Hope And Other Dangerous Pursuits

The characters in the book are alternately plagued by too little and insurmountable space. In their immediate lives, they have no personal space as they live in poverty and often reside in close proximity to one another. For example, Murad lives in a one-bedroom apartment with his whole family:

Murad went into the only bedroom in the apartment, where his mother and his sister, Lamya, slept at night. He and his younger brother, Khalid, spent the night on the divans in the living room. It was a stroke of luck that the middle children […] had earned a scholarship and had started medical school […] There wouldn’t have been enough space for two more people here (105).

These instances of a lack of space bring readers face-to-face with the reality of poverty, in which these characters do not have personal space. Rather, all of their space is communal, shared by other members of their families if they are lucky. The proximity of other people heightens the sense of oppression, as many characters feel trapped within the confines of their environments.

Despite the close proximity and the lack of personal space these characters suffer from, they are also plagued by what seems to be insurmountable space, specifically the 14 kilometers that separate Morocco from Spain, a figure that is repeated throughout the first section of the book. Every time Murad repeats this distance, almost in prayer, the distance remains the same; yet, the feeling of desperation grows. Murad focuses on this idea: “Tarifa is about 250 meters away now. It’ll only take another few minutes” (9); however, he is never able to cross this invisible barrier of space. Even though the distance physically closes and he does briefly enter Spain, he is never actually able to cross the ephemeral border of Spain as he is taken right back to Morocco. This insurmountable space, as seen in national borders, plagues many of the characters, as though they are unable to cross into certain areas specifically due to their socioeconomic statuses. As such, it seems as though the author implies that certain public spaces are closed as a result of systemic injustices.

In order to counteract their fairly harrowing circumstances, many of the characters turn to fantasy as a source of comfort. When Murad feels anxious about the success of the crossing, he turns to fantasy as a way to alleviate the stress and psychological strain brought about by his environments:

He comforts himself with the familiar fantasy that sustained him back home, all those nights when he couldn’t fall asleep, worrying about how he would pay rent or feed his mother and brothers. He imagines the office where he’ll be working; he can see his fingers moving quickly and precisely over his keyboard; he can hear his phone ringing. He pictures himself going home to a modern, well-furnished apartment, his wife greeting him, the TV in the background (14).

Through these fantasies, which are not luxurious, the author demonstrates what these characters are lacking; that is, she is able to show just how dire their circumstances really are. The characters find comfort in the humdrum of stability, which is, more than anything, what their fantasies are about. Because of their poverty, they have never experienced stability in their lives; they are always trying to scrape and hustle just to survive. In this way, the fantasy that becomes most apparent as well as the most tragic is that of stability, of attaining the bare necessities so that they do not have to worry where their next meal will come from.

However, even though these seem to provide comfort to the characters, they are not themselves without problems. Throughout the book, many of the fantasies have a decidedly male cast, as the reader often encounters these fantasies through the male gaze. This gendered notion of fantasies can lead to the exoticization of female characters, especially in Martín’s fantasies concerning Faten. Such culturally-biased fantasies essentially recreate the multifaceted character of Faten and limit her to a stereotype. Similarly, Aziz’s fantasies concerning his wife also fail to account for his wife’s agency as a character, instead favoring his desires over her wishes. This decidedly male world of fantasy then limits female agency, erasing portions of these women that do not align with male desire. However, Murad eventually realizes how harmful these fantasies can be, specifically in their capacity for erasure. In this sense, it would seem as though the author is cautioning against fantasies: while they may provide comfort, they might also have repercussions that worsen already dire circumstances.

Luck plays an important role in the lives of many of the characters. Most instances of fortune are attributed to good luck, whereas any case of misfortune—from Halima’s domestic abuse to Murad’s lack of ability to find employment—are attributed to bad luck. There is little concept of character agency throughout the book; the characters do not believe themselves to be the agents of their own fortunes. For example, Halima speaks of finding money in nearly the same breath in which she refers to her husband’s promise to mend his ways: “She spotted a crisp fifty-dirham bill on the dusty sidewalk. What luck! That same morning, Maati had promised her he’d stop drinking and now this. When she got on the bus the attendant said he had an extra ticket that someone had bought by mistake” (63). Although the first and last instance can in fact be attributed to luck, Maati deciding to quit drinking—which he, of course, does not in fact do—revolves more around Maati’s—and to some extent Halima’s—own actions. In this way, Halima characterizes people’s behavior as separate from their responsibilities. That is not to say that Halima has a responsibility to make Maati stop drinking; rather, by construing this action as luck she denies the implications that either she has had a positive effect on her husband and that her husband is responsible for his own behavior. In attributing such events as lucky, she denies agency for both herself and Maati, thereby relieving him of culpability.

Similarly, Aziz’s successful endeavor to Spain is ascribed to luck. He described as having “already been luckier than most” (155), denying Aziz agency. This belief in luck as the ultimate agent of change creates a kind of cognitive dissonance between the book and the reader: the reader understands the trials that Aziz had to go through in order to successfully emigrate to Spain, but the book denies this effort, attributing Aziz’s success to luck. To some extent, this is true, as many of the other characters who put in time and money attempting to emigrate are unsuccessful. However, it also refuses to acknowledge the sacrifices and decisions that Aziz made in order to achieve his goal. This quotation also demonstrates the relativity associated with luck. What the reader might consider to be lucky is not necessarily what the characters believe to be lucky, again distancing the reader from the beliefs of the characters. Luck undoubtedly plays an important role within the book, as it forces the reader to question which character—if any—are truly lucky at the conclusion of these stories.