Outside bazaars that line dusty
streets, brimming with spice mounds and dried fruits; dark skinned dancers
adorned in vibrantly coloured fabrics and jewelry; all the romantics and beauty
of Casablanca. This, however, is not
the Morocco that the characters of Hope
& Other Dangerous Pursuits see. They see a country that is corrupt,
unjust and dangerous to their well-being. For these reasons, Faten, Aziz, Murad
and Halima set personal courses for Spain and – hopefully – freedom.
Based on an incident in the Straits
of Gibraltar in 2001 where 59 prospective-immigrants drowned in crossing, Hope & Other Dangerous Pursuits
delves into the lives of the four passengers. Faten has been forced to leave
Morocco because her religious convictions have stripped her of opportunities
there. Halima is set on escaping her abusive husband with their three children
in tow. Murad leaves in the hopes of finding consistent work that agrees with
his education. Aziz makes the journey in order to make a wage capable of
supporting him and his wife. But, like the journey of the 59, their crossing
comes to an abrupt end when the boat flips and leaves their lives in the hands
of the Spanish Coast Guard and the tide.
Initially, Lalami’s debut novel
seems too simple a plot – the quintessential immigration story. What one comes
to realize, however, is that Lalami uses the basic arc as a way to delve into
more complex debates that surround the tangled briar-patch that is the
international immigration debate. What do we forget about the people that make
the journey? What is the dream and does the endgame match it? What is gained
or lost by the decision to leave? How does a person reach such drastic ends?
Are the promises from other lands real? Such questions speak to the level of
intelligence hidden in the deceptively easy text, as well as to the relevance
of the book.
Using Spain and Morocco as
backdrops, the author illustrates that success depends on multiple variables
and the grass cannot always be greener on the other side of the Straits. She
spends careful time fleshing out her characters so the reader understands the
origination of motivation, the significance of the boat trip, and the aftermath
for each. Some make it to Spain, but others are sent back to Morocco. Lalami
juxtaposes the myriad of emotions that come with completing the crossing
(triumph, gratitude, but also a “now what?”) to those of failing (sadness,
disappointment, and anger). The parallel suggests that Spain means starting
over while Morocco means restarting. Spain, still laden with its tantalizing
opportunity, is at once reduced to meretricious. For this reviewer, the idea
that starting over and restarting could come to engender disparate definitions
was startling as well as thought inducing.
Hope
& Other Dangerous Pursuits is not a novel for everyone, but it is worth
a look. Even if it does not turn out to be the best book in the library, one
has to appreciate the perspective it gives on a topic still so relative in
2013. Regretfully, the journey Faten, Murad, Aziz and Halima take is no less in
danger or occurrence than it may have once been. What broadcasters, writers,
reporters and editors seem to forget is the amount of courage and drive that
would compel a person to step into the boat. We neglect to remind ourselves
that immigrants are not merely those who enter our countries and may not come
for work. Laila Lalami achieves something great in her novel: the restoration
of humanity and respect to immigrants. Hope
& Other Dangerous Pursuits asks million-dollar-questions in the guise
of ten-cent syntax. I recommend it whole-heartedly as an idealist and someone
who would like to see Lalami’s questions asked to a receptive, global forum.
