In using the adjective "difficult" to describe the process of translating Himmich's novels into English, I am not specifically referring to the admittedly complex interpretive task associated with the transfer of any literary text from one cultural environment to another; that much is a given. What I am referring to is the fact that many of Himmich's novels are rich and carefully constructed investigations in fictional form of an entire period within the premodern history of the Islamic world writ large and of its intellectual and textual heritage. The creation of the appropriate fictional context for such investigations involves, it goes without saying, a number of factors: first, a profound knowledge of the repertoire of relevant historical and literary sources in Arabic and their replication-either directly or via imitation-in the novelistic text itself; then a series of narrative strategies in order to provide a variation on the normal demands of a chronological presentation of events and characters; and a style that is replete with the complex lexicon of the various spheres of knowledge and research that are involved. In every case, the detailed descriptions of particular events and personalities and often extensive discussions of their implications also allow the reader to gain insights into other issues with much broader ramifications. In the case of the novel about Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah, for example, we are dealing with the issue of contacts and conflicts between the Shi'i and Sunni communities of Islam during the tenth century CE and the origins of the Druze sect. With the novel about Ibn Khaldun, we are invited to listen in on a series of discussions between the theoretician of history and his amanuensis regarding his earlier work on the cyclical nature of events, the Muqaddima (Introduction) to his work of history, Kitab al (Book of Exemplary Lessons), and to consider various adjustments to the theory in the light of the chaotic events in Northern Africa and Spain during the course of the fourteenth century, to which Ibn Khaldun himself had been a witness and occasional participant. And, behind and beyond all these events and personalities, there lies the implicit topic that, in one way or another, can be seen as subsuming them alclass="underline" the nature and legitimacy of authority, its use and abuse-that indeed being a topic the relevance of which is by no means a matter of interest in the context of the premodern history of the Arab-Islamic world alone.
In the current novel, the "hero" is Ibn al-Dara from Murcia in Al-Andalus-Islamic Spain-or, as he becomes known (and/or notorious), Ibn Sabin (1217–1269 CE). As shown above regarding the other novels of Himmich that I have already translated, the confrontation in this novel between Sufi mysticism and philosophy on the one hand and literalist Islamic orthodoxy (and fundamentalism perhaps) on the other is once again not merely a topic for historians concerned with the premodern ages of Islam. Throughout his career, Ibn Sabin finds himself surrounded by admiring students and challenged by literalist theologians and jurists who regularly incite the local political authorities against him. All of which turns Ibn Sab'in's life story into a lengthy travel narrative, one that, like many others, involves the Muslim obligation of the hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca in the Arabian Peninsula, but in his case also a journey that is the direct consequence of political pressures, however much it may also represent a primary goal of his aspirations as a devout Muslim.
His life story begins in Spain, in the southern coastal city of Murcia (also the birthplace of another renowned Sufi figure in Islamic history-indeed perhaps the most renowned of all, Ibn al [d. 124 °CE]). Muslim rule in the Iberian Peninsula as a whole, nominally under the distant suzerainty of the Almohad dynasty in their Moroccan capital city of Marrakesh but actually controlled by a number of local client (petty) dynasties, is in the gradual but inexorable process of collapse in the face of the ever-encroaching forces of the Christian "reconquista." That is the historical backdrop against which the novel's events as a whole are set, as the puritanical instincts of the Almohad dynasty's founders and propagators have gradually given way to a widespread quest for luxury, to rampant corruption, and-most directly relevant to the case of this novel's primary character, Ibn Sabin-to an intolerance of radical thought and heterodox views, particularly those involving philosophy and Sufi ideas and their combination. In other words, we are here presented with a direct illustration of (and perhaps an inspiration for) the theories concerning the cyclical nature of tribal hegemony that were later developed by Ibn Khaldun and discussed (as noted earlier) in Himmich's earlier novel Al-Allamah (The Polymath).
