The Penultimate Temptation of Mr. Anderson is the second collection of short stories by Wael Ashry; it is among the publications of Al-Kotob Khab, the bookshop now taking on the role of publisher. The 151-page book includes 17 short stories, none of which bears the title of the collection -- which title seems too long for such a slim volume, though long titles seem to be the fashion among young writers especially. The stories themselves have the same kind of long title; take for example “The uncanny story which does not denote the status of the mysterious woman with red hair” or “Who is going to write a poem about us, a poem which does not abide by the rules of poetry”. Such titles may suggest a long narrative, yet the stories in question tend to be quite short -- short enough to be looked at as snapshots, indeed. In the first story, “Morning coffee: On exploring the self-image of the people of Buenos Aires”, the reader confronts a challenging, smart and hilarious narrative: the language is fragmented and the story-telling is far from traditional; indeed it is up to the reader to continue the challenging game to the end, or decide to flee to a more conventional book. The eight-page story is sub-divided into three sections, recounting tales about the most famous and yet weird café customers. The city is obviously the thread connecting the short stories: cafes come first, followed by weird people and pets -- the most recurrent elements in almost every story, especially in the first half of the book. It is clearly an autobiographical account featuring intimate scenes in which the writer was personally involved during his stay in the United States. Born in 1974 in Cairo, Ashry is an Egyptian writer and translator based in the United States. He earned his PhD from New York University in 2009, and currently teaches modern Arabic literature at the University of Temple, Philadelphia. His first collection of stories Sa'am New York (The Ennui of New York) was published in Cairo in 2005 by Sharqiyat. A story entitled “TV faces”, is divided into several segments, one of which is entitled “And they also talk politics”. It offers a perfect example of the intended fragmentation of phrases and ideas: “A tall man. Wearing a high-neck black pullover. With unshaved beard. His face says that he is looking for someone to talk to. A lonely man; lonely people are the most cheerful ones. Fishing for a smile. A relaxed eye. A sentence to start a conversation, or any contact with the world. A female looks at him, so he seized the opportunity. ‘Giulian, the boss! Ha!' he says. ‘Better, I believe, than Bush the boss,' the old woman, who was already dead, replied. And. Like cinema goers. ‘Yeah, yeah, I used to sleep in complete relaxation'. A hole of silence. Do I have to go back home? Or what? Walk to the end of the road, and then home. Go back home! Why do I think in English! ‘I am the decision maker! Do you people remember?' After the two towers. Giulian stood up and said, ‘I mean when he was the governor of New York, I am the deci…' I gather my stuff: my papers, myself and my characters. ‘Have you read the article in The Onion this week? A very strong one, it tells you what is going on in the world. I am the decision maker. ‘About Civil War'. Good: it is not as cold as I thought it would be.” The language plays a vital role in tempting the reader to continue, though in many cases you will find yourself in a maze of unexpected actions and incomprehensible conversations. In another segment of the story, entitled “And she kindly offers him great support”, the writer depicts another short conversation with the old woman, by the end of which she mutters: “Bye, honey.” And he comments: Assal nahl, assal eswed, assal qobolat el aflam (“Bees' Honey, Molasses, Movie-kisses sugar”). This kind of clash between connotations of different languages makes for much irony and sarcasm regarding both the meanings and the structures of Arabic and English. In some cases Ashry merges colloquial softly into classical Arabic and English together: “Hakadha hali (This is my case). Screw that bisaraha (honestly).” Or, he translates the English street words directly: Modage'u omahatehim (mother-fuckers). In another story entitled “Ars Poetica”, the writer combines two words, manufacturing a third weird word: abasat, thoma ebtasamat, thoma tabathamat: “she frowned, then she smiled, then she fromiled”. These tactics help to refresh the mood of the reader and add to the already witty style of the writer. Again, the construction of sentences forces me to pause and rethink their beauty. The traditional Arabic structure is reversed: in many cases the verb is left at the end of a sentence or placed, uniquely, in a separate sentence -- or at the end of the whole story. In other cases, the writer elegantly and humorously personifies places and animates silent objects. For example, in describing a restaurant, he says, “Expensive it looks. More elegant as it should be. A member of bourgeoisie, we can say that about the restaurant. A radical guy, we might call it.” In another sarcastic segment of the same story, the writer depicts a hilarious conversation between a lesbian couple: “'Are you going to join the protest?' ‘You know, I'm not into such things.' ‘I guess this thing will always be a barrier between us,' she said and her face looked bothered and sad. ‘Oh no! Please don't worry,' she says lightly. ‘I promise you once the revolution breaks out I will leave everything behind and will be right with you.' And then she adds in a serious tone, ‘Oh, I forgot to ask you, will your revolution, which is supposed to put an end to the war, embrace some dancing? There should be some dancing; no dance no revolution.'” With little description of the lesbian couple or the surrounding place, the conversation itself draws a lot of details about theses odd characters. In a two-page story entitled “Two dogs, an old man and a song”, the writer depicts the scene of a lonely old man who is walking his dog, who in turn is flirting with another dog. In such stories, the writer attempts to document the city through the intimate habits of its citizens. In “About the flying dish”, Ashry paints another picture of the city, tracing the protagonist's infatuation with the peculiar bathroom of one unusual restaurant. The walls of the bathroom are covered with postcards from customers from different cities and countries in this huge continent sent to their favorite restaurant. The storyteller stands for a long time trying to read the cards, and to figure out whether they are real ones or fabricated by the restaurant owners. This scene, like many others, suggests feelings of loneliness and confusion. The writer, though a resident of the city, sounds like a perfect stranger who lives on the margin. Reading the collection does not mean you will find out anything about the places the writer refers to in it. Instead, you get the feeling that it is an imaginative narration about some odd people and places, and yet you keep on reading out of the feeling that you should not leave the writer playing his game all alone.
