A Novel on Aristotelian Islam

During the early days of the Islamic caliphate, around the 8th and 9th centuries, the Arab Muslim world was at the peak of civilization. These are the days when Europe was still in its dark ages, brought about by the fall of Rome and the collapse of Byzantium. The library of Alexandria had been in decline for a long time. Abbasid Caliph al-Ma’mun took the House of Wisdom, founded by his predecessor as a repository, and turned it into a major research library where they translated the ancient works of Aristotle and Plato and where they held the knowledge of the ages. Al-Ma’mun was a follower of the Mutazilite philosophy of rationalist (as opposed to mystical, which is Sufi or fundamentalist which is represented by Salafi) Islam, taken from extensive study of Aristotle in that great library in Baghdad. It was the Mu’tazila which made the Islamic Golden Age work — it was confident and purposeful and tolerant. But, as those with power are wont to do, al-Ma’mun became oppressive and, in order to silence Ahmad ibn Hanbal whose literalist, simplistic, fundamentalist, populist teachings on Islam he found distasteful, he unleashed what is called the Islamic Inquisition — or the Mihnah. Of course, as violence and oppression tend to, this only empowered the ideology of ibn Hanbal and created a martyr. Hanbal is, of course, the founder of the Hanbali school of jurisprudence, out of which has come the Wahhabi sect and the Salafi philosophy — both of which are the source of ISIS and Al Qaida.

Over the centuries, the Mu’tazila lost touch with the common people while the Hanbali school grew. Resentment built; frustration at inequality, military setbacks (to the Mongols), everyday failures were interpreted as disfavor by God towards a caliphate that lost its divine ordination. The sacking of the House of Wisdom is seen by many as the final nail in the coffin of the Golden Age, and Islam since then has entered its own dark ages, which it is still in.

The Mu’tazila is now seen as a cult, a little bit like Mormonism to Christians for example, and no good modern Muslim will admit to being an adherent.

The Mu’tazila is the point of departure for my novel, “Lords of Misrule,” set in the libraries of Timbuktu. Timbuktu reached its peak in the early 1300s, about 50 years after the sacking of the House of Wisdom. I imagine (though I don’t have definitive proof) that many of the books that escaped the Mongols’ wrath ended up in the Timbuktu libraries (along with many of the teachers and philosophers, or the next generation). Timbuktu ended up with a library of more than 500,000 books, most of which are untranslated (a lot of them are written in Bambara using middle Arabic script. Painstaking to translate though I think AI could probably do it quickly these days). They are sitting in Bamako today, since Timbuktu is again besieged by jihadis. My novel is about the radicalization of a young Tuareg boy, due to life circumstances, and his deradicalization in the libraries of Timbuktu — especially through contact with the al-Mughni, the definitive work of of Mutazilite philosophy written by Abd al-Jabbar in Basra in the early-to-mid 1000s (it was a 20 part commentary, of which only 12 have been found — in Yemen). I don’t mention the Mu’tazila in the novel, those who hear the thoughts of Aliuf, the protagonist, will know where his ideas are coming from. Mine is an uncommon novel, about an uncommon period and uncommon ideas that made a people great, before they fell away. It’s available in Spanish, English and French — for those interested.

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Fantasy Castle

This one is entirely from my imagination. I’ve been fascinated with castles for my lifetime. I would own one, and become lost there in its legends and histories, if I could. https://www.artpal.com/joeldhirst?i=319328-50

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A Novel from the African Camps

Africa captivates and captures you, but not in the way you would think. Not glistening Zanzibar beaches, storied safaris or British lodges — those exist, for sure, the same way Vale and Aspen also exist. Places people only know of as in legends about the other half. Africa is the most brutal of continents. And life choices the most limited. Violence and disease.

I spent ten years in Africa, fighting the mayhem. Distributing food. Working on peace processes. Building schools and government offices. Managing camps, trying to get them closed down, trying to help people move on. Camps are as much mental as they are physical, safe places like ghettoes that are really perilous. The camps are expanding, and as AID dries up they are becoming more barren, more bedraggled, darker and more sinister than they were even before. At least in times past, people like me could bear witness to the suffering. And write about it.

In my Africa novel, “I, Charles, From the Camps,” that is what I do. Set in Uganda under the shadow of the Lords Resistance Army, it is the story of a rebel leader and how he came to choose that wicked path — and why you might have made the same choice as well. Pick up a copy, read, and share. Let my life in the camps mean something for those people who are still trapped there.

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Girl Reading Book in a Field of Sunflowers

I think she is probably happy, content and at peace with herself. What do you think?

https://www.artpal.com/joeldhirst/?i=319328-49

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A Simple Tale of Soviet Armenia

I think this my favorite of my novels. It is not the most elaborate, that would go to “The Unraveling.” Nor is it the best researched, that would go to “Lords of Misrule.” But my novel about Armenia, called “An Excess of Nationalism” (the title comes as a foreshadowing from the end of the novel), is the one that I feel most strongly about. The story of an old writer from Yerevan, who wants to write his Armenia book before he dies — like Mandelstam or Grossman — and then he can be done. To leave his legacy, his lasting piece of the ancient story of that even more ancient land, so that everyone knows that he had been there, that his short time on the earth did not pass unperceived.

I think for me, living in Yerevan for three years, that was what stuck out the most. On the one hand, when everything around you is measured in centuries, when the intrados of the crudely cut chapels are black with the soot of a millennium of worship candles, all lit one by one carrying prayers up to God — well how do you feel like you are so special, so unique, so different, so arrogant in a place where the story is long and the unbroken chain of human endeavors stretches back, back, back into the mists of forgotten time? Yet, then again, it is a land where names like Komitas and Khachaturian and Saryan and Charents and — the greatest of all — Tumanyan, are still whispered in reverence. When even they, when they walked the earth, also looked back at ancient names like Mashtots in wonder. It gives balance to the grasping and the greed (which are the two sensations that I most associate with America in the 2020s, and which is stressful).

