I don't know Arabic. I can't speak or write it.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Whenever I come across an Arabic word mired in English text, I am momentarily shocked out of the narrative.
I do not use the language of my people. I can take liberties with certain themes which the Arabic language would not allow me to take.
Arabic is very twisting, very beautiful. The call to prayer is quite haunting; it almost makes you a believer on the spot.
Being published in Arabic is a strong and consistent wish I have. I live in the Middle East and want to be in some sort of an unpragmatic dialogue with my neighbors.
Everybody needs to understand that I learned Arabic from the United States Army as a second language. I never spoke it at home.
There is no other language as similar to Hebrew like Arabic.
Many Arabic/Islamic words have now entered the English dictionary, such as haj, hijab, Eid, etc., and I no longer need to put them in italics or explain them.
I miss aspects of being in the Arab world - the language - and there is a tranquility in these cities with great rivers. Whether it's Cairo or Baghdad, you sit there and you think, 'This river has flown here for thousands of years.' There are magical moments in these places.
A first difficulty of the Arab movement was to say who the Arabs were. Being a manufactured people, their name had been changing in sense slowly year by year. Once it meant an Arabian. There was a country called Arabia; but this was nothing to the point.
But my Arabic is pretty good. It's good enough to have conversations with people, to understand what they say, to understand what they're feeling.