Bodour is now a successful literary critic but as a first-year university student was attracted to Nessim, a political activist. For two years any relationship with him existed only in her dreams but they finally spent a night together but, before they could legitimise their relationship he was imprisoned. Finding herself pregnant, when she had the baby, Zeina, she felt forced to abandon her to a life on the streets of Cairo. She then married Zakariah, an ambitious journalist, and they had a daughter, Mageeda but guilt and regret eat away at Bodour and, pining for her abandoned daughter, she starts to write a novel, as a fictionalised means of understanding her past. However, during the revolution in Cairo, the novel goes missing and, hoping to be reunited with Zeina, she must find out who stole it.
This powerful, complex and disturbing story is set against the background of a deeply entrenched patriarchal society, one which is rife with religious hypocrisy (there are long quotes from the Qur’an to demonstrate how control over women is exerted), political corruption and the struggles faced by any woman who either harbours any ambition or questions the status quo. With no conventional chapters, multiple, constantly-changing points of view and shifts between past and present, much of the narrative has a dream-like quality, a metaphorical reflection of Bodour’s disturbing descent into psychosis. Initially I found this rather confusing and frustrating but once I allowed myself to just “go with the flow” and to lose myself in the elegant, lyrical language, I felt emotionally connected to this dark, haunting story. Once I’d finished it I felt that not only had I gained insights into a very different culture, but felt huge admiration for the author’s real-life brave activism in the face of so many challenges. ( )

I’ve been wondering what to say about this book for over a week now.

While I like reading translated books (and I made it my personal goal this month to read more translated works – quick update: I am not doing very well, having only read 5 translated books so far), many of these books tend to be serious, heavy reads. Zeina is no exception. It is such a heavy hitter. It took me nearly the whole library-sanctioned three weeks to read. And every time I put it down, I was exhausted, my brain nothing more than scrambled eggs.

And so I present to you, the synopsis from Goodreads. Because that was what made me decide to pick it up:

Bodour, a distinguished literary critic and university professor, carries with her a dark secret. As a young university student, she fell in love with a political activist and gave birth to an illegitimate daughter, Zeina, whom she abandoned on the streets of Cairo.

Zeina grows up to become one of Egypt’s most beloved entertainers, despite being deprived of a name and a home. In contrast, Bodour remains trapped in a loveless marriage, pining for her daughter. In an attempt to find solace she turns to literature, writing a fictionalized account of her life. But when the novel goes missing, Bodour is forced on a journey of self discovery, reliving and reshaping her past and her future.

Will Bodour ever discover who stole the novel? Is there any hope of her being reunited with Zeina?

It sounds like a potentially great story, doesn’t it?

Zeina starts out ok enough. Bodour, despite her hard life, is a decent character. She had to abandon her daughter and see her grow up right in her very neighbourhood, and play with her legitimate daughter Mageeda. Her daughter Zeina has this goddess-like aura about her, her gift for music enabling her to blast past her humble background and into the hearts of everyone. Bodour’s husband, a newspaper columnist, is such a loathsome man who cheats on her. Mageeda inherits her writing skills from her parents (if that is possible) and becomes a journalist but seems to be filled with self-loathing. It’s an ugly life.

But the narrative switches too quickly from one character to another, and from childhood to present, and with little warning. I suppose this must be some kind of psychological tactic. To create the confusion in the reader’s mind that Bodour probably feels. There are parts that are repeated and the general feeling while reading it is one of disconnect, of an uneasiness, a disconcertedness. It is an uncomfortable, difficult read. Perhaps it needs someone with better literary understanding? I don’t know. I’m at odds with this book. Is this something that Nawal El Saadawi does with all her fiction? I’m hesitant to pick up another of hers now…. ( )

Zeina is beautifully written and translated. The narrative snakes through the dreamlike prose, emerging and disappearing into the imagery, and readers are never quite sure whether any given scene is relating the history of the characters, or whether it's what they imagine has happened, might have happened, or might happen yet. Readers will definitely need to set aside the time and concentration to sink fully into the narrative in order to get the most out of reading this book, as it rewards readers in proportion to their investment in it. For all its quasi-stream of consciousness progression, the novel is unflinching in its depiction of the rot, despair, and social destruction created by religiously mandated misogyny. Zeina is a difficult read to be sure, but a rewarding one as well.

I see I'm not the only Early Reviewer who has struggled to finish this book (and who also gave up trying). The previous review echoes my feelings. it's not that I don't know such terrible things are happening, but I just am not prepared to use my small amount of leisure time to read about them in this detail. Pollyanna? Probably!

I'll start off by saying that Zeina doesn't really deserve the two stars that I gave it. Those two stars aren't a reflection of Nawal El-Saadawi's writing style (always marvelous), her tackling of the plot (always difficult) or a question of her characters (well, okay, maybe). the two stars are more of a reflection on my personal reaction to the book which was point blank: I don't want to read this. Or rather, that's what I came to feel every time I tried to pick up the book. Why? Well, the topic and the content of the book is just so hard to read, especially as a woman.

Incest. Rape. Statuitory rape. Incestual statuitory rape.

All by men (not only directed to females as there are cases of rapes of young boys) despite claims of being religious and wanting to be a servant of God. I might not be religious but I'm pretty certain an ideal god would condone the rape of minors and such. You continue to read the book wondering how much is it exagerated. You want it to be exagerated but you fear that it isn't. And thus I couldn't finish the book. I just wasn't in the mood and postponed reading what I did manage to read for months. Months it took to read only 80 pages of what is probably about a 200 page book. It was merely impossible for me.

Now, who would I recommend this book to? Someone interested in women studies, religion in Egypt, the role of God in traditional life, etc... There is great information to be had from this book and much to learn. And Nawal El-Saadawi truly is a fascinating writer. I've enjoyed other of her books which is why I wanted to badly to read this one at first.

I simply realized that enough is enough. The world is terrible and I just am not in the mood to read about that right now. ( )