From Parisian ashes

Hiner Saleem’s latest novel, translated in Kurmanji as EZ Û EZ: Jiyana min a piştî mirinê (Me and Me: My Life After Death), is a tour de force of narrative innovation and profound emotional depth. Translated from French and published by Avesta in Istanbul in 2024, Saleem – a renowned filmmaker and author, celebrated for works like Vodka Lemon and My Father’s Rifle – invites readers into a post-mortem existence as experienced by his protagonist, Dilman Salim, whose consciousness resides within his own ashes. This audacious conceit elevates the novel beyond mere autobiography, transforming it into a philosophical meditation on identity, displacement, and the enduring human spirit.

At the heart of this extraordinary work is its unique narrative voice. Dilman, a Kurdish man born in Kurdistan Region’s Akre town, recounts his tumultuous life from the ethereal perspective of his cremated remains, housed in a “pickle jar” within a Kurdish cultural association in Paris. This isn’t a passive reflection; instead, Dilman engages in a continuous, often sardonic, dialogue with his “ash” (Xwelî), which acts as a cynical internal critic, an optimistic counterpoint, and a poignant reminder of his fragmented existence. This “conversation with his ashes” allows for a non-linear journey through memory, effortlessly shifting between his dying moments in Paris, his childhood in Kurdistan, and his exile in Italy and other European cities.

The novel is a powerful exploration of identity in exile. Dilman grapples with the duality of being a Kurd – a “Kurdish man” deeply rooted in his heritage, yet belonging to a people “without a homeland, without rights.” He vividly re-experiences the collective trauma of forced displacements, massacres, and the ongoing struggle for recognition. The narrative pointedly blames historical figures like Lloyd George, Woodrow Wilson, and Georges Clemenceau for drawing arbitrary borders after World War I, which resulted in his people’s suffering and his family’s division across new, artificial and fragile states. Despite his love for French civilisation and its values, he consistently feels like a “stranger, without identity,” concluding that his “head has become my homeland.” Encounters, such as with a Turkish pharmacist who denies the existence of Kurds, underscore the pervasive challenge to his cultural identity.

Saleem masterfully portrays the complex tapestry of familial relationships that shaped Dilman. His mother, Haybat, emerges as an almost mythical figure, resilient, pious, and a symbol of Kurdish suffering, who sacrifices everything for her son, even being exploited by religious charlatans like Sheikh Gul. His father, Sharo, is depicted as a proud, often volatile nationalist, with amusing eccentricities such as his admiration for Queen Elizabeth II and his philosophical arguments about his moustache. These contrasting parental figures, with their unfulfilled expectations (particularly for Dilman to marry a Kurdish woman and have many sons), profoundly shape his internal conflicts and guilt. His eventual desire for a Kurdish wife who shares his “memory” and values stability reflects a deeper yearning for authentic connection rooted in his heritage, a stark contrast to his past fleeting relationships with European women like Nathalie.

The novel is also replete with biting social and political commentary. Dilman’s observations range from satirising religious hypocrisy and bureaucratic absurdities (his attempt to register his death as ashes), to critiquing the superficiality of Parisian life and the disillusionment of fellow exiles, like his friend Miso, who succumbs to depression and homelessness. His harrowing experience with Syrian intelligence in Damascus and encounters with European police who mistake his ashes for drugs highlight the casual cruelties and misunderstandings faced by refugees.

Beyond the personal, Saleem delves into broader existential questions. Dilman's initial decision to commit suicide is presented as an act of reclaiming control over his destiny. However, the “sentient ashes” provide an ongoing commentary that often challenges his despair, reminding him that “A life full of dreams cannot be a lost life.” The motif of the green butterfly, appearing at moments of profound reflection, symbolises fleeting beauty, freedom, and the persistent spirit.

Saleem’s EZ Û EZ is a masterpiece of contemporary literature, blending the deeply personal with universal themes of identity, memory, and the search for belonging in a fragmented world. It is a poignant, witty, and often heartbreaking narrative that challenges conventional storytelling, urging readers to ponder the meaning of a life lived through adversity, even after its physical end. This novel is a must-read for those who seek enjoyable literary experiences that resonate long after the final page.

Khaled Salih is a Kurdish political analyst. He has previously served as a spokesperson and advisor for the Kurdistan Region prime minister.

The views expressed in this article are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the position of Rudaw.