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Laila LalamiHope And Other Dangerous Pursuits
Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2005A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Themes
Hope and the Immigrant Experience
Hope represents the most prevalent theme throughout the book, as indicated by the title. However, as the title suggests, this hope does imply a sense of danger, whether of the past violence and poverty suffered by the characters or of the unknown that awaits them. Murad’s sense of hope is specifically tied up his fantasies about the future, as he tries to propel himself forward by reassuring himself that his life cannot get any worse. On the boat, Murad thinks“[i]t will be all right now. He comforts himself with the familiar fantasy that sustained him back home, all those nights when he couldn’t fall asleep, worrying about how he would pay rent or feed his mother and brothers” (14). Even though Murad subjects himself to a dangerous voyage, it is his hope that keeps him sane and prevents the fear from overwhelming him. Murad’s hope for the future protects him against the danger of the present as well as the anxiety and troubles of his past. Even when Murad is unsuccessful in his journey to Spain, he still has hope: “And next time, he’ll make it” (17). In order to move forward in his life, Murad must maintain hope above all else. His situation in Morocco is so desperate that it seems as though hope is the only stability his life can provide. Without hope, the author suggests that Murad might not survive, demonstrating the fatal flipside to the positivity most people associate with hope.
However, as the title suggests, hope is something that is easily lost. Faten tries not to think about the past, refusing to press Martín about his studies, “for she feared it would bring back memories of her own college life back in Morocco and she didn’t want to think of that time in her life, when the world still seemed full of promise and possibility” (133). By the end of the book, Faten seems to be the character with the least amount of hope left, as she does not seem to enjoy her life in Spain and cannot see anything past the sex work she is now involved in. She remembers a time when her life felt hopeful but cannot apply that hope to her present situation. For Faten, hope exists entirely in the world of the past, something she is no longer able to access, perhaps something she has lost along with her innocence.
Similarly, Larbi also realizes that he has lost hope towards the end of his story, leaving him with the bitter taste of nostalgia: “He suddenly felt nostalgic and wanted to ask her about those heady days in the seventies when they were both young and the world was open before them and they had big dreams of setting it right” (51). Like Faten, Larbi’s hope dwells entirely in the world of the past. Now, he is just getting along as best as he can, as though he has neither a concept of the past nor of the future. Like Faten, Larbi seems to exclusively exist in the present, demonstrating the psychological ramifications of a life without hope.
The book inextricably links chronology and an understanding of both the past and the future with hope. When Murad realizes he must sacrifice the past in order to attain hope, he begins to see the cost of hope as something that is too dear a price to pay. Similarly, hope is almost exclusively associated with money and financial stability throughout the book, both things that can dissipate more easily than they can be gained.
For Halima, hope does not represent something personal but rather is almost exclusively associated with her children. In contrast to the other characters, Halima’s hope is for a better life for her children, including her daughter, Mouna: “She [Mouna] could have everything Halima had wanted for herself—if only the family could get out of the shanty-town, with its dirty alleys where teenagers sniffed glue by day and roamed around in bands at night” (61). Much like Murad, Halima associates hope with financial stability; however, her hope is for the financial wellbeing of her children, not necessarily of herself. In this way, it seems as though Halima represents the only character who becomes self-actualized through her journey to find hope, as she eventually is able to secure financial stability for her family.
The Effect of Socioeconomic Status on Decision-Making
Decisions also play a major role within the novel, as they both mitigate and are mitigated by the character’s quests to pursue hope. When contemplating his lack of success entering Spain, Murad believes the fault to lie in the coalescence of multiple decisions: “If they hadn’t been forced into the water, if he’d swum faster, if he’d gone west instead of east, he would have made it” (15). Murad’s hope is mitigated by the decisions both he and other people make. However, this also presents itself in the promise of the future; that is, if he can assess what the decisions were that led to his capture, then he can do the opposite in the future, allowing for the hope of a different possible outcome. However, this view of decisions as inextricably linked to hope also places great responsibility on the characters, as it seems as though every decision they make affects their future wellbeing. Similarly, it presumes a kind of agency that many of the characters do not in fact possess. Many of these characters are in situations wholly outside of their control. By presuming agency for their future, this also places responsibility for their present situations—whether poverty, domestic violence, or unemployment—upon the shoulders of these characters, avoiding any indication of systemic injustices and cycles of poverty and violence. Society is then not held culpable for the role it plays in the tragic circumstances of the characters. Rather, the characters seem to blame themselves for their misfortunes.
