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Quote by Rabih Alameddine

“I want a God that makes me twirl.' I jumped off the couch. I untucked and unbuttoned my shirt so it would flow like a robe. 'Like this. I can do this for God.' I held my hands out. I twirled and twirled and twirled. 'Look,' I said. 'Look.”

Quote by Rabih Alameddine

Work

The Hakawati

This novel is a captivating blend of oral tradition and historical narrative, weaving together tales from the region's past with the personal stories of its characters. more

Author

Rabih Alameddine
Rabih Alameddine

Rabih Alameddine is a Lebanese-American writer known for his poetic prose and exploration of Arab-American identity, LGBTQ+ themes, and Middle Eastern culture. Born in Beirut in 1959, he moved to the United States in 1990. His notable works include The Angel of History, An Unnecessary Woman, The Hakawati, and Koolaids. Alameddine's writing, characterized by lyrical language and innovative narrative techniques, has been nominated for numerous literary awards, making him one of the most significant contemporary Arab-American authors. more

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“Something weird moved through me, a feeling of familiarity, and as I stood in front of my locker, I found myself thinking of the one bright thing in a past full of shadows and darkness. I thought about the boy who made my chest hurt, the one who’d promised forever. It had been four years since I’d seen him or even heard him speak. Four years of trying to erase everything that had to do with that portion of my childhood, but I remembered him. I wondered about him. How could I not? I always would. He had been the sole reason I survived the house we’d grown up in.”

“He'd unbuttoned his shirt so the night breeze would soothe him; his body always ran too hot. The blood. Too hot. The large, gold crucifix on his neck, dangling to his thick chest hairs, caught there, and winked in the candlelight. His childhood prayers. For food. Warmth. His beloved mother. That the cruelty of his father. Stop. No more. Beatings. He never. Stopped. Beating her. Mama. [...] Pompeii remembered - like tuning into a clear TV channel - his mother's gentle face. Her fingertips on his boy's face, calming him to sleep. The sound of his father's drunken entrance, when she would hold her breath, stop stroking his boy face.”