5 Questions with Sara Haddad
Sara Haddad is an editor and writer who has worked in publishing for thirty-five years.
A Lebanese Australian, she lives on Gadigal land with her husband and two children. She hopes that one day all Palestinians will be free to return to their country and live there without fear.
No.1
The Sunbird was originally self-published in May 2024 before it was picked up by UQP recently, to be republished this month. Why did you self-publish the novel in the first instance instead of approaching publishers directly?
Once I knew I had something that was good enough to be published, I always imagined I would self-publish. I’ve worked in publishing—corporate as well as independent publishers—for a long time, and so I know how they think, and how and why they make their decisions. Given all the things that were against me: the size of the book, the fact that no one knows who I am, the subject of the book, as well as scheduling issues, self-publishing seemed to me to be the only option.
I also had a big advantage: I know how to make a book. But after I’d completed the first draft, I sent it to family and a few close friends for feedback and one of those people, an experienced publishing professional whose opinion I value highly, was really taken with the story and asked if she could send it to one of her publishing contacts. At that point I thought that a commercial publisher might take it on after all, so I sent it to another five publishers for consideration. But they all turned me down, for the reasons I’d anticipated. No one mentioned the Palestine-shaped elephant in the room.
No.2
The story in The Sunbird follows Nabila Yasmeen, an octogenerian Palestinian woman as she goes about her day, and as she reminisces about her days of exile from Palestine post 1948 Nakba. The other characters are very minor. Why was it important to focus on Nabila’s point of view?
It was always my intention to distil stories of the Nakba into the experience of just one person. While there are many accounts of the Nakba, Nabila’s is one that is common to a large number of people, particularly those who were violently expelled from rural Palestine.
First and foremost, The Sunbird is a work of activism. It is art as activism, necessarily brief to counter the argument that the question of Palestine is complicated. Paring the story down to one character’s experience allows the reader to focus and to empathise more fully with the broader story. It’s more impactful.
No.3
At the end of The Sunbird is an addendum that puts into context and explains the current, ongoing genocide in Gaza, starting with the 1917 Balfour Declaration and moving chronologically until we arrive at the present. What do you think is the purpose of juxtaposing the addendum with Nabila’s fictional story?
The addendum provides historical context for the fictional story of Nabila. That is to say, if this is the reader’s first engagement with information about the Nakba, they need the facts to allow themselves to fully engage with and believe the story they’ve just read. It is also a potted history of the Occupation for those who want a concise summary. While the fiction is based on historical fact—on the oral histories of those who experienced the Nakba of 1948—it is there to do what only fiction can do: create empathy and encourage social engagement. The addendum balances the fiction with a straightforward recount of historical fact, properly sourced. Together, the fiction and the fact—readable in a single sitting—deliver a powerful experience.
In addition, the addendum is a vehicle to expand on some of the references in the story. The reference to pine trees, for example. In the story I make a passing reference to them: ‘And pine trees as far as the eye can see’. To the reader who understands, this is a very sinister statement. To the uninitiated it is probably unremarkable. So I provide more detail about the significance of pine trees in the addendum because they are such an important aspect of the Occupation.
No.4
At the time of writing, we are 410 days into the zionist entity’s assault of Palestinians in Gaza and the West Bank, not to mention Lebanon. To say The Sunbird is ‘timely’ or ‘relevant’ would be an indignity considering how long it has been since 1948. What are your hopes with regard to publishing a work like The Sunbird today?
The Sunbird is my contribution to the resistance. In my childhood home, Palestine was an important issue: I grew up hearing about the history, the injustice, watching it play out year after year, discussing it around the dinner table, grappling with my father’s frustration and dismay. So, in a sense, The Sunbird has been percolating for a long time.
But I wrote it in direct response to what I was watching on my phone in the early months of the genocide. Over the last 14 months, in addition to the most heinous violence, cruelty and depravity, we have also witnessed an incredible awakening in the wider population, and it’s growing every day. People are seeing the truth. And they are hungry to know more. They want to understand. It is my hope that The Sunbird will help them do this, and after they read The Sunbird, I hope they will read more and continue to learn.
No.5
In Palestinian poet Mosab Abu Toha’s essay in the New Yorker, he writes about the concept of raising hope—after Mahmoud Darwish’s poem ‘A State of Siege’—and likened it to cultivating crops. How do you personally cultivate hope especially in these horrific times?
Staying with the metaphor of cultivation, I always try to keep in the back of my mind the words of Tagore:
The one who plants trees, knowing that he will never sit in their shade, has at least started to understand the meaning of life.
It’s important to acknowledge that real, lasting change takes time. Unfortunately, it also comes with enormous and unnecessary suffering. I frequently feel sad, angry, frustrated but I try not to give in to despair. If I sense myself moving in that direction I step away from electronic devices and turn to nature, and the comfort of a physical book. And I write; that helps. As does attending the weekly rally for Palestine. To be in solidarity with good, courageous, conscientious people who are doing something keeps hope alive.
(Credit: Caitlin Reva)
Nabila Yasmeen is in her eighties. She lives alone with over a hundred plants that she keeps in pots because she can’t bear to put them in the ground. In June of 1948, as a six-year-old girl, she was expelled with her family from their village in Palestine. Now she carries the weight of that expulsion with her, and her past and present are one. Told in two timeframes, The Sunbird is a modern parable that tells the story of millions who just want to go home.
Get the book from UQP here.