This sense of responsibility is most clearly felt in Halima’s situation. She blames herself both for her poverty as well as her husband’s abuse, a culpability that is reiterated by both her husband and her mother. The psychological ramifications of this blame can be seen in the way in which she approaches everyday decisions: “If she served the tagine now, the food would be cold by the time he got home and he might be upset. If she waited, the children would be late for school and he might still be upset. She hated these impossible choices that he forced her to make every day” (64). Halima has internalized the sense of responsibility for her husband’s behavior. Like many victims of domestic abuse, she believes that her choices dictate her husband’s mood. As such, her life becomes beholden to the whims of her husband. She has no agency and yet all the responsibility for her future wellbeing. She is then doubly victimized as she is both physically mistreated and gaslit into believing that her husband’s abuse is her fault, creating a situation that seems as inescapable as it is traumatic.
However, these decisions represent specific and tangible options, as the book suggests that more abstract decisions cannot be reached by many of these characters. For example, the decision to have faith—presented as inherently different from hope—does not seem to be an option for these characters who are constantly struggling to survive. Faten contemplates the luxury of having faith as a decision that is only offered to those people who do not have to worry about survival:
She was rich; she had the luxury of having faith. But then, Faten though, Noura also had the luxury of having no faith; she’d probably found the hijab too constraining and ended up taking it off to show off her designer clothes. That was the thing with money. It gave you choices (145).
In this way, abstract decisions are presented as a luxury, something that only characters with means can decide for themselves. In contrast to the more tangible decisions faced by these characters, they are not afforded the luxury of more abstract decisions of religion and morality because of the extreme poverty and danger of their situations. It would appear then that the author suggests that morality—at least, that which is prescribed by religion—is a decision of luxury, one that can only occur when tangible decisions—such as where to find food, shelter, and employment—are already reached. Only when an individual has his or her basic human needs met can they consider the loftier decisions afforded by abstract thought. In this way, religion seems to be recreated not as an opiate of the masses but as a luxury only the rich can afford.
Interchangeability and the Moroccan Identity
In the novel, the four main characters have their own stories, which are told with linked commonalities. Despite the extent to which Lalami presents the Moroccan characters and their personal lives, the book also presents the characters as interchangeable. This lack of autonomy stems from the Moroccan society the characters live in—a society that seems to deem them as interchangeable. Indeed, the characters themselves internalize this interchangeability, believing that they could easily be someone else. For example, Halima believes herself as interchangeable with her boss, Hanan:
I could have been her, Halima thought, as she did almost every time she was in Hana’s presence. I could have been her, had my luck been different, had I gone to a real school, had I married someone else. She wondered now whether Hanan thought the same thing of her and had given her the job only out of pity (75).
This belief in interchangeability fails to examine the systemic oppression of injustice within Moroccan society. Rather, it places culpability for social placement within the characters themselves instead of upon the society that is failing them. Even if Halima’s luck had been significantly better—for example, if her husband had not been an abusive drunk—the reality remains that she would not have risen to Hana’s level, as demonstrated by the lives of the other characters. It is therefore not a character’s bad luck that determines their social placement and lack of opportunity but rather social systems designed to foster injustice. These characters are all incredibly poor with little or no opportunities to better themselves within Morocco. Within the societal perspective of interchangeability, they become faceless people looking for a way out. However, it is not only Moroccan society but also the external global society that perceives these characters as the same.
This global perspective of interchangeability is demonstrated in the very first chapter, when Murad realizes that he could have easily died crossing the Strait of Gibraltar: “It could have been him in that body bag; it could have been Faten. Maybe it was Aziz or Halima” (17). Although being undocumented does provide him a certain amount of anonymity, it also recasts Murad as just another faceless immigrant to be caught by the Spanish civil guard. Even though the readers understand the personality differences between the characters, the external world’s perspective—especially concerning that of the Guardia Civil—demonstrates the inherent morbidity within this interchangeability. If Murad could have been one of these other characters, then according to the Spanish Guardia Civil, he might as well be one of these characters or one of the unlucky ones in a body bag. This anonymity and interchangeability does not offer protection then, as Murad hopes; rather, it offers a dark view of the way in which we conceive of other human beings. One might suggest that the author uses this idea of interchangeability in order to demonstrate how incorrect this viewpoint is and to highlight the differences between these characters. Despite arising from similar economic situations and lack of opportunities, these characters are incredibly diverse and are in no way interchangeable. Therefore, it would seem that the author uses this thematic element of interchangeability in order to protest the perspective as a whole.
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