How Ibrahim Nasrallah’s words transform exile, silence, and loss into acts of remembrance through the power of storytelling and translation.
At a time when global literature is increasingly concerned with memory, its preservation, distortion, and erasure, “Palestina, literatura i memòria” (2025) enters a wider cultural conversation that stretches far beyond the Palestinian context. Communities around the world turn to storytelling to reclaim histories threatened by silence, exile, or political suppression. In this landscape, Ibrahim Nasrallah’s reflections resonate not only as a testimony of a nation under occupation, but as part of a long-standing cultural phenomenon in which literature becomes a vessel for remembrance and a guardian against oblivion.
Rather than offering a conventional literary essay, the book unfolds as a thoughtful, intimate and intellectually intense dialogue between Nasrallah and the editors of Edicions UB. Storytelling emerges here not as a mere creative practice, but as an act of resistance, a way to ensure that what has been lived cannot be erased.
Nasrallah revisits his creative process, especially in relation to his celebrated novel “The Time of White Horses”, part of “The Palestinian Comedy” series. Through his reflections, he explores how fiction becomes a space to preserve collective identity in the face of exile, occupation, and silence. For him, writing is not simply a creative act, it is also a way of breathing when the air becomes occupied. He writes to reclaim what was taken, to remember what others tried to erase, transforming memory into a living presence rather than a distant echo.
This perspective inserts Nasrallah into a literary tradition shared by authors who have written from and against trauma. From Primo Levi’s reflections on survival to Toni Morrison’s insistence on remembering what America tried to forget, or Mahmoud Darwish’s poetic reconstruction of a homeland broken up across the world. Nasrallah’s work stands alongside these voices in the global conversation on literature as a tool to safeguard memory when history becomes a contested terrain.
The book highlights how memory, when translated into words, resists erasure and asserts the right to narrate against the forces that attempt to rewrite or suppress history. This idea is powerfully embodied in “Maria de Gaza,” the poem included in the volume. The text opens with a haunting invocation that immediately places the reader in the heart of dispossession:
“La pau de la terra no ens pertany,
ni al meu fill, ni al teu.
Maria digué a Maria:
oh, germana de terra i de passos en aquesta terra,…” (p. 37)
From the very first lines, the repetition of “La pau de la terra no ens pertany” (“The peace of the earth does not belong to us”) becomes an echo of dispossession. The voice of “Maria” addressing another “Maria” transforms suffering into solidarity, turning pain into dialogue. Through this invocation, he weaves together motherhood, faith, and loss, exposing the cruelty of a world where “peace does not belong to us, nor to our sons.”. Destruction and mourning are not silent, they speak through rhythm and repetition.
“… És que aquest cel que ens mira
no ens veu?
O és que ens amaga
la creu que portem a l’esquena…” (p. 37)
These lines capture the heart of Nasrallah’s literary vision, the feeling of being seen yet unseen, remembered and erased. The “sky that watches but does not see” becomes a metaphor for the world’s indifference. By expressing this pain, Nasrallah performs an act of defiance. By naming the silence, he breaks it.
The bilingual format (Catalan and Arabic) gives the work an additional layer of meaning. It builds bridges between cultures, allowing readers from different linguistic backgrounds to engage with a shared human experience of displacement and resilience. This decision by Edicions UB transforms the book into more than a simple reflection; it becomes a symbolic act of translation, both linguistic and cultural. Presenting both languages affirms that Palestinian stories belong in every language, in every space willing to listen.
Visual artist Zaid Ayasa’s contribution enhances the reflective tone, visually echoing the themes of fragmentation, identity, and endurance. The inclusion of Nasrallah’s poem “Mary of Gaza” adds poetic intensity, grounding the book in the emotional and spiritual dimensions of Palestinian life. Together, text and image construct a space in which literature and art become intertwined acts of preservation.
Nasrallah’s work, contemplative but direct, carries a universal resonance. When he writes about the duty to remember, his words transcend the Palestinian context to speak of humanity’s broader struggle against oblivion. The book ultimately becomes a meditation on how literature can embody both testimony and hope, a vessel that preserves not only stories but the dignity of those who lived them.
“Palestina, literatura i memòria” stands as a testament to the power of words in times of loss. It is a quiet yet forceful reminder that storytelling can challenge erasure and transform grief into remembrance. Nasrallah’s reflections remind us that memory is not only about looking back, but about continuing forward while carrying what must never be forgotten.
This is therefore not just a book about Palestine. It is a contribution to a global phenomenon, the use of literature as a safeguard for memory, a quiet but forceful reminder that to tell a story is to refuse disappearance. Nasrallah’s voice joins the chorus of writers who insist that what must not be forgotten will continue to live, as long as someone is willing to write it, read it, and carry it forward.
Ethically created and written by human students, assessed by human experts, and some language revision with AI tools.
