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This title in other editions

Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits


Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits Cover




The Fanatic

LARBI AMRANI DIDNT consider himself a superstitious man, but when the prayer beads that hung on his rearview mirror broke, he found himself worrying that this could be an omen. His mother had given him the sandalwood beads on his college graduation, shortly before her death, advising him to use them often. At first Larbi had carried the beads in his pocket, fingered them after every prayer, but as the years went by hed reached for them with decreasing regularity, until one day they ended up as decoration in his car. Now they lay scattered, amber dots on the black floor mats. He picked up as many as he could find and put them in the cup holder, hoping to get them fixed later. He eased the Mercedes down the driveway and into the quiet, tree-lined street. Traffic was unusually light, even when he passed through the crenellated fortress walls at Bab Rouah.

 In his office at the Moroccan Ministry of Education, he opened up the days Al-Alam and asked the chaouch to bring him a glass of mint tea. In a few minutes he would tackle another pile of dossiers, deciding where newly graduated teachers would perform their two years of civil service, but for now he took his time reading the paper and sipping his tea. The headlines announced a train workers strike and yet another hike in the prices of milk and flour, so he skipped to the sports page.

 Before he could read the weekend football scores, his secretary buzzed him to announce that he had a visitor. Larbi put the paper away and stood up to welcome Si Tawfiq, an old friend he hadnt seen in fifteen years. (Or was it fourteen?) They had lived next door to each other in a new apartment complex in downtown Rabat, but after moving out to the suburbs they had lost touch. Si Tawfiq entered the room cloaked in his white burnous, even on this warm September day. After salaams and other pleasantries had been exchanged, Tawfiq cleared his throat. “Its about my niece. Shes finishing her degree next summer.” His protruding eyes, the result of a thyroid condition, made Larbi uncomfortable.

 “Congratulations,” Larbi said.

 “And she wants a job in Rabat.” Tawfiq smiled knowingly.

 Larbi tried to conceal his annoyance. The greatest need for teachers was in smaller towns and in the forgotten villages of the Atlas Mountains.

 “I was hoping you could help her,” Tawfiq added.

 “I wish I could, Si Tawfiq,” Larbi began. “But we have so few jobs in the city these days. The waiting list is this thick.” He held his fingers wide apart, as if he were talking about the phone book.

 “I understand,” Tawfiq said. “Of course, we would try to do anything we could to help you.”

 Larbi stroked the ends of his thin mustache, twisting them upward. He was not above taking the occasional bribe, but he recalled the mornings omen. “Please,” he said, holding up his palms. “Theres no need.” He cleared his throat and added weakly, “Im happy to serve all teachers. Its just that when so many people want the same thing, it becomes impossible to get all of them the assignment they want.”

 Tawfiq looked disappointed, and he stared at Larbi for a long minute. “I understand,” he said. “Thats why Ive come to you.”

 Larbi sighed. He didnt want to disappoint his friend, and anyway, what sense did it make to refuse a favor to a department head in the Sureté Nationale? “Ill see what I can do,” he said. Moving Tawfiqs niece up the list would require creative handling of the paperwork. Hed have to be discreet.

 Afterward, Larbi swiveled in his chair and put his feet on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. He looked out the window at the row of eucalyptus trees outside and thought again about his mother, her benevolent face appearing in his minds eye. He lit a Marlboro and inhaled slowly. Times were different now. He didnt create the system; he was just getting by, like everyone else. He turned to face his pile of dossiers.


WHEN LARBI GOT HOME that night, there was a nice surprise waiting for him on the console—a rare letter from his son, Nadir, who was studying electrical engineering in Québec. Larbi stepped inside the living room and sat on one of the leather sofas, moving a white-and-pink silk cushion out of the way. Two years ago, Larbis daughter, Noura, had taken up silk painting and, besides cushions, had made scarves, handkerchiefs, and watercolors. The results of her labor were scattered around the house. Larbi had thought that shed taken a serious interest in decorative arts, but it turned out to be nothing more than a high school fad, and all the brushes and bottles of paints shed insisted on buying were now in a plastic bag somewhere under the kitchen sink.

