10 Iraqi Short Stories for the Shortest Day of the Year

Sahira reached out for him, but Saleh shrugged away and disappeared like a mirage against the white walls. “What the Storytellers Did Not Tell,” by Lutfaya al-Dulaimi, trans. Yasmeen Hanoosh
Just as the thirteenth year of my life started, the Iraqi-Iran war began. I’m tired of what I have seen and heard from men.”
Also:   For those looking for an anthology, I recommend   Contemporary Iraqi Fiction,   ed. “Yusif’s Tales,” by Muhammad Khudayyir, trans. Ten short stories for the shortest day of the year:
“The Mulberry Tree,” by Salima Saleh, trans. On that we built the printing house. “Don’t Put Your Elephant In Your Luggage,” by Mortada Gzar, trans. “Lizards’ Colony,”   by Mahmoud Saeed, trans. Distant white clouds were threatening rain. Shakir Mustafa
When we reconstructed the city after the war, we set aside a plot of land one by two kilometres overlooking the river. “A Deadly Joke,”   by Diya al-Jubaily
Jaws clenched, faces paled, and the silence was so heavy that I began to make a mental inventory of the events of my life to have something to hold on to before the bomb went off, but I couldn’t think of a thing. That is when I began hearing my father curse “Mr. President” whenever he found himself alone with my mother in the orchard, kitchen, or bedroom, or as she milked our cows in the pen. Shakir Mustafa


Share this:TwitterFacebookEmailPrintLinkedInRedditGoogleTumblrWhatsAppPinterestTelegramPocketSkypeLike this:Like Loading…‹ 22 Arab Authors on Their Favorite Reads of 2017Categories: Iraq, short stories Before it was even a year old, my oldest brother was killed and one of my cousins was taken as a prisoner of war. She wished she hadn’t committed the great folly of accepting employment with them. Maia Tabet
It was indeed Ali, Ali the Red – not because he was ever a Communist, but because during the second year of middle school, the last of his formal education, the moniker stuck – as if the sole purpose of middle school for him had been to earn the nickname rather than do any learning. “The Green Zone Rabbit,” by Hassan Blasim, trans. We raised its twelve stone tiers so that visitors would see it polished and glittering in sunlight next to the massive marble city towers. The sun washed right through him. Shakir Mustafa
“Good bye, then. Jonathan Wright
Salsal lit another cigarette and gave my rabbit an ironic smile. “The One-eyed TV,” by Muhsin al-Ramli, trans. You can’t understand my argument. “Prisoner of War”   by Muna Fadhil
Sahira was standing in the doorframe, watching her father grow transparent as the morning sun glowed in her bleach-white kitchen. Katharine Halls
At arrivals at O’Hare, a man opened his bag at customs, and a large black elephant stepped out. William Hutchins
My city—Mosul—was economical even in its delights. He sat at the marble table, gutting a radio transistor. William Hutchins
Why did it look pale blue in the morning? “Ali the Red,”   by Luay Hamza Abbas, trans.