Before the religious reform movement took off in Europe (without which the west would never have progressed), artists and writers prepared society for accepting the new ideas that paved the way for change. Perhaps the gravest problem that has plagued the Egyptian revolution, and caused it to flounder, is that it was not preceded by an ideological revolution, or by a religious reform movement. This is what is needed now. It was with this need in mind that I was pleased when a critic described my recent novel, The Salafist, as “a bold artistic slap in the face of the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS) and her sisters.” Critics remarked on the book's use of new techniques and conventions in form, the lyrical prose and the clear Sufi sensibility that was used to bring forward certain controversial ideas. One critic wrote that the novel “comes at a critical time in which the entire world is facing the threat of terrorism that bases itself on fallacious religious notions and that extends from Boko Haram to ISIS and all the extremist counterparts in between.” The characters of the novel fall into three groups: Salafists trapped in the bowels of ancient books, some of whom are terrorists who murder without a conscience; Sufis who believe in metaphysical sensibilities and aesthetics; and ordinary Egyptian people who cling to their religious moderation in the face of religious extremism, rigidity and terrorism. These characters create a complete social landscape that contrasts starkly with the black and white image of the religious bigot. I was pleased when Ahmed Baha Al-Din Shaaban, general coordinator of the National Association for Change, described the novel as “a shot in our battle to liberate the soul of our societies from the effects of ISIS and the extremist groups and organisations like it.” He continued to say that the book is “a marriage between literary aestheticism and political foresight.” I was equally heartened when another likened the novel to a “21-point indictment against terrorist groups, foremost among which is ISIS.” Perhaps the most important question I faced from the outset was whether this novel was a response to the current climate or social context in which the Salafist movement, as epitomised by Al-Nour Party, emerged as a political player. The immediate answer to this is: No, of course not. The idea for the novel came to me well before the 25 January 2011 revolution. I thought about it for some time before I began to flesh it out in fictional form, just as I did with an earlier book, Autumn Flower. Other novels were begun before I had fully formed the idea in my head. I let myself follow a different process, giving the lead to an association of ideas, the demands of narrative flow and the art of storytelling, or to the fictional characters and their power to set the course of their fate, to take the writer into their orbit, sometimes before he is even aware of it. Nevertheless, the fact that The Salafist appeared after the peril of terrorist organisations spread not just across the Middle East but across the world may make it an artistic contribution to the fight against terrorism. In light of the foregoing, I have been asked: “Do you expect that your novel will play a part in countering the Wahhabi trend that has spread in Egyptian society over the past few decades? Unfortunately, I am unable to say. My novel is an artistic work. It blends reality with fiction. While I was writing it I had no intention of using it in a battle. That said, many novels have played such a role, not because it was their creators' intention, but because readers and circumstances at the time the novels appeared propelled them in that direction. There are innumerable instances in which literary works, both poetry and fiction, have played a role in enlightenment and liberation. My novel prompted many other questions. One was whether the characters were derived from real life, especially given that I had conducted research on proselytising and political religious movements, such as my recently published study, “The Salafist Trend: Discourse and Practice.” The answer is some of the characters are derived from actual persons, others are drawn from my imagination, and some were inspired by real persons but reshaped by my imagination to assume other dimensions, or to serve a particular purpose in the text. However, I am very familiar with the environment in which the characters move, from language, rites and symbols, to organisations and ideas. The previous question naturally generated the following: “How does your academic study of the Salafist phenomenon differ from your fictional treatment of the subject?” The difference is vast. The former is a scholastic endeavour that engages the rules, principles and methodologies of scientific method. The latter is a work of literature that involves artistic and creative processes in conception, creation and form. Another important question was how I thought Salafists would react to the novel. Again, I cannot predict. However, their views on previous artistic works might give us a clue. In all events, I hope that they read the book as an artistic and literary work, and respond to it on that basis. To do otherwise is to court problems for many creative works, and to draw the intellectual community into futile arguments. On the whole, the quantity and diversity of questions that the novel has elicited are indicative of a readership that appreciates creative writing. This is not surprising given the marked rise in the popularity of fictional works. As a result, publishers who were once reluctant to touch novels are now hunting for new works to publish and distribute. The writer is a political analyst.
