Book Club: We speak to Ghada Karmi about her latest book ‘Murjana’, the story of a Sunni Caliph, a Shia woman, and the sectarian fury that shadows their love
When most people hear the name Ghada Karmi, the immediate association is with the celebrated Palestinian academic and author whose life’s work has been closely tied to Palestine, reflected in notable books such as Jerusalem Today: What Future for the Peace Process?, The Palestinian Exodus 1948–1998 (with Eugene Cotran), and Married to Another Man: Israel’s Dilemma in Palestine.
But earlier this year, Ghada surprised readers with a book set not in Palestine, but in medieval Baghdad, leaving many wondering why an author so closely associated with the Palestinian cause would choose to explore a completely different country and a distant historical period.
The reasons behind this shift, however, are far from random, and they come down to two key factors.
The first is Ghada’s background. She is a doctor of medicine by training and a specialist in the history of medieval Islamic medicine, a subject that comes to life in her latest book.
Using her expertise, she researched the period in which the book is set with original historical sources and brought the main characters to life with historical accuracy.
Dr Ghada Karmi is a Palestinian physician, academic, and writer whose life and work have been shaped by displacement and the Palestinian struggle. For decades, she has been a leading voice telling the story of Palestine in both books and public discussions [Getty]
The second reason is more personal: like anyone, she needed a break from her usual field of expertise to recharge mentally and emotionally, particularly after a period of severe exhaustion five years ago, when the unfolding tragedies in Palestine, her country of origin, reached a painful peak and the relentless cycle of violence, injustice, and unrecognised activism had taken a heavy toll.
“The immediate impetus for this project came at a point in my activism when I felt deeply disheartened,” Ghada tells The New Arab.
“No matter what other activists or I did in support of Palestine, things only seemed to get worse — for Palestine and for Palestinians. I began to feel that continuing was pointless, that my efforts made no difference. People like me simply weren’t able to change anything,” she adds.
“So, in that state of mind, I made a decision: I needed a break — a break from Palestinian issues so that I could immerse myself in something entirely different.
“That ‘something else,'” Ghada adds, with a sigh of relief, “became Murjana — a story of forbidden love and passion between a Sunni Caliph and a Shia woman named Murjana, set during the Abbasid Golden Age.”
A world of wisdom and restricted choices
According to Ghada, the Caliph in Murjana is based on the historical figure al-Ma’mun, the seventh Abbasid Caliph, who ruled from 813 to 833 CE and was known for promoting science and learning during the Islamic Golden Age.
“He’s truly fascinating,” Ghada says. “He wanted his subjects to be educated, rejected superstition in all its forms, and especially condemned astrology, including the casting of horoscopes, though he knew many still practised it.”
One of his most remarkable achievements, Ghada notes, was the creation of Bayt al-Hikma, or the House of Wisdom in English, where scholars worked tirelessly to translate texts — including the Wisdom of the Ancients — from Greek, Egyptian, Indian, and Persian sources into Arabic.
“Translators worked day and night to make these texts accessible to ordinary men and women in Baghdad and across Iraq. People could read this wisdom and educate themselves. This was what he stood for, and he devoted his entire life to the study of philosophy and ideas,” Ghada continues.
As for Murjana, Ghada shares that in the book, she is presented as a young woman shaped by the strict rules of her time, when women were often regarded as having little value.
“I make this clear at several points in the book,” Ghada explains. “For example, one man says to his niece, who is about to be divorced and very upset: ‘Look, women are dispensable. This is the way of the world. Men, whether rich or poor, can use and discard women. That is just the order of things.'”
In sharing this, Ghada notes that Murjana is very much part of this world. She is seen as an object, and neither she nor her family could refuse the Caliph when he sought to marry her.
“Refusing him would have been suicide. They had no choice, as they were under orders,” Ghada says.
Ilham Essalih
Shattering stereotypes
While the two main characters of Murjana are fascinating in their own ways, Ghada uses their stories to make a larger point.
