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First, I lived in the Middle East and witnessed various cultural mores dictating the interactions of men and women. Many Westerners know that Middle Eastern women cover their heads and that some also veil their faces. It’s true that Islam expects women to observe the act of obedience by covering their heads as the Prophet suggested. Some Muslim women, however, differ in their interpretation of this, and not all Muslim women choose to cover their heads. Likewise, some women cover their entire bodies, including their hands. What the Western reader should understand is that specific cultures in the Middle East control these practices initially influenced by Islam.
Second, and very importantly, citizens of both worlds—Western and Arab—can share guilt for pointing fingers at the Other. Westerners view the Arab with suspicion. Western readers of Mahfouz’s novels may misinterpret cultural ideas by ascribing them to Islamic fundamentalism. By the same token, many Middle Easterners view the West as immoral and imperialistic. Naturally, because of familiarity Egyptians and other Arabs read Mahfouz’s novels with a fuller appreciation of his genius, doubtless because they read his work in the original Arabic. Translation from Arabic to English creates some disparity in the author’s intent. Also, many Arabs know Mahfouz because his novels enjoyed relative success as movies.
Because I could identify with the settings, the language, and some of the situations, I had an advantage when reading Mahfouz’s novels. Having traveled to Cairo several times, I had traversed Mahfouz’s alleys; I could see the people he described in photographs I had taken. Two characters stand out vividly in my imagination. As I embarked on the unknown down a very narrow alley darkened by tall buildings on each side, I could see many residents sitting just inside their opened doors. One lady sat on an old chair, its paint chipped away by time. Her massive body covered the entire chair. Wearing a print cotton dress mostly hidden by a full-length apron, she reminded me of my Polish grandmother. This woman gave me a toothless smile when I gestured to ask permission to photograph her. She had a pan sitting at her swollen feet as she shucked pea pods; her weight prevented her from noticing that the pods she threw away missed the pan. This photo came to mind especially while I read Midaq Alley. Another lady was much older and less colorful. I found her in the same alley dressed all in black. She was standing, hunched over a cane, just outside her residence.