“An Excess of Nationalism” is sort of for me like “The Great Gatsby” I imagine was for Fitzgerald. Short and simple but full of himself and the way he felt about the world.

I hope the novel goes viral and sells a million copies, for a couple of reasons. Reason one is that Armenia deserves the attention, deserves to be known like I got to know her, and protected because it is a place that is vulnerable but full of infinite charm. And two, I’d like to write my second and third Armenia novels: one would go back, way back, an epic about knights and fair maidens and ravaging armies; and one would go into the future, maybe even a utopia (when all around people are only writing dystopias these days). Buy your copy now, and share it, and have others buy theirs. That is how change happens, through the written word. The Armenians know this.

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Joel D. Hirst: Select Poems and Short Stories

Back before the prose boom started, maybe with Dickens or Hugo, and which came of age perhaps during the Lost Generation, most famous writers were poets. Poe, Byron, Dickenson. Poetry is interesting. It can be grand, like Dante, in which case it is epic. It can be elaborate, like “The Raven” or “Ozymandias”, in which case it is beautiful. Or it can be lazy, like Neruda, who is wholly tiresome and tedious.

Yet all good writers need to have a book of poetry, like all painters have to have a sketchbook. This is mine. Now, I don’t love poetry. Though “If” by Rudyard Kipling has become the new anthem of my life, and its wisdom is only growing in me as I age. However poetry taught me to use language. How to convey meaning within the strictures of beats and rhythms and rhymes. It is like a mental workout, like a session at the gym after which you are tired but at the same time satisfied. Poetry makes us write better.

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Don Quixote

In Yerevan, Armenia, in an antique shop full of musty tomes and dusty artifacts I found an old Soviet Don Quixote iron statuette. The Soviets loved Quixote. His fight against the oligarchs; his utopian sense of the possible; his tireless struggle to fight the oppressors despite the overwhelming odds. They were very careful about what art they promoted (and allowed to be promoted). The iron statuette has CCCP stamped under the base, reminder of an old empire that has now passed away and the way that it wanted to see itself. They were very romantic, oddly enough. It wasn’t just the grinding machine technocratic communism of China that knows no humanity. It was full of dreamers, like Turgenev or Dostoyevsky — and whoever it was who first cast this statue. People are weird, humanity is weird, and surprise you in unexpected ways. Which is what wonder is about, I suppose. https://www.artpal.com/joeldhirst?i=319328-48

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“Adam and Eve” by the Afghanistan National Institute of Music

Five years ago I was involved in a pretty crazy adventure, lending a hand to a diverse group of people which included Juilliard Music School, the Estonian Intelligence Minister, the Portuguese Defense Minister, the Qatari Royal Family, and Yo Yo Ma as we sought to help get the Afghanistan National Institute of Music out of Kabul and the clutches of the Taliban (it was the largest evacuation of a music school in human history — you can read the whole story here).

And of course, Dr. Ahmad Sarmast, the music schools storied leader.

There is nothing that the Taliban is more afraid of than a young girl with a violin. Makes them tremble to the core. ANIM continues to play. They do concerts around Europe and North America. They write music. They recruit more students. And they have grown up. Five years later, a lot of the students are adults. They are looking at what to do with their lives. Many have not seen their parents or family members for five years.

I have a rising high-schooler myself; it’s a stressful enough time, I can’t imagine making the tremendous leaps of the teenage years in a foreign country, after having your own country fall to dictatorship, far away from the comforts you know and love and from family who you can only see through a screen. This is all testament to the courage and resilience of the Afghans and of Sarmast who holds them together with discipline and compassion.

Take a time to watch this new composition, “Adam and Eve,” and share it with your networks. Make it go viral. Make it flow like water over the Khyber Pass and shake Tora Bora with its resonance. It is music more than more violence that will bring the end of the Taliban’s wicked rule.

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Mi Épica Sobre La Venezuela Chavista

La revolución socialista sudamericana más significativa de nuestros tiempos, es contada desde varios puntos de vista, con humor e intimismo. El peligro de la utopía, cuando se apodera de los corazones y las mentes, termina por incendiarlo todo. Sus personajes nos llevan entre apagones, hambruna y violencia, por el camino del poder, la destrucción, la búsqueda de la libertad individual, y el absurdo de perderse en la ideología.

Compralo ahora:

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Mi novela sobre Malí, Tombuctú y los tuaregs

El jihadismo en África Occidental no es nuevo. Es un fenómeno que viene en oleadas, cada siglo o dos, desde el siglo XIV o incluso antes. Lo que antes era una conquista, ahora es una mezcla tóxica de rabia y pobreza con un islam revolucionario.

Pero ahora estamos viviendo otra de esas oleadas.

Yo viví en Malí de 2013 a 2015, trabajando en el proceso de paz —firmado en 2015— que volvió a quebrantarse, y el país está nuevamente en guerra. Mi salida estuvo marcada por el ataque al Radisson Blu, al lado de mi casa, donde murieron más de 20 personas.

Escribí esta novela sobre las razones por las que un joven tuareg pobre podría escoger el camino del terrorismo; sobre su radicalización y su posterior desradicalización entre las bibliotecas de Tombuctú.

Porque leer, conocer y entender siempre ayuda a combatir el extremismo.

Cómprala. Y léela. Es más relevante ahora que nunca.

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