Through their lives, she encourages readers to challenge the harmful stereotypes that continue to shape perceptions of Arabs today — from portrayals of Arab men as violent, controlling, or linked to terrorism, to depictions of Arab women as exotic, submissive, or silent, often reduced to the roles of belly dancers, housewives, harem women, or veiled individuals.
Reflecting on her work, Ghada explains her motivation for confronting these misconceptions: “There is an awareness on my part, and I think on the part of every Arab, of history — the awareness of Western attitudes towards Arabs. Western attitudes are ones of disdain. They don’t respect Arabs; they don’t think much of us at all.
“In a way, this book was a response. It was to say, ‘Listen, these people that you despise are the heirs of a very great civilisation. I’m going to tell you about that civilisation.’
“By the end of writing the book, I thought, ‘My goodness, this is something to be proud of. This is something to keep remembering. We are the heirs to all this. It didn’t just happen in the past and disappear — it is part of our heritage.'”
Ghada illustrates this approach most clearly through the character of the Caliph, who embodies the intellectual openness of Baghdad under al-Ma’mun, a period when debate and discussion were not only tolerated but actively encouraged.
As she emphasises, “I wanted very much to show this in the modern age, in today’s world where intolerance so often seems to be the norm, where ideas about so-called Islamic fundamentalism dominate, and where violence has crept in, to the point that if you don’t follow a particular line, you could be killed.
“What I’m saying is that there was a time in Arab history when this was not the case, when an open forum for debate was encouraged by the Caliph.”
In contrast, Murjana is more than a passive figure who must obey and marry. Over time, through her interactions with the Caliph, she comes to understand him — a complex, intelligent man — and eventually grows to love him.
Ultimately, she is shown as a woman of intelligence, thought, and emotional depth, who, despite the strict limitations of her society, finds a way to act with her own agency.
On this point, Ghada reflects, “I had hoped that in that way, she would present to the reader a type of woman of the time who, despite the restrictions, had a mind of her own.”
Sumaiyya Naseem
The sickness of love and the poison of sect
Beyond challenging misconceptions of Arabs, Murjana also offers two thought-provoking reflections on the medical and historical context of the time in which the book is set.
One of the most compelling aspects is its insight into Islamic medicine, where, interestingly, love as we understand it today was once considered a diagnosable illness.
Roughly translated as ‘passionate love’ or ‘intense infatuation’ in English, ishq in Arabic refers to a condition that, as Ghada explains, originates in medieval Arabic medical practices, where it was understood not merely as an emotion but as a genuine medical condition.
This concept becomes central to the book when the Caliph falls victim to this mysterious malady. For some time, his condition goes undiagnosed by his physicians until the renowned doctor Abu Mansur identifies it as a mental and physical illness caused by the Caliph’s obsessive love for Murjana.
“The best form of therapy at that time was to bring the lovesick person together with the object of their love — the beloved. Simply put, bringing the lover and the beloved together was what cured the illness,” Ghada explains.
That said, this solution was not always straightforward, as Ghada notes, because if the beloved was already married or did not return the sentiment, bringing them together was not an option.
Fortunately for the Caliph and Murjana, they do end up getting married. Yet even after their union, they face a far darker reality, which brings into focus the book’s second insight: the rise of sectarian strife and religious fanaticism during that period, a tension that, sadly, continues to resonate today, particularly in modern-day Iraq.
As the book shows, Murjana’s marriage to a Sunni Caliph is deeply controversial, since she comes from a Shia family and her brother was executed for insurrection against the Caliphate.
In the end, this sectarian divide casts a shadow over their relationship, and even a love that transcends race, religion, or sect cannot survive the haunting poison of vengeance and long-standing animosity.
Zainab Mehdi is The New Arab’s Associate Editor and researcher specialising in governance, development, and conflict in the Middle East and North Africa region
