LIFE IN MOTION
Rawi Hage’s new book Beirut Hellfire Society explores mourning, language and ritual,
Rawi Hage’s fourth novel, Beirut Hellfire Society, begins with the end of a life. Pavlov, the16-year-old son of a Lebanese undertaker, joins his father in the gruesome task of loading the decimated remains of a cadaver into their hearse. In 1970s civil war-torn Beirut, cleaning up the dead is a thankless but thriving business.
That visceral scene kicks off a body count that rivals Keanu Reeves’ legendary John Wick movie series as Pavlov is initiated into the secretive Hellfire Society, an altruistic sect that cremates the bodies of those who were abandoned by loved ones because of taboos such as homosexuality and atheism. Pavlov, who later inherits the undertaking job from his father, observes life and death as an outsider, aware he is viewed with superstition as a presence to be feared by both the city’s Muslim and Christian communities. His hearse, or “deathmobile,” is a beacon of impending tragedy that no one wants to be reminded of, especially during war.
Beirut Hellfire Society draws from Hage’s fascination with cultural and religious traditions, in particular funerals. At 54, he now has his own personal ritual for the burying of the dead: He dons his black suit for funerals, which he finds himself attending more frequently than when he was younger. “This whole idea of various rituals, and how people deal with death, just triggered something and I started writing about it,” Hage says. “I think I am at an age where I am experiencing loss of family members, friends, and it seems more present. When death becomes close to you, it takes on a different meaning.”
The Montreal-based author, who takes great pains to keep his “private life private,” still offers a glimpse into the things that shaped and now inspire him. He spent his early years surrounded by war, a subject he says he still obsesses over. In the acknowledgments for Beirut Hellfire Society, he writes, “This is a book of mourning for the many who witnessed senseless wars, and for those who perished in those wars.”
Hage was born in Beirut in 1964 to an Arabic-speaking Christian family who were exiled to Cyprus in the midst of the Lebanese civil war. At 18, he immigrated to New York, where he studied photography before moving to Montreal to attend Concordia University, supporting himself as a taxi driver. Hage first garnered attention as an exhibiting photographer, until his internationally acclaimed 2006 debut novel, De Niro’s Game — about two childhood friends who fantasize about leaving Beirut — won the prestigious Dublin IMPAC Literary Award, one of the richest prizes in the world with its purse of 100,000 euros.
Despite the trajectory of his cosmopolitan writing career, Hage never aban- doned his old taxi-driving friends. In fact, his last novel, Carnival, is narrated by a taxi driver working in an unnamed city with many resemblances to Montreal. “I still have that community, but I move between various communities now, too,” says Hage, who calls himself shy and is one of the rare writers these days without a social media presence. He often lectures and makes event appearances alongside his partner, another much-loved author, Madeleine Thien, who won the 2016 Giller prize for her last novel, Do Not Say We Have Nothing.
Hage initially considered setting this new novel in Sarajevo, another city that has seen more than its share of bloodshed, but he “didn’t know the terrain,” and so returned to a familiar place and traditions. “I realized that in death there are very specific cultural rituals that can be beautiful and can be ancient,” he says.
One vivid scene from Beirut Hellfire Society draws on a funeral procession Hage once witnessed in which the dead body of an unmarried virgin was dressed in white, while a band played and mourners danced around the coffin. “The idea is that they missed their wedding. That was very sad and moving, yet the music was upbeat,” he says.
Despite its preoccupation with death, Beirut Hellfire Society crackles with the kinetic energy of a dancer, thanks to the stories of the fellow misfits Pavlov encounters. In particular, Hage gives narrative space to El-Marquis, a hedonistic professor whose death wish is to be hung from the ceiling while his guests enjoy a grand party and engage in an orgy below.
The absurd volume of deaths is also tempered by Hage’s signature dark humour and stylistic playfulness, which he attributes to various linguistic influences. “People who don’t master the language try to change it,” he says. “I think it’s a result of many exposures, many lives. A challenge in migration is to adopt yourself to the language that is not your own, or to modify it so you can navigate through society so that you are comprehended. It’s not that I sit there and decide to experiment with form or language, it just evolves.”
Beirut Hellfire Society is also propelled by the motion of death, which Pavlov observes over and over again in all its gruesome and touching moments. “Death has a trajectory. It’s never immobile,” Hage says. “Whether people believe in the afterlife or not, it’s a transitory thing. The body decays. Death is the most natural cycle.”