 Larbi opened the letter. These days, Nadir sent only hurried e-mails with scant details of college life. Whenever he wrote real letters, it was to ask his parents for money. This one was no different—he wanted 10,000 dirhams to buy a new laptop. Larbi shook his head. Nadir would probably spend it on CDs or a weekend out of town. But he didnt mind, so long as the boy did well in school, and he always did. Larbi loved to think of his sons future and of the position Nadir would be able to get with an engineering degree, especially one from abroad.

 Larbi walked through the corridor to Nouras room. He thought for a moment that she wasnt home, because her stereo wasnt blaring rock music, as it usually did, but he heard voices and so he knocked. Noura opened the door. She wore jeans and a black T-shirt with glittery letters spelling out the name of a rock band. Her hair fell in curly cascades on her shoulders. She looked at her watch. “Its already six-thirty?” she said, sounding surprised.

 “Look what I got for you,” Larbi said, handing her some magazines hed bought on his way home.

 “Thanks, Papa,” Noura said. She took the magazines from him, and when she stepped aside to drop them on her desk he saw her friend, a girl who sat on the chair by the window, her hands folded on her lap. She wore a gray, pilled sweater and an ankle-length denim skirt, and her hair was covered in a headscarf. Noura introduced her as Faten Khatibi, one of her classmates at the university in Rabat. Noura was supposed to have gone to NYU, but her scores on the standardized TOEFL exam were not high enough, and so she had to take a year of English at the public university. She was going to apply again in December. The delay had left her somewhat depressed, and the feeling was compounded by her loneliness—most of her friends from the private French lycée shed attended had gone on to universities abroad. Larbi stepped into the room and cheerfully extended his hand to Faten, but Faten didnt take it.“Pardon me,” she said. Her eyes shifted back to Noura and she smiled. Larbi dropped his hand awkwardly by his side. “Well.” There was unpleasant pause; Larbi could think of nothing to say. “Ill leave you two alone.”

 As he went toward the kitchen to get a drink, Larbi heard the key turn in the lock. His wife, Salma, walked in, her leather satchel on one arm and a set of laundered shirts on the other. “Sorry Im late,” she said. “The judge took a long recess.” Larbi took the shirts from her, dropping them on a chair in the foyer. He asked her who Nouras friend was. Salma shrugged. “Someone she met at school.”

 “Shes not the type of girl Ive seen her with before.”

 “You mean shes not an enfant gatée?” Salma gave him a little ironic smile. She had little patience with Nouras friends, private-school kids who spent most of their time worrying about their clothes or their cars. Years ago, Salma had disapproved of the idea of Nouras going to a French school, and Larbi himself had occasionally felt guilty that his own daughter was not part of the school system he helped to administer. Yet he had insisted; his daughter had so much potential, and he wanted her to succeed. Surely even an idealist like Salma could understand that.

 “I just dont want her to mix with the wrong type,” he said.

 “Shell be fine,” Salma said, giving him that woman-of-the-people look she affected from time to time and which irritated him supremely— just because she took on several cases every year for free and was active in the Moroccan Association of Human Rights didnt mean she knew any better than Larbi.

© 2005 by Laila Lalami

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be submitted

online at contact or mailed to the following address:

Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive,

Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

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tansaoui, July 30, 2010 (view all comments by tansaoui)
Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits is a an essay to better show the world some of the Moroccan cultures and tradition through some youngesters' unsuccessful attempt to illegally reach the other bank of the medeterranean sea. It is a realitisc and living fiction written by a woman, Laila Lalami who was raised in Morocco and better undertsands the situations of people who live in slums and also knows how they think and act. Neveretheless, such a dream of croosing the sea in inflatable rafts is already vanishing and disappearing as Morocco is undergoing remarkable and considearble achievement and progress. Wea re at least already on the track.

