An early copy of this was sent to the library I work at and ended up in a “free to a good home” pile. To my good home it went. Haha. But in all seriousness, I am grateful, because I don’t think I would ever have seen or heard of it otherwise.
In Ghost Season, according to the Goodreads blurb: “A mysterious burnt corpse appears one morning in Saraaya, a remote border town between northern and southern Sudan. For five strangers on an NGO compound, the discovery foreshadows trouble to come. South Sudanese translator William connects the corpse to the sudden disappearance of cook Layla, a northern nomad with whom he’s fallen in love. Meanwhile, Sudanese American filmmaker Dena struggles to connect to her unfamiliar homeland, and white midwestern aid worker Alex finds his plans thwarted by a changing climate and looming civil war. Dancing between the adults is Mustafa, a clever, endearing twelve-year-old, whose schemes to rise out of poverty set off cataclysmic events on the compound. Amid the paradoxes of identity, art, humanitarian aid, and a territory riven by conflict, William, Layla, Dena, Alex, and Mustafa must forge bonds stronger than blood or identity. Weaving a sweeping history of the breakup of Sudan into the lives of these captivating characters, Fatin Abbas explores the porous and perilous nature of borders—whether they be national, ethnic, or religious—and the profound consequences for those who cross them.”
This was really interesting to pick up after reading River Spirit a few months ago, as a sort of continuation of Sudan’s story, the progression of it as a country/countries from the very end of the 19th century to its more recent past, in the late 20th century. The setting, the border between North and South Sudan, and more specifically an NGO complex located there, allows Abbas to bring together this diverse cast of characters in ways that they’d never be able to overlap under other circumstances. This variety of perspectives on the ways that expanding boundaries (going new places and meeting new people) can provide new opportunities and broadening ideas of what is possible, is a fantastic thematic message, particularly against the backdrop of devastating conflict based on insular/exclusive views. It was compelling, to watch the ways each of our characters provided that opportunity for growth for each other, and experienced it themselves, in turn.
Sort of along those lines, this look at the complications of traditions and landscape and language through the lens of mapmaking (when seasons cause the rivers to dry or move, when multiple groups – nomads, settlements/farms, authorities, religious sects, and more – squabble over boundaries, when locations have names in more than one language, when wars/climate/lifestyles cause impermanence to villages/markets) was unique and fascinating. It was the perfect vehicle with which to demonstrate the challenges and distinctiveness of the region, both for native peoples and outsiders. Abbas used it as a literary and educational tool in a way that was a completely new perspective for me, and spellbinding as such.
There was just enough of a plot to keep things moving, narratively. It was real and I was invested. And yet, it was simple enough that the characters themselves, their relationships and experiences and change, were allowed to hold down center stage. The plot never distracted me from the focus that was their development, but, as I said, it was very much enough to keep me turning pages. Abbas did a wonderful job with the setting as well. This area of Sudan, its people and traditions and contradictions and difficulties, really came to life through her words. And even against the reality of the terror that civil war and regional conflict bring, there are still moments of love and connection and joy that highlight the way regular life continues even under the most dire and horrifying of circumstances. It really felt authentic and well-rounded in its representation of real daily life.
The only thing I was not totally sold on was the way the burnt corpse from the beginning, mentioned in the blurb, was incorporated. It feels, to me, that the description makes it a much larger part of the plot than it actually was. Even as Abbas references it throughout the novel, as a symbolic “start” to the story and a sort of “mental” connection amongst the characters, it never really blended with the rest of the narrative for me. It did allow for another stylistic choice of literarily bookending the story with dead bodies, which was heartbreaking and impactful. But I’m not sure it was necessary? It was fine, just not my favorite aspect/motif, out of everything else Abbas managed in these pages.
There’s a small quote from the end of the Goodreads blurb that I want to revisit here: “…Abbas explores the porous and perilous nature of borders—whether they be national, ethnic, or religious—and the profound consequences for those who cross them.” That really sums up, for me, the heart of this book. It really did that. The finale brings those consequences with a heartbreaking finality that was tragic as all hell, but perfect in the way it delivers its message with no softening of the blow. The way Abbas builds up the reader with joy and celebration and hope, and then with no warning and no holding back, reminds them that the specter and chance of violence can never be forgotten/left behind, and the unnecessary-ness and senselessness of it all, is tragedy in its purest (worst) form. But even then, she demonstrates that spirit and hope and still live on, quietly, under the weight of that tragedy. It’s *almost* too much to sit with all at one time. Just, fantastic writing.
Just One More Pa(i)ge 