Beyond Dominant and Dominating Narratives in The Writing on My Forehead by Nafisa Haji

Haji's work is a post 9-11 (September 11, 2001) novel, not only written after that date, but also incorporated as a life-changing moment within the novel’s narrative. This is the first time I consciously thought deeply about and was nudged to deeply ponder how what we now call 9-11 shaped a work of fiction (though works of fiction such as the television series Rescue Me and 24 are part of dominant discourse). Though fictional, the book brings to life with verisimilitude how both the before (the beforemath) and the aftermath of that event was experienced by one Muslim family in the United States, particularly within women’s varied experiences.
The story told within the novel crossed national boundaries into transnational spaces with lives that criss-cross in the U.S., Britain, Pakistan, and India. So September 11, 2001 also is experienced by the characters in a transnational space. The author provides background for the readers who may not be as aware of transnational lives. The author, Nafisa Haji, provides a timeline of India’s history, a personal biographical sketch, a musical play-list of what the author listened to as she wrote the book, and an excellent accompanying essay to explain influences on the text. The essay (with excerpts below) contains insights that make the readers take notice of what the author wants us to notice without being overly prescriptive and leaving a sense of thought-provoking wonder about the story and how family stories can tie into, be influenced by, and be analogous to national and transnational stories.
The theme of how many versions of stories centering on personal choices reverberate across the lives of family members and non-family members threads through this novel on the childhood and young adult experiences of the protagonist, Saira Qader. Speaking of stories, Haji ended her novel’s accompanying essay, “Storytelling: The Allure and the Danger” with these thoughts:
How does the individual quest to define oneself play out in the larger narrative of family history, social development, and political upheaval? What does the individual owe the group and at what cost should the debt be paid? These are universally human questions, played out again and again from one generation to another. In the end, heritage, duty, and the tension between family and individual all came into play when I began writing The Writing on My Forehead. (p. 7 in the P.S. section)
Not only is Author Haji concerned about these questions, but she concerned herself about the many versions of stories explaining and detailing past choices that get forwarded to new generations within families and in nations and in transnational spaces. Stories and storytelling provide a continuous thematic strand through the novel. Saira’s mother used stories to keep her daughters grounded and to help guide their lives; different versions of family stories that Saira uncovered both separate and unify family members over the course of the book; and Saira became a kind of storyteller in her adult life working world-wide as a journalist for underprivileged populations and their stories. Versions of national stories have particular consequences, as well and the book discretely emphasizes this. Emphasized not only in the above quote, but also earlier in the accompanying essay, Haji wrote the following words about the portions of stories that get lost during their telling (such as U.S. Muslim’s experiences in the aftermath of 9/11/2001), and that ultimately become a shaping influence of what a nation (or a family or an individual) becomes.
That is the allure and the danger of storytelling—the solidification of memories, the construction of the truths that we agree, together, to believe in. I always wondered about the role of interruptions—and about other details that might have gotten left out of the shared process of remembering. I came to believe that who we are—as individuals, as family members, as parts of our communities, and citizens of our nation and the world—is not only a result of the stories we tell, but also the stories and the parts of stories that we don’t recall.
In the aftermath of 9/11, I saw the same process play out on a national scale—some stories told over and over again so that they became a permanent part of the record of our collective memory, while others were laid aside, forgotten in the shadow of the mass incomprehensible tragedy unfolding before us. Certain questions, too, were asked over and over again—why? why?—and the answers that eventually emerged as dominant would determine who we became as a nation, but not more so than those other answers, the ones that were submerged and silenced. (pp. 4-5 in the P.S. section)
We all have examples of this, maybe in our families’ stories, maybe in powerful dominant narratives that we analyze and deconstruct with academic tools, maybe in how dominant narratives attempt to overcome non-dominant narratives by drowning them out, or maybe even (less discussed) in how differing non-dominant narratives may compete with each other. One thing that Nafisa Haji asks us to think about is how narratives about choices made in the past and present and the future, link together on many social levels (personal, family, and larger social groupings) as well as the possibility that some versions contain gaps that other less well known versions expand upon, resist, contradict, and recompose. If you want to think more about this, this novel is a good place to begin. Optimistically, Haji asserts that the less well known/publicized stories matter to national identity and for national significance (and transnational identities and significance) just as much as the loud, blaring dominant narratives. This is a novel recording experiences about 9-11 beyond the dominant narratives portrayed in Rescue Me and 24. Soon, I will discuss Immigration Stories from the Arizona-Mexico Borderlands and my thoughts on the Tucson Book Festival panel that included this book. More stories to come…..
References
Haji, N. (2009). The writing on my forehead. NY: HarperCollins Publisher.