By Lekbir tansaoui
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(1 of 2 readers found this comment helpful)
D.B. Pacini, May 8, 2009 (view all comments by D.B. Pacini)
BEAUTIFUL GIFT: I recently received HOPE AND OTHER DANGEROUS PURSUITS by Laila Lalami as a gift. Lalami shares modern Morocco though interconnecting profiles and the compelling journeys of her characters will intrigue and draw you to them. These fictional characters are very much alive. This remarkable book is a beautiful gift to receive.
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(5 of 9 readers found this comment helpful)
Mary K., February 3, 2008 (view all comments by Mary K.)
Rochester NY has chosen this title for their "All of Rochester Reads" this year (2008) and I am anxious to secure this book and read it so that I can share my thoughts on it.
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(26 of 47 readers found this comment helpful)
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Product Details

Lalami, Laila
Harvest Books
General Fiction
Psychological fiction
Literature-A to Z
Edition Number:
Reprint ed.
Edition Description:
Trade Paper
Publication Date:
October 2, 2006
8 x 5.31 in 0.42 lb

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Fiction and Poetry » Literature » A to Z

Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits Used Trade Paper
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$8.95 In Stock
Product details 208 pages Harvest Books - English 9780156030878 Reviews:
"Staff Pick" by ,

As Hope and Other Dangerous Pursuits begins, thirty men, women, and children crowd onto an inflatable boat to embark on the dangerous fourteen-kilometer crossing from Morocco to Spain. Laila Lalami navigates their desperate attempt as prologue to a novel whose characters restlessly chart the rough going between landlocked extremes: old world and new, faith and despair, hope and surrender.

"Review" by , "With spare prose and superb characterization, these tales of determined struggle command fierce credibility and irresistible empathy....This is an unexpected and enthralling read from a promising new voice."
"Review" by , "Lalami's characters are believable, sympathetic, and quite ordinary, nurturing hopes and dreams of a better life in the face of harsh conditions. An eloquent, fascinating glimpse into Moroccan culture and traditions, this debut is highly recommended."
"Review" by , "With subtlety and grace the author explores the emotional complexities of the culture they're trying to escape — one that bears more resemblance to ours than we may imagine."
"Review" by , "Lalami's debut novel is an absolute treasure. With realistic, clear, wonderful writing, she fully explores her characters — flaws, strengths, and all."
"Review" by , "Lalami's story lines are evocative, her characters arresting, the settings vivid, and her voice pure and penetrating, ensuring that these striking tales of unsanctioned journeys and urgently improvised lives are at once timely and timeless."
"Review" by , "This intense portrait of a gorgeous, once-powerful civilization stands in stark relief to the modern society Lalami skillfully depicts with gritty realism...impressive: This could well be the preamble to an important body of work."
"Review" by , "Lalami writes in a style both pragmatic and poetic, with romance and the human condition coiled together. An excellent book."
"Review" by , "A dream of a debut, by turns troubling and glorious, angry and wise. With her spare elegant prose Lalami has constructed a world remarkable for its resilience, its vibrancy, its motion, and yes, its hope."
"Review" by , "Laila Lalami's compelling work of fiction provides an anatomy of hope and struggle. Building with quiet urgency, these tales gradually transform into the story of a nation and a profound moment in history."
"Synopsis" by ,
"A bracing and beautiful little novel."—The Washington Post Book World 

In her exciting debut, Laila Lalami evokes the grit and enduring grace that is modern Morocco and offers an authentic look at the Muslim immigrant experience today.

For reasons as different as the lives they are leaving behind, four Muslims illegally cross the Strait of Gibraltar in an inflatable boat headed for Spain. What has driven these men and women to risk their lives? And will the rewards prove to be worth the danger? Sensitively written with beauty and boldness, this is a gripping book about people in search of a better future.

"Lalami skillfully limns the dark recesses of the Muslim world and creates true-to-life characters . . .With subtlety and grace the author explores the emotional complexities of the culture theyre trying to escape—one that bears more resemblance to ours than we may imagine."—People

"In a book that feels as contemporary as a newspaper headline, that seems to explain so much . . . Lalami paints a vivid picture of modern-day Morocco as a place of dashed dreams and political repression."--The Boston Globe

Laila Lalami was born and raised in Rabat and educated in Morocco, Britain, and the United States. Her work has appeared in the Los Angeles Times, the Baltimore Review, the Oregonian, the Nation, and elsewhere. She is the creator and editor of, a blog about books and culture. She lives in Portland, Oregon.

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