The “Literatures of Annihilation, Exile, and Resistance” series represents a strategic imperative to foster global dialogue by centering voices from the Middle East and North Africa alongside American writers of color. This framework is essential for confronting the “long afterlife of silence” inherent in displacement. Kaveh Akbar’s debut novel, Martyr!, serves as a masterclass in this synthesis, moving beyond the limitations of the traditional “trauma narrative” to offer a metaphysical exploration of belonging.
Akbar’s primary differentiator is his use of “bewilderment” as a spiritual and creative tool. Drawing on the Sufi prayer, “Lord, increase my bewilderment,” Akbar rejects the “cleanly packaged self” expected by the American imaginary. Instead, his protagonist, Cyrus Shams, inhabits a state of “unbelief and belief” simultaneously. This isn’t a lack of identity, but a rejection of stagnant categories, allowing the character to remain “a wash in the world” while seeking a death—and a life—that possesses actual weight.
The narrative is anchored in the stark geopolitical reality of the 1988 downing of Iran Air Flight 655 by a U.S. missile cruiser. This historical fact, which claimed the life of the protagonist’s mother, serves as the novel’s “animating rage.” Akbar evaluates the “bad symmetry” between the “necro-Islamic” regime of Iran—which hijacked the language of martyrdom to send “human waves” of soldiers to clear landmines—and the “necro-capitalist” tendencies of the United States. He notes how the U.S. utilized the language of “sacrifice” regarding “essential workers” during the COVID-19 pandemic to obfuscate systemic failures. By venerating these workers as martyrs, the state normalized their demise, much like the Iranian regime’s use of murals to celebrate the dead.
This tension extends to the “frontiers of language.” Akbar views English as an “inefficient playground,” a medium of empire that can be “exploded” to find home. He contrasts this with the “thespian” nature of Farsi, where “I miss you” translates to “my heart tightens for you.” Host Azareen Van der Vliet Oloomi notes that these “haunted, spectral voices” move through the novel like “shrapnel,” piercing the reader’s consciousness.
Akbar presents art as a “lifeboat” within the reader’s “psychic Sahara.” He references Jorge Luis Borges’s epiphany that scooping sand in the desert “modifies the Sahara,” suggesting that literature indelibly alters our internal topography. Crucially, Akbar adds a layer of cultural critique regarding Borges’s claim that the Quran’s authenticity is proven by its lack of “camels”—noting that there are, in fact, many camels in the Quran. This anecdote highlights the danger of the “tourist gaze” and the importance of true cultural utility. Akbar’s work, punctuated by his literal and figurative “exclamation point,” insists that literature should be both “sweet and useful”—delighting the reader while providing the instruction necessary to survive the interval between two infinities.
The power of this individual voice provides a necessary counter-weight to collective history, proving that the courage to “say yes to life” is the ultimate act of resistance.