‘Don’t look back’
Seven Heavens Away
by Ashraf Zaghal
Toronto: House of Anansi Press, 2026
$26.99 / 9781487013486
Reviewed by Janet S. Pollock
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Growing to adulthood can be challenging for youth in the best of circumstances, let alone under military occupation. Seven Heavens Away, the debut novel of Palestinian-Canadian Ashraf Zaghal—who completed his MFA at UBC—follows Aziz, a Palestinian youth living in Jerusalem, through most of his sixteenth year, from fall 2015 to spring 2016, as he and his friends attempt to find their place as adult men amid the violence of occupation.
A central tension of the novel is Aziz’s struggle with fear and shame. The novel opens with his friend Hassan being shot dead by an armed Israeli settler. After, although Aziz joins his friend Mustafa and others protesting in the street, he later feels he didn’t play an active enough role during the protest.
For a time, he attempts to find his path by joining an Islamic study group led by Abu-Hassan, the father of his deceased friend. Aziz is inspired by Abu-Hassan’s faith in him: “He saw something in me. Something special!” Aziz feels strengthened by his new religious devotion and hopes it can give him courage: “Now I understood how Mustafa had felt on the day of the parade. Now I was on the right side, not the wrong side—the gaping, staring side.”
Despite promise, membership in this group presents its problems. Yousef, Abu-Hassan’s nephew, assumes authority over Aziz and insists that Aziz provide him with “a list of suspicious people,” ostensibly to protect the neighbourhood. Aziz is uneasy but initially complies, reporting the activities and conversations of his neighbours and even his mother. Yousef seems to enjoy his power, often forcing Aziz to clean toilets. Aziz eventually not only finds the strength to resist Yousef but also begins to question the sincerity of Abu-Hassan himself when the latter refuses to give money to help one of Aziz’s former teachers, who is now destitute. Zaghal skillfully develops Aziz’s character and depicts his gradual understanding and moral development.
Aziz’s work in an Israeli-owned café also provides a tension with his attempt to follow a strict Islamic path. He is attracted to Dafna, one of the owners, with whom he even spends a few hours at a café in the Old City. Their different worlds, however, limit the extent of their connection. After he responds to Dafna’s question about his interests, Aziz notes, “[s]he thought I ran for fun. She didn’t need to know I only ran when I was being chased.”
Even though the novel concerns egregious treatment of Palestinians, the author allows for the possibility of connection between ordinary people. From his rooftop, Aziz contemplates the humanity of some settlers eating at his friend’s bakery:
Did their hearts beat fast when they saw a sleepy cat or a warm bagel? Did they feel bad for the misery of a stranger? Did they have families? I had never seen them walk with their children or parents or grandparents. Did their mothers wish them a safe and quiet day every morning? Or a calm evening after they had rested their rifles on the dinner table?
In the prologue, during which Aziz is on a flight from Tel Aviv to Toronto, he reflects on how life circumstances shape the experiences of different people in the same place:
Tel Aviv is a forty-minute drive from Jerusalem.
I knew some who could make it in twenty minutes
And some who could not make it in twenty days […]
Because distance is relative,
Because distance is like beauty;
It’s in the eye of the beholder.
Zaghal vividly conveys the daily reality for Palestinians in Jerusalem. Aziz and Mustafa are chased and stumble after spray painting Palestinian flags on walls, and Aziz notes, “I got up quickly, looking up and forward. Looking back can kill you—the first rule in escaping a hunter’s bullet, the first rule mother gazelles teach their babies: Don’t look back!” The heavy expectations for men are reinforced for Aziz when he speaks about those who have survived imprisonment: “For some of them, going in and out of jail was as normal as walking up and down the street. Trying to think like them, I felt pain in my stomach.” Such details encourage reader empathy.
Although the women characters have a less central role in the novel, they do help Aziz to envision alternative possibilities. The path of Aziz’s Aunt Sarah, who is doing postgraduate work in Toronto, offers a contrast to strict religiosity. During the time Aziz is involved in the study group, he judges her for “western” values, going so far as to say to himself, “[s]he did not deserve to live in this holy city. She did not deserve to be here, with my grandfather. She did not deserve to be part of this family”— in spite of his former attachment to her.
Later, however, he begins to value her ideas, taking up her suggestions to read about natural history and go for walks in the countryside. Aziz’s mother tries to interest him in applying for a student exchange program in Toronto, rather than working to help supplement the family’s income and socializing with his friends, whom she sees as a bad influence. For a good part of the novel, Aziz’s mother does what is expected of her, but she leaves his father for a time after she discovers his affair with their neighbour. Aziz, too, claims some agency when he defends her against his father’s verbal abuse. I would love for Zaghal to write a companion novel that centres the women’s perspective.
Zaghal has published four collections of poetry in Arabic, and his use of language in his novel is compelling. Repetition of phrases creates a lyrical rhythm reminiscent of an incantation or a sacred text, as in this passage that opens chapter one:
We walked toward Jaffa Gate. It was called Jaffa Gate because, long ago, at the end of their journey from the port of Jaffa, pilgrims walked through it. Now, brooding nuns walked through it. Priests with brown cloaks and long hoods walked through it. Bearded imams with long robes and bearded imams without long robes walked through it. Haredi Jews in wool suits walked through it. Settlers with guns and foreign money and searching eyes walked through it, and past us.
The author uses detail to good effect. In the aftermath of the shooting of Hassan, Aziz notes poignantly, “I touched the dew on the leaves, and my stomach ached.” The use of figurative language and imagery also enlivens the writing. Aziz perceives his Aunt Sarah as essentially having defected to the western world, as is suggested in his use of evocative language: “She pronounced the la at the end of my mother’s name as if it were a torn flag flying in the wind.”
In addition to functioning as a coming-of-age novel, Seven Heavens Away is a story of resistance, both Palestinian resistance generally and that of Aziz personally, as he struggles to grow into a person he can respect. Zaghal invites us into Aziz’s world, shows us what he’s up against, and elicits our compassion for a young man finding his way against all odds.
*
Janet S. Pollock is a writer, editor, and educator living on lək̓ʷəŋən territory in Victoria, British Columbia. She writes fiction, poetry, essays, creative non-fiction, and book reviews. Exploring topics such as the natural world, grief and loss, relationships, and human rights, Janet writes to render the world as it is and to nudge it toward what it could be. Her work has appeared in publications including Herizons, Prairie Fire, The Fiddlehead, Pangyrus, and The Malahat Review. Janet works in the Writing Centre at Camosun College, and she is pursuing her MFA in Writing at UVic. [Editor’s note: Janet reviewed recent books by Karin Wells and Joanna Cockerline for BCR.]
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The British Columbia Review
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Formerly The Ormsby Review, The British Columbia Review is an online book review and journal service for BC writers and readers. The Advisory Board now consists of Jean Barman, Wade Davis, Robin Fisher, Barry Gough, Hugh Johnston, Kathy Mezei, Patricia Roy, and Graeme Wynn. Provincial Government Patron (since September 2018): Creative BC. Honorary Patron: Yosef Wosk. Scholarly Patron: SFU Graduate Liberal Studies. The British Columbia Review was founded in 2016 by Richard Mackie and Alan Twigg.
“Only connect.” – E.M. Forster