"Beyrouth Forever" (Liana Levi editions) is a noir novel, a gripping investigation. Photo by Liana Levi editions.
Who would have had an interest in assassinating Aimee Asmar, an old lady living almost reclusively in her Achrafieh apartment? This is the investigation that inspector Marwan Khalil, a former Kataeb militiaman turned judicial police officer, is tasked with in Beyrouth Forever.
Inspector Khalil carries his bad temper and war wounds to the scene of the last murder of his career. Retirement is approaching, and the Asmar case shouldn't linger, especially since he has an obvious suspect: the Syrian concierge he is inclined to hate from the start.
However, Khalil, familiar with bribes and small arrangements with the law, finds himself experiencing scruples: could Mrs. Asmar's murder be eminently political? The victim, a renowned historian and academic, had just completed a unified school manual aimed at teaching all young Lebanese the recent history of their country. The factions in power, accustomed to their regime of impunity and falsehoods, are gritting their teeth: how far would they be willing to go to steal the manuscript and rewrite history?
For the old cop, the hunt for the culprit becomes an existential quest: a last chance to right his wrongs and those of his generation to leave a livable country to young Lebanese. And, perhaps, a way to bring his daughter, Maha, back from exile in France since the injury she suffered on Aug. 4, 2020.
The novel of a Beirut lover
Reading the novel leaves no doubt: the author has an intimate knowledge of Lebanon and its people. He knows intuitively certain things that a passing interest in the country cannot teach. It's not just about untangling the entanglement of historical narratives, political currents and Beirut alleyways, but accurately describing the mindset of a population battered by years of violence.
This is because French author David Hury lived for 18 years in Lebanon, where he worked as a journalist and photojournalist. This book, although very documented, required no particular research from him – Beirut lives within him and the saga of these history manuals that never come to fruition has fascinated him for years.
"This story about Beirut was so much in me that it came out very quickly," he says. "The characters are patchworks of friends or real people I met there, it's always easier to build their psychology." He admitted to making a few phone calls to his contacts who stayed there to inquire about the current prices of Cedar cigarette cartridges or raw liver sandwiches that Inspector Khalil loves – it's difficult to keep up with rising prices during inflation.
As the story takes place over a week in September 2023, the author immersed himself back into the news of that moment: retrospectively, he finds that it prepared him for the events that would tear the region apart a few weeks later.
Dive into the violence of a wounded Lebanon.
Lebanon has changed a lot since Hury's departure in 2015: "When I left, it was not yet the crisis, but the country did not seem to me to be on a good slope." With each of his returns, he discovers it even more bruised. This long decline infuses its darkness into the novel, which at times takes on dystopian looks, like when Inspector Khalil must maneuver to get running water. Except this dystopia is none other than our daily reality. To the general collapse responds the moral and personal bankruptcy of the protagonist, who desperately seeks to reconnect with his daughter who renounces him.
"My view of Lebanon is not romantic. It is very realistic without reaching nihilism," explains Hury. And it is understandable why Beirut can offer an ideal setting for a noir novel. "Unlike classic crime novels, the identity of the culprit matters little. What counts in a noir novel is the mechanics that underlie the violence of a society. What makes the culprit cross the line?"
A burning question in a country where concealment is king, where silence answers violence. "I mention in the novel an incident that shook me. In 2019, Georges Zreik, a father, set himself on fire in front of his daughter's school because he could not pay the school fees. That is the very harsh social context in which this narrative unfolds." But what torments Hury's characters most are the memory failures of a society unable to recognize its pain.
There is a sad irony in placing a crime novel in a country where political assassinations remain unresolved, where the guilty are never punished, and where victims must give up on bringing the truth to light. "What I denounce is this law of silence," explains Hury. For him, impunity is the evil eating away at Lebanon: "The general amnesty law passed after the war is unjust and surreal. A Nuremberg trial would be needed."
While waiting for justice, Hury places all his hope in schools, "the mother of all battles." He quotes Joseph Maïla and wishes with him for a sense of citizenship that would be based on a unified school manual where all young Lebanese could learn the same history.
The author closes his book with a thought for the new generation of Lebanese, the ultimate vector of hope: "I hope it will succeed in clearing out the entire political class, but it's not a sure thing. Young people are prisoners of a country still held by grandfathers." But Hury also has hope for the elders, who have waged war and contributed to the general debacle: "Marwan, my main character, a former militiaman, has long been corrupt. But at the end of his life, he can no longer follow the policy he followed for 30 years. He has an awakening. Even the worst scoundrel can change."