Stories rarely arrive whole, emerging instead through whispered beginnings as they trade places; they gather slowly, percolating into a rhythmical swirl and gradually embedding themselves within the quiet architecture of our lives. Orchestrating a mirage of unperturbed imagination, they are first transmitted orally, flickering across hearths before being inked into the enduring permanence of script.
In preserving the consciousness of collective memory, stories become custodians- vessels deeply infused with the lived cultural imagination of a civilization carried forward through generations. Within their layered textures resides a cacophony of dormant provocations – subtle catalysts that awaken long suppressed desires and compel the mind to seek answers to questions woven irreversibly into the human condition.
These subdued emotions provoke a quiet yet persistent interrogation of the patriarchal frameworks that have long dictated the moral, social, and existential scaffolding upon which human civilisation has historically been constructed.
In She Who Remains, Rene Karabash navigates the austere terrain of medieval Albanian society, governed by the unforgiving decree of the Kanun of Lekë Dukagjini- an archaic corpus of customary law deeply entrenched within rigid patriarchal hierarchies. The novel revolves around Bekhija, a young woman who, under the dictates of the Kanun, is compelled to renounce her identity and her gender – womanhood- not as an act of emancipation, but as a solemn concession to the imperatives of familial honor, assuming the male identity of Matija after taking the oath of a sworn virgin.
According to feudal tradition, this transformation allows a woman to assume the role of patriarch within her household, a paradoxical social construct in which she fortifies marriage and embraces a life of celibacy in exchange for social authority, a fragile facade, that signifies not empowerment but a desperate strategy of existential survival.
A fleeting moment of intimacy with Dhana, a queer-love, illicit and forbidden, becomes the catalyst for Bekhija’s irrevocable decision. According to the rigid dictates of the Kanun, virginity is deemed inviolable; the discovery of the bride’s lost chastity would cost her life at the hands of her husband. Confronted with the terror of exposure and the inevitability of death, Bekhija’s chooses a path of thorns and solitude – one that demands the irrevocable erasure of her identity.
Like a shell that appears stoic and impenetrable in its outer form yet conceals a fragile softness within, Bekhija’s inner world carries the world of sacrifice- the death of loved ones, the anguish of separation and the slow erosion of the beautiful life she had once imagined. Yet Bekhija’s does not disappear entirely; she survives within Matija, like a suppressed twin- where an inner fire of selfhood refuses to be extinguished despite the relentless demands of survival.
Karabash crafts the narrative with remarkable precision and clarity; its lucidity shimmers as it unfolds into a tapestry; a mosaic of memories, quiet confessions, letters and fragments of thoughts rendered in lyrical prose. The story reflects the protagonist’s psychological landscape: child who longed for her father’s recognition, the young woman who loved Dhana, and the sworn virgin condemned to a life of celibacy, performing the role of masculinity for the survival of her family.
The author’s sensitivity to Bekhija’s emotional turmoil, the deep seated fear, loneliness, depression and quiet anguish that shape her inner life is rendered through a sustained and evocative use of metaphor. Recurring images of birds, blood and animals illuminate the fragile state of her consciousness. The crucified hawk, the lamb hanging from a walnut tree, and the pigeons in Murash’s dovecote emerge as haunting emblems of sacrifice and captivity.
The writing packs a formidable punch. At just 150 pages, the novel carries a message that’s both profound and deeply unsettling. It took me days to fully absorb the depth of the narrative and Karabash’s remarkable ability to craft a story that compelled me to question the very notions of women’s empowerment, equality and the choices that are said to define them. What better day than Women’s Day to share my review on She Who Remains, brilliantly translated by Izidora Angel.
I end this review with few questions that lingered in my mind while reading this book.
1. What inner turmoil remains when one’s identity is sacrificed and forcibly reshaped by the demands of traditional laws, society, survival, and history?
2. What happens to an identity when it is publicly renounced? Does it truly disappear, or does it continue to survive in memory and longing?
3. In something always remains, what part of the self endures when survival requires us to abandon who we once were?
4. How much of ourselves are we forced to sacrifice in order to survive and can such a sacrifice ever truly be measured?
5. After suppressing love silently for decades, can it truly be reclaimed, or does it remain only as a haunting echo of the past?
6. To what extent does the institution of sworn virgins challenge patriarchal structures and to what extent does it reinforce them.
For me, this book is already a winner. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it and would wholeheartedly recommend it to everyone. A must read.
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