh Al Ein (2016) and Afarit Al Radio (2011) both received The Sawiris Cultural Award, and Leil Khargi (2001) was awarded the Egyptian Ministry of Culture Award for poetry. Slipping (Eflat Al Asabea, Kotob Khan Publishing House, 2018; Two Lines Press, 2021) is his second novel and his first to be translated into English. He lives in Egypt.



Robin Moger is a translator of Arabic to English currently based in Barcelona. His translations of prose and poetry have appeared in Blackbox Manifold, The White Review, Tentacular, Asymptote, Words Without Borders, Seedings, The Johannesburg Review of Books, The Washington Square Review, and others. He has translated several novels and prose works into English including Iman Mersal's How To Mend (Kayfa ta), Nael Eltoukhy's The Women of Karantina (AUC Press), and Youssef Rakha's The Crocodiles (7 Stories Press).

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About two decades before the bridge had been decommissioned and dismantled. When they started building it again it had been like a video playing in reverse: tons and tons of broken up metalwork reassembled, steel ornaments reaffixed, even the great lamps once installed on the the bridge’s stone pillars had been dug up from where they lay in the dirt and rust, the rats and snakes, and mounted over the river as before, this time on a great semicircle that arced out from the Corniche where the neighbourhood Aboul Ela once stood, to rejoin it further down. The bridge could also open to let the river boats through, and when their sails were tall enough and there were people gathered on the walkways either side, it looked like giant shark fins moving through a crowd, though the cries that greeted them were of glee not terror, and musicians on either side of the breach would playa tune each time one went by. Sally was humming along, sitting on the edge of the bridge with her legs swinging in the air and her back resting against one of those resurrected antique lamp posts. It looked so much like her feet must be wetting themselves in that water, that he couldn’t resist leaning forward every now again, as though he needed to remind himself that it couldn’t be her setting the Nile’s tiny eddies spinning.

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