Palestinian-American Author Hala Alyan on Connecting With Home Through Storytelling

Elena Mudd

Throughout April, we're honoring the ancient Arab tradition of hakawatis, or storytellers, highlighting the writers, performers, and poets who are driving the conversation around what it means to be Arab American today—and celebrating the rich culture and histories of the diaspora.

In her latest collection of poetry, The Moon that Turns You Back, the acclaimed Palestinian-American author Hala Alyan probes the forces that violently separate people from place. She explores the quest for stillness amid perpetual instability, while highlighting the complexities of Palestinian and Arab identity. It’s impossible not to think of the Gaza war while reading Alyan's work. During her book launch at the Brooklyn Public Library in March, the writer gently cried while reciting a poem that conjured her late grandmother, citing the death toll in the besieged strip of land. She was dressed in a robe decorated in tatreez (Palestinian embroidery), her strength of presence a reminder of her years-long commitment to Palestinian storytelling.

Alyan is also the author of two novels: Salt Houses, which tells the story of a displaced Palestinian family as they move through cities like Beirut, Paris, and Boston, and The Arsonists’ City, which follows the Nasr family as they scatter across Beirut, Brooklyn, Austin, and the California desert. Both deal with the question of homes and how we build and rebuild them. Alyan has worked to establish her own by creating a safe space for the local Brooklyn community, especially those of Arab and other minority backgrounds; she periodically holds open-mic poetry readings titled Kan Yama Kan (Once Upon a Time), welcoming budding and experienced writers to her backyard to share their latest works.

Below, the writer discusses the intersection of the personal and political in her work, finding home through community, and the role of art in times of war.

How has this current moment impacted your approach to storytelling, especially as you’ve been writing more nonfiction?

Once I started writing, I felt like I couldn't stop. There was just so much more to say, which does beg the question of what I've been holding back on in my work in other genres [poetry and fiction]. I've been writing with more clarity and sharpness. This moment has called for clarity from a lot of storytellers, artists, and writers. I can see something shift in the way people are communicating. Most of my creative practice has gone into what I’ve felt called to do right now, which is to try to show up with whatever tools I have for this moment. I just know that I've never felt more driven to work in a certain way. It’s a different form of storytelling. It's a much more incisive, unflinching way to tell a story.

Why do you think there’s a sense of urgency when it comes to telling Arab-American stories and what shifts would you like to see in the narrative?

Because we keep having our stories told in other tongues and in other mouths. People keep telling our stories for us, and they frankly keep getting it wrong. The cost of that isn't just a matter of semantics or ego. The cost of it is that you end up having entire swaths of people being dehumanized. The shifts that I'd like to see are around people interrogating what language they use when they describe certain communities.

I've been reading your work for years now, and I felt like The Moon that Turns You Back was grittier than your other collections. Would you agree?

Definitely. It’s probably something to do with getting older. The writing becomes more honest. With the first couple of poetry books, I was being inventive with language and finding coy ways to say a thing without really saying the thing. Now I'm less scared of just saying the thing. It’s also stylistically more experimental. I'm not someone that usually thinks about form. This is the first collection where I thought, I'm going to just play. It felt more inventive.

The subject of home is so present in your writing. What represents home for you today?

My daughter, honestly. There's a home that you build in the bond between a caregiver or parent and a child. That is a place where you start thinking of [home] bi-directionally. I'm building a home in that way, but also, she's building a home. She's getting a home built through me and in me.

Are there people or places that you find community in?

So much of the community building I've been part of has been in people's living rooms. It’s also been in spaces of poetry. Places of gathering, places of protest, places of teach-ins, and places of education have felt communal and heart-lifting. This moment is really calling upon people to show up in different ways. For specific restaurant spots, there’s Ayat, Al Badawi, and Balady in New York City. In regard to storytellers, Cherien Dabis, Rama Duwaji, Zeina Hashem Beck, Sarah Aziza, and Darine Hotait.

How do you find joy during these challenging times?

So much of my joy these days has come from mothering. It also comes from community. The [book launch] reading was an example of that, or whenever there have been gatherings. It’s come in thinking about ways to show up and surround myself with people who genuinely care about liberatory practices. I have gotten a lot of joy (and guilt) in nesting activities and enveloping myself in my home and my space. I'm sure that's connected with the fact that I'm watching so many people be dispossessed from their land and from their houses. It’s made me so aware of the things that I have.

How will you be in channeling that energy in the coming months?

I'm working on a memoir about the months leading up to my daughter's birth. It's going to be a look at fertility, motherhood, and lineage; what we pass on and what we inherit.

We're also going to Dublin. I’ve always wanted to go. I'm just fascinated with the culture. There’s so much beautiful art and writing that’s come out of Ireland. Also, there's a lot of solidarity between the Irish and Palestinian people. I'm excited to visit a place that’s been so unwavering in its support for Palestinian freedom and life.

The Moon That Turns You Back: Poems by Hala Alyan

$14.00, Amazon

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