Sheikh

This book possesses an art-house sensibility. It does not provoke the reader with plot-driven questions like, “Good grief, why did that happen?” or “I wonder what happens next?” It demands patience of the reader; in return, it prompts one to reconsider the worldviews and religious perspectives of others, as well as to better understand one's own inner world.

The novel skillfully weaves together three timelines that initially appear entirely unrelated, converging only toward the end. The work opens with a scene on a train: the protagonist, Shumeysat, living in Germany, is attempting to write a novel about Sheikh Sanan but finds herself lacking the necessary motivation. Shumeysat also has a childhood friend (and adolescent crush) named Sanan, who is ethnically Armenian. In this very scene, just as Shumeysat is struggling with her writing, Sanan appears and sits beside her. This encounter triggers Shumeysat’s memories of her childhood, her experiences with Sanan, and the events that befell her mother, sister, and brother—and thus, she writes the novel.

The narrative thus advances along three parallel tracks: the present day, chronicling the events between Shumeysat and Sanan in Germany; Shumeysat’s childhood in the 1990s; and the novel Shumeysat is writing, The Story of Sheikh Sanan.

In my view, this novel encapsulates the very process of a writer crafting a novel, including the tense psychological phases inherent in that journey. The core issue is neither the Armenian-Muslim romance nor the dramatization of Shumeysat’s childhood suffering. While having her character write a novel about Sheikh Sanan, Sahila Yaya seems apprehensive that the reader might dislike the novel-within-a-novel; she presents her author-protagonist as unsuccessful—her books returned, unsold, and unread. However, we see what a true writer Shumeysat is through her outlook on life, her courageous dissection of societal dogmas, and the way she is profoundly transformed by the process, as if personally living the ancient Eastern legend of “Sheikh Sanan” while writing it. In doing so, I believe the author masterfully illuminates the contemporary problem of the “successful” versus the “unsuccessful” writer.

The book’s most appealing quality was its readiness to explore various ideas at every turn. I particularly admired the author's courageous and brilliant insights on broad, difficult subjects such as the Creator, religion, morality, and gender relations. The finest aspect was how these ideas were organically resolved within the narrative, rather than being tossed out as bitter, didactic pronouncements.

I am hesitant to discuss the ending, but I wish to note a personal interpretation while avoiding spoilers as much as possible. Although the author does not explicitly state it, it struck me that the Armenian Sanan’s appearance on the train and his subsequent relationship with Shumeysat were not coincidental. On the contrary, these events seemed to be fabrications of Shumeysat’s own imagination, designed to help her understand Sheikh Sanan more accurately and create a more complete character. The fact that the “Sanan” figures from both novels “exit” the narrative simultaneously strongly hints at this. You will understand my meaning when you read the novel. I would be interested to know the opinions of other readers on this.

The book’s design and print quality are beyond reproach: excellent. Typos are almost nonexistent.

...however, nestled among these finer qualities are elements that are tedious and bewildering. For instance, while the book is impeccably proofread, the line editing is notably weak. The sentences remain unpolished, as if they have received no final 'caress' or 'careful attention'. In places, the narration is so stark and dry that one forgets they are reading literary fiction. The novel is cluttered with sentences that made me ask, “So what?”—lines such as, “Shumeysat put cream on her face,” “Shumeysat put on the new gloves she had bought,” “...she wanted to straighten her hair, but changed her mind,” or “...she took five kinds of grooming products from her expensive leather bag and lined them up.” In my opinion, these could be excised without any significant loss to the narrative.

Furthermore, the dialogue is unsatisfying. It often feels as if the characters themselves are not speaking; rather, the author is speaking through them, merely distributing her own words and thoughts among the cast. Additionally, the detail of Sheikh Sanan growing to a ripe old age while his disciples remain perpetually young was a point that I failed to grasp.

In any case, Sahila Yaya’s novel Sheikh is not what one would call exceptionally fluid or a page-turner. It is, however, a successful work in terms of the ideas it debates, the subjects it tackles, and the way it resolves complex concepts within the narrative.