The Eleven, Ahmed El-Karmalawy, Diwan Publishing House, Cairo, 2024, pp.340
The novel reimagines the biblical story of Dinah, daughter of Jacob, through a layered structure that shifts between past and present, myth and metanarrative.
At its core, The Eleven unfolds across two timelines.
One follows a modern playwright attempting to adapt the story of Dinah into a stage production. His process—creative, chaotic, and ethically fraught—acts as a frame for deeper questions about representation, plagiarism, and the responsibility of retelling inherited stories.
The other strand traces the journey of Dinah’s eleven brothers in 17th century BCE Canaan as they grapple with their guilt, fraternal loyalties, and the violent mission to reclaim their sister and restore their family’s honor.
El-Karmalawy’s reworking of Genesis 34 refuses to accept the traditional black-and-white moral framework of the original text. Instead, he recasts the biblical figures as psychologically complex, humanizing even those historically cast as villains. The brothers—especially those who plotted against Joseph—are rendered not as stock characters but as conflicted men shaped by trauma and patriarchy.
As El-Karmalawy has remarked: “The black-and-white biblical story always provoked me. I wanted to dig deeper and understand the evil brother’s side of the story. These are the same brothers who tried to rid themselves of their brother before; they share the same complex relationship with their father Jacob.” By probing this emotional terrain, the novel offers a counter-narrative to conventional readings, reshaping the notions of shame, justice, and redemption.
One of the most striking aspects of the novel is its formal experimentation. El-Karmalawy blends prose with theatrical techniques—dialogue, staging, and performance—creating a hybrid form reflecting the protagonist’s struggle to turn ancient material into modern art. The line between the theatre and the real world is intentionally blurred.
The novel opens with the line, “He places the mask of naivety on his face and settles for a smile,” setting the tone for a story steeped in masks, roles, and performance—both literal and emotional. This performativity runs throughout the novel, raising questions about authenticity, identity, and the fictions we perform in everyday life.
El-Karmalawy’s prose is lyrical and evocative, laced with mystical undertones and a deep sensitivity to language and symbolism. His writing often echoes the cadence of Alf Layla wa-Layla, fusing classical resonance with contemporary introspection. While the novel’s experimental structure and thematic density may be demanding for some readers, it is this very complexity that rewards deeper engagement.
Critic Mansoura Ezzedine noted, “The novel interweaves the genres of theatre and fiction with great audacity... It is a ‘biblical story’ in every sense, yet the author skillfully presents a counter-narrative that challenges traditional interpretations.” Indeed, The Eleven is less a historical re-creation than a meditation on how stories endure, transform, and acquire new meanings across time.
What ultimately emerges is a novel not just about Dinah or her brothers but about storytelling itself—about who gets to tell the story, how it is shaped, and what it reveals about both its subjects and its tellers.
El-Karmalawy invites readers to reconsider inherited truths and recognize that the past is never static—it is continuously reimagined by those who dare to interrogate it.
For readers drawn to richly layered fiction and narratives that bridge the sacred and the secular, the mystical and the modern, The Eleven is a gratifying and thought-provoking work.
It offers a re-reading of a well-known biblical episode and a reflection on the act of re-reading itself—on the power of fiction to challenge, illuminate, and ultimately transform.
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