The character of Ibn Sabin, as developed in this novel, is to rue the fate of his native "Al-Andalus" throughout its narrative, but his initial preoccupation is with something else that is close to his heart, a manuscript in which he has elaborated his early ideas but which has been lost. His desperate search for it, in its physical form and within his own memory, provides a wonderful novelistic device, one that demands reflection on his current thinking and an elaborate process of considering who might have stolen it. Bearing in mind the quotation cited at the conclusion of the novel from the later scholar and statesman Lisan al-din ibn al-Khatib (d. 1374 CE) in his history of the city of Granada, namely that Ibn Sabin was "handsome, attractive, and open-hearted, with a princely guise to him," it is not surprising perhaps that the people whom he suspects as possible thieves are mostly women that he has known in his younger days, indeed women of a wide variety in terms of origins and religious affiliations (or lack thereof)-that being, of course, an apt reflection of the diversity of Andalusian society in the thirteenth century. However, it is not only women that Ibn Sabin attracts with his "princely guise," but also an increasingly large group of disciples and students. As word of his preaching spreads, with its vigorous advocacy of the need to incorporate into Islamic beliefs and practices independent thinking that is based on the study of philosophy and a quest for the transcendent, so do the local authorities-with Ibn Sab'in's own brother as their emissary-become sufficiently alarmed to demand that he either recant or move elsewhere. Reluctantly leaving his loyal disciples (and women friends) in Murcia behind, he begins what are to become his lifelong travels, by way of a short stay in Granada, to North Africa and the city of Sabta (often now written as Ceuta) and its most characteristic geological feature, Jabal Musa (Moses's Mountain), from the heights of which one can stare across the straits at that other rocky outcrop, Gibraltar (Jabal Tariq, named after the Amazigh general who led the Muslim forces across the straits in 71 °CE). Indeed, Ibn Sabin spends many hours staring wistfully across the water at his beloved Al-Andalus, which is being relentlessly lost to Islam thanks to the incompetence, corruption, and sheer venality of its Muslim rulers.
Once settled in Sabta, Ibn Sabin takes up residence on the mountain in a "zawiya" (a term that I have retained in the translation because no single word in English can cover its multiple functions: part shrine and mosque, part hostel, part retreat-house, and, in this case, provider of shelter for the indigent and insane). His reputation as a teacher has preceded him, and once again he becomes something of a magnet to those members of the local community of Muslims, and particularly young Muslims, who are in search of an alternative to prevailing orthodoxies. The continuing crisis in Spain even leads him to engage in a fascinating correspondence with King Frederic of Sicily, who is shown to have a very open mind about Muslim-Christian relations and even seems inclined to support the Muslims in the conflict against his fellow Christians in Spain. Ibn Sabin also forms a close relationship with Ibn Khalas, the governor of Sabta, who is duly impressed by the Sufi philosopher-theologian's wide learning, and in matters of both religion and medicine. However, it is another close relationship in Sabta that is to have a lasting impact upon Ibn Sab'in's life. A very beautiful and wealthy woman, Fayha', invites him to visit her opulent residence and makes it clear that she is in love with him as both a person and a spiritual guide. The two are married, and Ibn Sabin moves from the mountain zawiya into his wife's home, to which a private closet has been added for his own use. They live a very contented life together, and Ibn Sabin now hopes that he has found a haven of stability where he may continue to study, teach, worship, and contemplate. However, the admiration of Ibn Khalas is not sufficient to protect him from the increasingly pointed attacks from orthodox cronies dispatched by the Almohad authorities in Marrakesh, and eventually Ibn Sabin is firmly instructed by the governor to move on. In this case, that implies undertaking the pilgrimage to Mecca and remaining out of the region until the political situation stabilizes (presumably as a result of the downfall of the Almohad dynasty). With a heavy heart Ibn Sabin says farewell to his beloved wife, sending her to stay with her relatives in Tangier and not realizing at the time that he will never see her again.