Exploring perceptions of home, belonging and faith
Nuruddin Farah’s story of a Norwegian family of Somali origin morally complex
TREVOR CORKUM Frequently tipped for the Nobel Prize in Literature, Nuruddin Farah has an enviable literary reputation. Farah’s many awards include the prestigious Neustadt International Prize. With North of
Dawn, his latest novel, he explores the complex terrain of a Norwegian family of Somali origin struggling with the gradual radicalization of their beloved son, Dhaqaneh.
Mugdi and Gacalo are a retired couple who have lived for decades in Oslo. Throughout a distinguished diplomatic career, Mugdi has represented Norway at home and abroad. Their hope for a peaceful retirement is shattered when Dhaqaneh leaves the country to fight for a jihadist group in Africa. Eventually, he is killed.
In the devastating aftermath, Mugdi and Gacalo agree to support his Somali widow, Waliya, and her two children as they travel to Norway as asylum seekers. Mugdi is immediately suspicious of Waliya’s intentions, while Gacalo is willing to give her the benefit of the doubt as an honour to her dead son. Readers follow Waliya, her ambitious son Naciim, and shy daughter Saafi as they chart their new lives in Europe. While Naciim and Saafi thrive — learning English, finding part-time jobs, making Norwegian friends — Waliya surrounds herself with members of a radical Oslo mosque. After a number of disturbing incidents, Mugdi and Gacalo must decide whether to cut their ties with Waliya — breaking a promise to their son — and if so, at what cost.
Farah’s fierce intelligence and deep compassion result in a morally complex, deeply affecting novel. With care and dexterity, he explores the challenges, obstacles, and joys of several members the Norwegian Somali community. By shifting points of view between several of the main characters — most notably Mugdi and Naciim — he offers contrasting perspectives on questions of home, belonging, and faith. Naciim in particular, with his cultural duty to his dead father, and burgeoning desire for freedom, is a layered and sympathetic character. Through his eyes we witness the fury of his mother, the hypocrisy of the local jihadists, and his persistent questioning of his new-found freedoms — and their limits.
Farah goes a little too easy on Norwegian society. There are few instances in the book of overt racism, for example. Instead, in Farah’s vision, Norwegians are unerringly tolerant and exceedingly helpful to newcomers, despite the rise in xenophobia across the country in recent years.
While Farah hints at the larger populist forces at work in Europe and elsewhere — the Norwegian terrorist Anders Behring Breivik is mentioned at length — there’s no sense that Naciim or Saafi feel particularly threatened or experience direct hostility in their day-to-day lives.
Nevertheless, North of Dawn is a fine introduction to Farah’s work, and an important exploration of the devastating impacts of religious radicalization. Trevor Corkum’s novel The Electric Boy is forthcoming with Doubleday Canada.