Zeina Abirached, graphic novelist - “Humour saved us during terrible times”
The French-Lebanese artist, who is the author of Le Piano Oriental, attempts to tell stories about war-torn Beirut’s fading history
You were born during the Lebanese civil war. When did you understand the gravity of it and decide to write stories about it?
The Lebanese Civil War started in 1975, and I was born in the middle of it in 1981 in the eastern part of Beirut that was already torn into two by the demarcation line. Since I never knew anything else besides the war, I thought it was normal to grow up and live like that. It is only when the war ended in 1990 that I understood it was absolutely not normal.
I then started collecting and chronicling my own memories as well as the souvenirs of people around me in order not to forget the tiny little things of our everyday life. How to get electricity, water, gas, how to navigate the city to avoid checkpoints, the conversations we had during those days, et al.
Lebanese history is barely taught in schools; the history books abruptly stop at the very beginning of the civil war. I write and draw to fill this blackout of our history in order to understand and accept it.
What were your experiences of the war that you included in your art and books?
I tend to depict war from a child’s point of view. My graphic novels are autobiographical and talk about everyday life in a neighbourhood. A building, an apartment, the entry of an apartment, the space tends to be more and more insecure, and it shrinks from one book to another. I have tried to remember the little things that seemed normal during the war – like recognizing from the sound if a shell is coming towards us or has been fired from our part of the city; having to do homework in candle light, not being able to go out of the house without passport and spare clothes in case we aren’t able to return home. But I also write about the solidarity between neighbours, and the laughter. Humour saved us during those terrible times.
How do you keep the factual accounts separate from the fictional story?
Writing and drawing an autobiographical story is like a ping-pong match between historical archives and personal memories. I need to know the exact historical context of the book I am working on but the drive that leads me through the process of creating a graphic novel is definitely very intimate.
What was your early exposure to comics and art?
It was absolutely life-changing! Art and literature were a perfect way to find a way out of everyday violence, angst and fear. We were stuck in our houses or in shelters but we still had a possibility to escape through art.
Which artist do you look up to for inspiration for your art?
I am very lucky to be surrounded with a joyful mix of eastern and western influences. I could cite JS Bach as well as Mohamed Abdel Wahab. But if I had to choose one for this interview, I would choose the South African artist William Kentridge. His poetry and the commitment to work never forgets to be intelligent and playful.
Reviewers have compared your art with Marjane Satrapi’s. What are your thoughts about it?
It’s a great compliment. To be honest, I didn’t know of her books when I started to write and draw. In fact, I first read Persepolis when I arrived in Paris in 2004 in my quest for a publisher. My main influence in comics were French and Belgian authors as David B, Jacques Tardi or the great Hergé.
What is the literature and comic books scene like in Beirut? Are there many publishers? What kind of themes and topics do they write about?
There is no comic book publisher in Lebanon (nor in the Middle East) that’s why my graphic novels are translated in several languages including Japanese, Swedish, Turkish and Spanish, but not (yet) in Arabic, which is quite frustrating, as my work tends to transmit a bit of our collective memory.
The art scene as well as the literary milieu is very dynamic. Lebanon has many great writers who write in Arabic, in French or in English, the three main languages spoken in the country.
And the urge of the duty of memory compelled a lot of writers and artists to express themselves about civil war and what that war had done to us.
Having lived in Beirut, Paris and now Oman, which city do you feel home at?
For me, Beirut and Paris are the two faces of my dreamed, violently loved, perfect city, I can’t imagine having to choose between them.
Arunima Mazumdar is an independent writer. She is @sermoninstone on Twitter and @sermonsinstone on Instagram.