The spark at the center of Hassouna Mosbahi's short novel, “A Tunisian Tale,” is a human immolation. As in the real Tunisia, this death by burning launches a thousand stories. The book also echoes revolutionary Tunisia in its reference to Abu al-Qasim al-Shabi's poem, “If, one day, the people desire to live ...” But “A Tunisian Tale,” published in Arabic in 2008, is not a novel of social change or cultural brightening. Mosbahi's book does not provide an arena for people to stand up for their rights. “Ahh,” one of the protagonists says after recalling Shabi's poem, “that time seems so distant now ...” Everything in “A Tunisian Tale” circles around a single, mysterious death. The dark novel leads us both toward and away from this central event, but never gives us any quarter for hope. The story, after all, is told by one protagonist who's about to die and another who's already dead. But what is singular about Mosbahi's novel, translated by Max Weiss, is that while it paints a bitterly bleak picture of human nature and society, it still makes for a witty, teasing and delightful read. The world is dark and disgusting and humans are irredeemable, the book tells us. But, stories! Ah, stories are another thing entirely. The book is narrated in turns by “The Mother” and “The Son,” who are chained together by their unhappy relationship. Both are eager to tell their version of events, and to put themselves at the center of the page. Neither comes off very well. Both have had difficult lives — crushing sexism, a dead father, poverty, repressive gossip, narrow possibilities for escape — but neither meets this ugly world with a heart of gold. Mosbahi conceals and reveals by turns, and the reader hurries through the book to find out what crime young Alaa has committed, how it happened and why he did this infamous deed. The two narrators — particularly the son — play around with the reader. Information is placed right under our noses, but then it's whisked away: “But the time for talking about this matter hasn't arrived yet ...” Mosbahi's pacing is excellent, and this book holds its reader ever at the edge of his seat. But “A Tunisian Tale” is more than a dark thriller. Part of the book's beauty is how it weaves a number of tales in and around the central stories of Mother and Son. Mosbahi uses Hollywood movies (“Cool Hand Luke”) as well as traditional Arab tales of evil kings and kidnapped princes. These stories are both like and unlike the painful central tale. The book is beautifully translated by Weiss, who must create a voice for the mother that is distinct from the son's, and a fairy-tale atmosphere that is distinct from what Weiss calls the more “hard-boiled” story at the book's core. Weiss also must convey Mosbahi's black humor, which he does with a light touch. The book opens with a quote from the American writer Herman Melville: “There is no folly of the beasts of the earth which is not infinitely outdone by the madness of men.” Most of the characters in “A Tunisian Tale” err madly. Although many a kind old woman or man can be found in the fairy-tale sections, there are few “real” characters motivated by goodness. Aziz is one such generous character, and Alaa al-Din names him as the person he'd most like to see before dying. But Aziz also abandons Alaa. And ultimately the naive Aziz comes off as more of a bore than a saint. He says, pedantically, “Listen, Alaa al-Din, movies aren't real life and life isn't a movie. You've got to keep your feet on the ground or you're never going to succeed. Never!” If Alaa and his mother had given up stories, could they have “succeeded” in life? In the context of this book, the question makes little sense. What is life without a story? Mosbahi's ending is a storytelling tour de force, racing the reader through improbable plots, faster and faster, and then letting go, as though the reader were a helium-filled balloon. It is a delightful ending, and it takes a while for the reader to remember that this is — after all — not a happy one. The reader must drift back toward earth, remembering that the “real” characters' human madness remains. Once the reader has landed, he is faced with the fact that there was no last-minute reversal of fortunes for Alaa al-Din or his mother. If there is any redemption in this world, the book says, it doesn't come on the streets or in the prisons. It is simply in the human ability to tell a story, and in our ability to enjoy hearing it.
