My Friends by Hisham Matar

Oh, to be adrift in a sea of memories, longing for a home that no longer exists. Hisham Matar’s “My Friends” is a haunting meditation on exile, friendship, and the spaces we create to survive when we’re cut off from our roots. It’s a book that seeps into your bones, leaving you aching with a nostalgia for places you’ve never been and people you’ve never met.

Matar’s prose is like a gentle wave, lulling you into a trance. Then suddenly—bam!—you’re hit with a sentence so achingly beautiful it knocks the wind out of you. I found myself stopping to re-read passages, letting the words wash over me. It’s the kind of writing that makes you want to grab the person next to you and say, “Listen to this!” But you can’t, because how do you explain the weight of a single perfect sentence to someone who hasn’t lived in these pages?

The Story: Fragments of a Shattered Mirror

At its heart, “My Friends” is about three Libyan men—Khaled, Mustafa, and Hosam—bound together by shared history and the pain of exile. We follow them over decades, from their student days in Edinburgh to their lives as reluctant Londoners, always with one foot in the past and one eye on their troubled homeland.

The novel opens with a bang—literally. Khaled and Mustafa, barely more than boys, are caught up in a violent protest outside the Libyan embassy in London. Bullets fly, blood is spilled, and in that moment, their fates are sealed. They can never go home again. It’s a searing scene that sets the tone for everything that follows.

From there, the narrative splinters and reforms like a kaleidoscope. We jump back and forth in time, piecing together the lives of these three men. Khaled, our narrator, becomes a teacher in London, forever haunted by what he’s lost. Mustafa burns with revolutionary fervor, unable to let go of the dream of a free Libya. And Hosam, the writer, tries to make sense of it all through his art.

Matar weaves their stories together with exquisite skill. One moment we’re in the sun-baked streets of Benghazi, the next in a dreary London flat. Past and present bleed into each other, mirroring the fractured reality of the exile’s experience. It’s disorienting at times, but isn’t that exactly how memory works?

The Language of Loss

Let’s talk about Matar’s prose for a minute, because good lord, this man can write. There’s a hushed quality to his language, like someone telling you a secret they’ve never shared before. It’s intimate and confessional, drawing you in close.

Take this passage, where Khaled reflects on his life in London:

“I am convinced, as I watch him go to his train for Paris, that city where the two of us first met so long ago and in the most unlikely way, that he is carrying, right where the rib cages meet, an invisible burden, one, I believe, I can discern from this distance.”

It’s so specific, yet universal. You can feel the weight of that “invisible burden” in your own chest. Matar has this incredible ability to capture abstract emotions and make them tangible.

And the descriptions! Matar paints vivid pictures with just a few well-chosen words. The “soft tremble in the hands” of a man haunted by trauma. The “cautious climate” in someone’s eyes. A face “like a landscape liable to bad weather.” It’s the kind of writing that makes you see the world differently.

A Meditation on Memory and Identity

At its core, My Friends by Hisham Matar is about the slippery nature of identity when you’re torn from your roots. Who are you when you can’t go home? When your native language starts to fade? When your memories of “before” become more vivid than your current reality?

Matar explores these questions with nuance and sensitivity. There’s no easy answers here, just the messy, complicated reality of lives lived in limbo. Our characters struggle to define themselves in a new context, always aware of the gap between who they were and who they’ve become.

The novel is deeply concerned with memory—how we shape it, how it shapes us, and how unreliable it can be. Khaled is constantly sifting through his recollections, trying to make sense of the past. But memory is a tricky thing, colored by time and distance. What’s real and what’s just a story we tell ourselves?

There’s a beautiful scene where Khaled visits the spot where he was shot years ago. He’s both drawn to it and repelled, unable to reconcile the physical place with the outsized role it plays in his personal mythology. It’s a perfect encapsulation of the exile’s dilemma – how do you relate to a homeland that exists more in your mind than in reality?

The Politics of Exile

While “My Friends” is deeply personal, it’s also inherently political. The shadow of Gaddafi’s regime looms large over everything. We see how political upheaval can shatter individual lives, sending ripples across generations.

Matar doesn’t shy away from the complexities of the situation. There’s no clear-cut good guys and bad guys here. Even within our trio of friends, there’s disagreement about how to relate to their homeland. Mustafa’s fiery activism clashes with Khaled’s more cautious approach. Hosam tries to make sense of it all through his writing, but even that feels inadequate.

The novel takes on added poignancy in light of Libya’s recent history. Written before the 2011 revolution that ousted Gaddafi, it captures a moment of stasis—a time when return seemed impossible, but hope hadn’t quite died. Reading it now, knowing what was to come, adds another layer of bittersweetness to an already elegiac story.

A Worthy Booker Contender

It’s no surprise to see My Friends by Hisham Matar on the Booker Prize 2024 longlist. This is literature of the highest caliber—thoughtful, beautifully crafted, and deeply resonant. Matar has a gift for illuminating the universal through the specific. Even if you’ve never experienced exile, you’ll find something of yourself in these pages.

The novel stands alongside other great works of displacement literature. It brought to mind Mohsin Hamid’s “Exit West” or Viet Thanh Nguyen’s “The Sympathizer”—books that grapple with what it means to be caught between worlds. Matar’s voice is distinctly his own, though. There’s a quietness to his writing that sneaks up on you.

For readers familiar with Matar’s earlier work, “My Friends” will feel like a natural progression. It shares themes with his Pulitzer Prize-winning memoir “The Return,” exploring the long shadow cast by political violence. But where “The Return” was explicitly autobiographical, “My Friends” allows Hisham Matar more freedom to explore different facets of the exile experience.

The Weight of What’s Left Unsaid

One of the most striking things about “My Friends” is what Hisham Matar leaves unsaid. There’s so much simmering beneath the surface, hinted at but never fully articulated. It’s in the pauses between conversations, the things characters choose not to share with each other.

This reticence feels true to life. How often do we really bare our souls, even to our closest friends? There’s a moment where Khaled reflects on his relationship with Mustafa:

“I do not doubt that I have been equally responsible for this gap, but nonetheless I continue to accuse him in the privacy of my thoughts, believing that a part of him had chosen to remain aloof.”

It’s such a human observation—that push and pull between wanting connection and holding something back. Matar captures the complexities of long-term friendship with remarkable insight.

The Verdict: A Quiet Masterpiece

“My Friends” is not a book that announces itself with fireworks. It’s more like a slow-burning flame, warming you from the inside out. Matar’s prose requires patience and attention, but the rewards are immense.

This is a novel to be savored, not rushed through. I found myself reading it in small doses, letting each section settle before moving on. It’s the kind of book that changes you, subtly altering how you see the world.

If I have one critique, it’s that the pacing can be languid at times. This is very much a character-driven novel, light on plot. Readers looking for high drama might be disappointed. But for those willing to immerse themselves in Matar’s world, it’s a deeply satisfying experience.

“My Friends” cements Hisham Matar’s place as one of our great contemporary writers. It’s a profound exploration of exile, memory, and the bonds that sustain us in impossible circumstances. Whether or not it takes home the Booker, it’s a book that will linger in your mind long after you turn the final page.

In the end, isn’t that what we ask of great literature? To show us something of ourselves, to make us feel less alone in the world. “My Friends” does that and more. It’s a quiet masterpiece, as elusive and precious as the memory of home.