Essays and Features

 

Fascination with the Titanic has grasped the public for well over a century. Its name easily brings to mind several artistic and literary works — the 1997 film by James Cameron, the 1995 nonfiction book by American historian Walter Lord, “A Night to Remember,” and numerous sources like Encyclopedia Titanica dedicated to recording as many details as possible about the ship and its downfall. Syrian-American writer Leila Salloum Elias’ 2010 book “The Dream and then the Nightmare: Syrians Who Boarded the Titanic” broached the often overlooked Syrian and Lebanese victims of the sinking. The losses of the maritime tragedy — arguably among the most famous and deadly in history — were felt and mourned across the ocean, in Lebanese villages, where names of loved ones were lost, mis-reported, or remain unknown.

 

Renowned Lebanese writer Emily Nasrallah’s legacy continues to broaden the understanding of emigration and exile, celebrated seven years after her death and living on through a foundation established in her honor, the Beit Touyour Ayloul Foundation, named after her first novel, “Birds of September.” On July 7, 2025, the Oriental Library of the Saint Joseph University of Beirut became the new home to a part of Nasrallah’s archive. A decade ago, Nasrallah had also donated 17 documents of her literary works to the same library.

 

The 10th of September every year marks World Suicide Prevention Day. The International Association for Suicide Prevention (IASP) and World Health Organization (WHO) estimate more than 720,000 suicides occur each year worldwide. Large-scale studies conducted on a global level find that the rates of suicidality (encompassing suicidal ideation, plans, attempts, and death by suicide) are low in the Arab world compared to other countries. 2019 statistics from the World Health Organization reported that countries within the Arab world held figures between 2.0 to 4.8 suicides per 100k (with Syria reporting 2.0 and Iraq 3.6 per 100k).

 

Literary prizes have long held the rapt attention of critics, intellectuals, and readers in the Arab world, as evidenced by the dozens of prizes awarded each year for novels, short story collections, and poetry anthologies. Occasionally, Arab writers have been awarded the International Booker Prize or the Prix Goncourt for translated editions of their works. Yet the Nobel Prize, whose last Arab winner was Naguib Mahfouz in 1988, has eluded them for nearly 40 years. Amir Taj al-Sir writes in “The Annual Nobel Fever,” published in Al-Quds Al-Arabi, that Arab readers and intellectuals follow developments surrounding the Nobel Prize “as if stricken with fever — even though it is not an Arab prize, and it is doubtful that it will ever again be awarded to an Arab after Naguib Mahfouz, given the humiliation and marginalization that Arabs and their ancient civilization face across the world.”* Year after year, anticipation over the year’s winner leaves many in the Arab world asking questions similar to those of Brewin Habib in Al-Quds Al-Arabi: “Will the Nobel remember us after 37 years of absence? And will the eternal nominee, Adonis, finally receive it?”

 

As a Lebanese and as many others who grew up not far from Beirut and the Raouché district — also known as Pigeons’ Rock — I was captivated by its grandeur. Two massive limestone outcrops rise from the Mediterranean along Beirut’s western coast, separated from the mainland by an ancient earthquake. This natural landmark is not only a symbol of beauty but also a silent witness to Lebanon’s triumphs and tragedies.