Monday night is a must-not-miss kind of night. The ALOUD series at the Central Library downtown & Red Hen Press is hosting a memorial reading for Mutanabbi Street on Monday night at 7pm.
What is Mutanabbi Street? The Memorial Reading site says it best:
"On March 5, 2007, a car bomb was exploded on Mutanabbi Street in Baghdad. Mutanabbi Street is in a mixed Shia-Sunni area. More than 30 people were killed and more than 100 were wounded. This locale is the historic center of Baghdad bookselling, a winding street filled with bookstores and outdoor book stalls. Named after the famed 10th-century classical Arab poet, Al-Mutanabbi, this is an old and established street for bookselling and has been for hundreds of years. Mutanabbi Street also holds cafes, stationery shops, and even tea and tobacco shops. It has been the heart and soul of the Baghdad literary and intellectual community.
This tragedy is part of a wider and continuing tragedy, but one that the reading organizers want to isolate and address—not only for the loss of lives but also for the implications underlying the destruction of a street where books were sold. Bookselling on Mutanabbi Street is no different from bookselling here."
Writers you know well and some you may not know well will be reading their work in memoriam for Mutanabbi Street. Chris Abani, Beau Beausoleil, Laila Lalami, Suzanne Lummis, Majid Naficy, Marisela Norte, Sholeh Wolpé and my brilliant writing mentor from a few years back, Terry Wolverton, will be in attendance. The Saadoun Al-Bayati Ensemble will perform music from Iraq.
As of this posting, there are still free tickets available. You can make reservations at the Aloud LA site. I'll be there and hope to see you too. It should be a night of reflection...and a reminder of the profound impact books have on the lives of those who read them.
Just this evening, after a difficult day and a difficult week of trying to sort out what I'm writing (for whom and for what and why), I sought the refuge of my favorite bookstore. Why? No matter what ails me, I find that a good bookstore heals the wound...or at least leads me to the location of the salve. I've never left a bookstore in anger or despair or frustration. Time spent among the stacks heals me. If it's the same for you, imagine losing your local bookstore...or all of them. What would that be like, especially during a time of national crisis and imminent danger?
I don't know how those who live near Mutanabbi Street have coped and I don't want to pretend I've got an inkling of an understanding. I do feel, though, that it is necessary for me (and perhaps everyone who loves books and can embrace the impact a book has had on their lives) to lend support by attendance.
It promises to be quite a night. Perhaps I'll see you there?
