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A review by asiemsanyal
One Last Drink at Guapa by Saleem Haddad
4.0
One Last Drink at Guapa invites us to view the world through the eyes of Rasa, a gay Arab man living in an unnamed Arab country, set against the backdrop of the Arab Spring. Over the course of 24 hours, we are privy to Rasa's struggles with the regime, his identity, and his fervent wish to bridge the two in the hope of living in a more tolerant country, where for a man to love and sleep with another man is notharam, and defying the regime is not fraught with danger.
The story begins with Rasa's grandmother peering through a keyhole, finding him in bed with another man, and screaming bloody murder. The rest of the day pans out in a series of episodes, present interspersed with past, and the reader follows Rasa as he leaves his house in a state of consternation, wondering if he will ever be able to talk with his grandmother about what she saw. In the meantime, under the directive of the current President, Guapa, the eponymous bar has been raided and sealed off to the public - this is that rare space in the city where queer folx can be themselves, where Rasa inhabits his identity without it feeling like a second skin, and where he meets the man who will change his life.
Over the course of the story, we begin to understand Rasa's complicated relationship with Teta, his grandmother, who raised him in the absence of his parents, his turmoil during his studies in the U.S. of A where he experiences the two strong forces of his sexual identity and the racism that others him as an Arab, and his insistence on substantiating the relationship he shares with Taymour, the man his grandmother caught him in bed with. At the end of the story, we are left with the idea of Rasa as a man who must make and has made difficult and bitter choices in his life, but we are hopeful that he steps into the future with a sense of positivity.
This book resonated with me because of the parallels I could draw between Rasa's country and mine. Homosexuality was decriminalised in India as late as 2018, and trans folx are still being denied their rights. How does one live out one's queerness within an oppressive nation-state? One seeks out oases such as Guapa, where for a few fleeting moments, one can truly shine through.
At the end of the book, I found myself not really able to blame any of the characters for Rasa's situation, and yet all of them were perhaps to blame in some way - we are shaped by our circumstances, after all. I would have loved to know more about Rasa's parents, especially his mother, but (and here is where the book ends and I extrapolate) I am hopeful his relationship with his mother will work out just fine. All he needs is time. All anyone needs is time, really.
I would recommend this to everyone. If you identify as queer and are at present unable to express yourself freely, here's to you - it will get better. Just give it time.
(Also, infinitely grateful to Saleem Haddad for introducing me to the mellifluous Fairuz and the orotund Umm Kalthoum)
The story begins with Rasa's grandmother peering through a keyhole, finding him in bed with another man, and screaming bloody murder. The rest of the day pans out in a series of episodes, present interspersed with past, and the reader follows Rasa as he leaves his house in a state of consternation, wondering if he will ever be able to talk with his grandmother about what she saw. In the meantime, under the directive of the current President, Guapa, the eponymous bar has been raided and sealed off to the public - this is that rare space in the city where queer folx can be themselves, where Rasa inhabits his identity without it feeling like a second skin, and where he meets the man who will change his life.
Over the course of the story, we begin to understand Rasa's complicated relationship with Teta, his grandmother, who raised him in the absence of his parents, his turmoil during his studies in the U.S. of A where he experiences the two strong forces of his sexual identity and the racism that others him as an Arab, and his insistence on substantiating the relationship he shares with Taymour, the man his grandmother caught him in bed with. At the end of the story, we are left with the idea of Rasa as a man who must make and has made difficult and bitter choices in his life, but we are hopeful that he steps into the future with a sense of positivity.
This book resonated with me because of the parallels I could draw between Rasa's country and mine. Homosexuality was decriminalised in India as late as 2018, and trans folx are still being denied their rights. How does one live out one's queerness within an oppressive nation-state? One seeks out oases such as Guapa, where for a few fleeting moments, one can truly shine through.
At the end of the book, I found myself not really able to blame any of the characters for Rasa's situation, and yet all of them were perhaps to blame in some way - we are shaped by our circumstances, after all. I would have loved to know more about Rasa's parents, especially his mother, but (and here is where the book ends and I extrapolate) I am hopeful his relationship with his mother will work out just fine. All he needs is time. All anyone needs is time, really.
I would recommend this to everyone. If you identify as queer and are at present unable to express yourself freely, here's to you - it will get better. Just give it time.
(Also, infinitely grateful to Saleem Haddad for introducing me to the mellifluous Fairuz and the orotund Umm Kalthoum)