Leading Lebanese Novelist Elias Khoury Dies at 76

Lebanese prominent writer and intellectual Elias Khoury speaks during an interview with The Associated Press at his office in the Institute for Palestine Studies in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Aug. 8, 2014. (AP)
Lebanese prominent writer and intellectual Elias Khoury speaks during an interview with The Associated Press at his office in the Institute for Palestine Studies in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Aug. 8, 2014. (AP)
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Leading Lebanese Novelist Elias Khoury Dies at 76

Lebanese prominent writer and intellectual Elias Khoury speaks during an interview with The Associated Press at his office in the Institute for Palestine Studies in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Aug. 8, 2014. (AP)
Lebanese prominent writer and intellectual Elias Khoury speaks during an interview with The Associated Press at his office in the Institute for Palestine Studies in Beirut, Lebanon, Friday, Aug. 8, 2014. (AP)

Lebanese novelist Elias Khoury who dedicated much of his writings to the Palestinian cause and taught at universities around the world, making him one of Lebanon’s most prominent intellectuals, has died. He was 76.

Khoury, a leading voice of Arab literature, had been ill for months and admitted and discharged from hospital several times over the past year until his death early Sunday, Al-Quds Al-Arabi daily that he worked for said.

The Lebanese writer, born and raised in Beirut, was outspoken in defense of freedom of speech and harsh criticism of Middle East politics.

In addition to his novels, Khoury wrote articles in different Arab media outlets over the past five decades making him well known throughout the Arab world.

Two days after the Israel-Hamas war broke out on Oct. 7, Khoury wrote an article in Al-Quds A-Arab daily titled “It’s Palestine.” Khoury wrote then that “the biggest open-air prison, the besieged Ghetto of Gaza, has launched a war against Israel, occupied settlements and forced settlers to flee.”

Born in Beirut on July 12, 1948, Khoury had been known for his political stances from his support of Palestinians to his harsh criticism of Israel and what he called its “brutal” settling policy in Palestinian territories. He studied at the Lebanese University and later at the University of Paris, where he received a PhD in social history.

"The Catastrophe began in 1948 and it is still going on,” he once wrote referring to Israel’s settlement policies in occupied Palestinian territories. The “nakba,” or “catastrophe” is a term used by many Arabs to describe the displacement of hundreds of thousands of Palestinians when Israel was created in 1948.

Khoury was an outspoken supporter of Arab uprisings that broke out in the region starting in 2011 and toppled several governments.

Khoury, who belonged to a Greek Orthodox Christian family, took part in Lebanon’s 1975-90 civil war and was wounded in one of the battles.

From 1992 until 2009, Khoury was the editor of the cultural section of Lebanon’s leading An-Nahar newspaper. Until his death, he was the editor-in-chief of the Palestine Studies magazine, a bulletin issued by the Beirut-based Institute for Palestine Studies.

His first novel was published in 1975, but his second, Little Mountain, which he released in 1977 and was about Lebanon’s devastating civil war was very successful.

Bab al-Shams, or Gate of the Sun, released in 2000, was about Palestinian refugees in Lebanon since 1948. A movie about the novel was made in Egypt.

His novels were translated to several languages including Hebrew.

Khoury also taught at different universities including New York University, Columbia, Princeton and Houston, as well as the University of London.



Dedicated Artists Are Keeping Japan’s Ancient Craft of Temari Alive 

Sanuki Kagari Temari balls are in a gift box in Eiko Araki's studio in Kawaramachi, Kagawa prefecture, Japan, on Sept. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Yuri Kageyama) 
Sanuki Kagari Temari balls are in a gift box in Eiko Araki's studio in Kawaramachi, Kagawa prefecture, Japan, on Sept. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Yuri Kageyama) 
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Dedicated Artists Are Keeping Japan’s Ancient Craft of Temari Alive 

Sanuki Kagari Temari balls are in a gift box in Eiko Araki's studio in Kawaramachi, Kagawa prefecture, Japan, on Sept. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Yuri Kageyama) 
Sanuki Kagari Temari balls are in a gift box in Eiko Araki's studio in Kawaramachi, Kagawa prefecture, Japan, on Sept. 5, 2024. (AP Photo/Yuri Kageyama) 

Time seems to stop here.

