Plain Talk
By Mursi Saad El-Din
It is not so often that a writer discusses about his own work. But when I devote my column to my most recently published book, bearing the same title of this column, I am dealing, rather, with its content. The content, the harvest of over 20 years of writing, must have been read, or gone unread, for that matter, by many. What I am writing about is the efforts behind its publication.
The idea of publishing this book was the brainchild of its editor Amira Zahid, who works for the publisher, Daheshish Publishing, a division of the New York Dahesh Museum. Apparently she was a regular reader of my column, Plain Talk, through the internet. I got to know Amira when she invited me to give a talk in the museum about what I called at the time neo- Orientalism.
What really impressed me about the publication was the incredible way of editing. My column bore the title "Plain Talk", but Amira, somehow, managed to give every one a title. Considering that the book includes over 500 columns, one can imagine the magnitude of the editing process. Besides, the book has one of the most comprehensive indexes I have ever come across.
But let me digress a little and give the background of these columns. When Al-Ahram decided to publish an English weekly I was approached by its newly appointed editor the late Hosny Guindi. I had retired from the Government services, spending over six years as chairman of the State Information Service and official spokesman. Hosny asked me if I would consider joining the founding members of the new weekly. I agreed without hesitation, since the love of journalism is in my blood. So I became a cog in the wheel of a new publication that was subject to succeeding or failing. But thanks to the professional knowhow of Hosny Guindi and the carefully selected staff, the paper has become a success.
The newly published weekly was subjected to some attacks. I shall always remember that a writer on the staff of the Egyptian Gazette called our publication "Al-Ahram Weakly". I should mention that that writer later joined our ranks as film critic, a post he occupied until his premature death.
When I look at this colossal book of 806 pages I wonder how one can take one's writing for granted. Week in, week out, I sat down and entrusted my thoughts to pen and paper. I never looked at what I had written until it was published in the paper. I remember what one of the English writers says that once thoughts are put down on paper they no longer belong to their author. Readers always have their own varied interpretation of the written text. And we, the poor writers, can never envisage what our readers will accept.
Going through this collection I remembered a number of questions I used to ask myself after finishing one of my columns: "Am I talking to myself? Are there readers of my column? Am I writing something worth reading?"
Which leads me to an important issue: research in reading and readership. I have read a number of such researches carried out in Western countries, but, as far as I know, not in Egypt. An important issue is our reaction to the infinite possibilities of modern communication technology.
Which takes me back to a PEN Congress I attended in London in 1955. The theme of the congress was "The writer in a changing society" and the main discussions centred on the challenge facing writers of the then new communication device, television. Television may no longer pose a challenge, and yet writers are still asking the same questions.
Only the culprit is different.