My Pen Is the Wing of a Bird: New Fiction by Afghan Women

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The sense of place in the stories is invariably tainted by the warring world in which the characters are trapped; living tangled rough lives. They dream of escape and of not having to scratch a living or marry to escape poverty. The struggle to endure and survive is conveyed in skillfully wrought translated prose. The range of styles, forms, and perspectives encompassed in My Pen is the Wing of a Bird – diversity in every sense of the word – reveal much about what is inside each author’s head and where their heart is, affording powerful insights into the lives of Afghan women.

Work with the media. We keep them updated with stories from Brussels and Strasbourg, answer queries, hold press briefings and offer journalists the chance to visit the EP. We also correct lies and fake news, and have an active social media presence An] arresting collection . . . Written in simple, direct prose and offers vivid snapshots of a country beset by war and violence . . . It seems more important than ever to read the work of these courageous writers" Financial Times Untold Narratives CIC works with writers marginalised in society by community or conflict. To find out more and support their work visit untold-stories.org. This book reminds us that everyone has a story. Stories matter; so too the storytellers. Afghan women writers, informed and inspired by their own personal experiences, are best placed to bring us these powerful insights into the lives of Afghans and, most of all, the lives of women. Women's lives, in their own words - they matter." Lyse Doucet in her Introduction She stood on her right leg and spun the pot to raise the smoke from it. She took some coal and espand from the dirty bag on her shoulder and put it in the pot to make more smoke. She could remember her father’s words with the burning of every rue seed. She said to herself, These are infidels. Their place is at the deepest part of hell. They have to die to rid the world of cruelty and depravity.I have finally accepted that my peaceful sleep was not bound to my pillow: my sleep was bound to the warm embrace of my country, it was bound to visiting my beloved mother, it was bound to the chatter I shared with my sisters, to the friendship and silliness I shared with my brother, to the laughter I enjoyed with my friends. My peaceful sleep was because of the small service I used to do for my country, because of my streets, because of a sense of freedom one can feel only in one’s own country.” I like that there are stories in the collection that depicted violent men in the community, just as much as there are stories where male characters loved and respected their women folks dearly. A woman’s fortitude saves her village from disaster. A teenager explores their identity in a moment of quiet. A petition writer reflects on his life as a dog lies nursing her puppies. A tormented girl tries to find love through a horrific act. A headmaster makes his way to work, treading the fine line between life and death.

Saber had long ceased to go to the mosque or pray. He had become uncertain of everything – even of God’ – from Dogs are not to Blame, Masouma Kawsari trs. Dr Zubair Popalzai In the story “I Don’t Have The Flying Wings” by Batool Haidari (translated from the Pashto by Parwana Fayyaz), a young boy, struggles with his gender identity and is punished when he is discovered trying to be himself when alone at home.Little girls and boys came close to her and taunted her: “Muska, the espand-burning girl, why are you limping?”