Women sit in a small circle, quietly, painstakingly stitching patterns on balls the size of an orange, a stitch at a time.

At the center of the circle is Eiko Araki, a master of the Sanuki Kagari Temari, a Japanese traditional craft passed down for more than 1,000 years on the southwestern island of Shikoku.

Each ball, or "temari," is a work of art, with colorful geometric patterns carrying poetic names like "firefly flowers" and "layered stars." A temari ball takes weeks or months to finish. Some cost hundreds of dollars (tens of thousands of yen), although others are much cheaper.

These kaleidoscopic balls aren’t for throwing or kicking around. They’re destined to be heirlooms, carrying prayers for health and goodness. They might be treasured like a painting or piece of sculpture in a Western home.

The concept behind temari is an elegant otherworldliness, an impractical beauty that is also very labor-intensive to create.

"Out of nothing, something this beautiful is born, bringing joy," says Araki. "I want it to be remembered there are beautiful things in this world that can only be made by hand."

The region where temari originated was good for growing cotton, warm with little rainfall, and the spherical creations continue to be made out of the humble material.

At Araki's studio, which also serves as head office for temari's preservation society, there are 140 hues of cotton thread, including delicate pinks and blues, as well as more vivid colors and all the subtle gradations in between.

The women dye them by hand, using plants, flowers and other natural ingredients, including cochineal, a bug living in cacti that produces a red dye. The deeper shade of indigo is dyed again and again to turn just about black. Yellow and blue are combined to form gorgeous greens. Soy juice is added to deepen the tints, a dash of organic protein.

Outside the studio, loops of cotton thread, in various tones of yellow today, hang outside in the shade to dry.

The arduous process starts with making the basic ball mold on which the stitching is done. Rice husks that are cooked and then dried are placed in a piece of cotton, then wound with thread, over and over, until, almost magically, a ball appears in your hands.

Then the stitching begins.

The balls are surprisingly hard, so each stitch requires a concentrated, almost painful, push. The motifs must be precise and even.

Each ball has lines to guide the stitching — one that goes around it like the equator, and others that zigzag to the top and bottom.

These days, temari is getting some new recognition, among Japanese and foreigners as well. Caroline Kennedy took lessons in the ball-making when she was United States ambassador to Japan a decade ago.

Yoshie Nakamura, who promotes Japanese handcrafted art in her duty-free shop at Tokyo's Haneda airport, says she features temari there because of its intricate and delicate designs.

"Temari that might have been everyday in a faraway era is now being used for interior decoration," she said.

"I really feel each Sanuki Kagari Temari speaks of a special, one-and-only existence in the world."

Araki has come up with some newer designs that feel both modern and historical. She is trying to make the balls more accessible to everyday life — for instance, as Christmas tree ornaments. A strap with a dangling miniature ball, though quite hard to make because of its size, is affordable at about 1,500 yen ($10) each.

Another of Araki's inventions is a cluster of pastel balls that opens and shuts with tiny magnets. Fill it with sweet-smelling herbs for a kind of aromatic diffuser.

Araki, a graceful woman who talks very slowly, her head cocked to one side as though always in thought, often travels to Tokyo to teach. But mostly she works and gives lessons in her studio, an abandoned kindergarten with faded blue paint and big windows with tired wooden frames.

She started out as a metalwork artist. Her husband's parents were temari masters who worked hard to resurrect the artform when it was declining in the modern age, at risk of dying out.

They were stoic people, rarely bestowing praise and instead always scolding her, she remembers. It’s a tough-love approach that’s common in the handing down of many Japanese traditional arts, from Kabuki acting to hogaku music, that demand lifetimes of selfless devotion.

Today, only several dozen people, all women, can make the temari balls to traditional standards.

"The most challenging aspect is nurturing successors. It typically takes over 10 years to train them, so you need people who are willing to continue the craft for a very long time," Araki said.

"When people start to feel joy along with the hardship that comes with making temari, they tend to keep going."