It is safe to presume that many Egyptians have not read Anton Chekhov. But there appears to be a budding reader’s market for Russian greats in Cairo, or at least a wealthy market – Chekhov’s books start at a steep 108 Egyptian pounds. This year, marking the 150th anniversary of the Russian bard’s birth on January 29, the 42nd Cairo International Book Fair invited Russia as the guest of honor. In the spirit of reviving the cultural relationship, the publishing house and bookstore Dar Al-Shorouk is the new home for the translated works of Mr. Chekhov, as well as a number of other international, regional, and local notables. Upon further inspection, Dar Al-Sharouk’s book selection, whether Checkhov’s plays or Gamal Al-Banna’s theological musings, offers a glimpse into a changing urban landscape, what the Arab world’s most prolific literary country is reading, and how Egyptian civil society is changing. It would behoove politicians to take a browse.

Both Egypt and Russia have a socio-political history together. Under Gamal Abd Al-Nasr, Russian literature was translated in bulk into Arabic. The ideological impetus behind such cultural cooperation being Pan-Arab anti-Western Imperial sentiment; Soviet Russia was a convenient partner, though Nasser’s economic policy was so incoherent it suggests he understood nothing about Socialism. Nevertheless, just like Lenin and Stalin, Nasser imbued architecture with an ideological zeal. St. Petersburg became Leningrad, the Kaiserpalast in East Berlin became the Palast der Republik, and Suleiman Basha Square became Talaat Harb, among others. Before 1952, Suleiman Basha Square was the epicenter of fashionable, European Cairo. The broad avenues and Parisian styled apartment buildings, however, are now dilapidated and smeared in pollution. And just as the aristocratic totem of Suleiman Basha was thrown out with the revolution, so too did the Egyptian Champs-Élysées become, as it is now, the heart of proletarian Egypt.

Similarly, in the immediate post-war geo-political melee across the Arab world, both fictional and factual works became tools in the “manufacture of public consent”, a phrase coined by Noam Chomsky in his eponymous book on the political economy of mass media. As Edward Said noted in his Culture and Imperialism: “An immense wave of anti-colonial and ultimately anti-imperial activity, thought, and revision has overtaken the massive edifice of Western empire, challenging it, to use Gramsci’s vivid metaphor, in a mutual siege.” As in Soviet Russia, Egypt recruited cultural figureheads, such as Tawfiq Al-Hakim and Naguib Mahfouz. Co-opting culture legitimated the Nasserist regime. And just as in the USSR, artists were at the mercy of the state. Al-Hakim soon recanted his previous support of Nasser in The Sultan’s Dilemma and The Return of Consciousness, the latter a rebuttal of his previous pro-revolutionary work The Return of the Soul. The Sultan’s Dilemma cost him the government’s Nobel nomination and support. Egypt is not unique in this practice.

Unfortunately, this compromised the independence of the artist and the objectivity of the work. The civil became political. If Checkhov was read, on either side of the linguistic divide for example, he was grossly misinterpreted and edited. Currently, Husni Mubarak’s regime seems keener on just editing literature. The cultural Star Chamber of Nasser and Sadat is now so loose it permits the printing of vituperative anti-Mubarak literature. Instead, a greater emphasis is placed on controlling news media. For example, the arrests of opposition paper Al-Dostoor editor Ibrahim Essa are much more common. Religious institutions and groups are more likely to determine the success of a book. Al-Azhar, the historic Islamic theological university, is the long arm of literary and academic criticism. But wayward clerics do it renegade style. The World of Boys, a short story about homosexuality in Egypt, was printed without pagination to prevent religious clerics from arbitrarily grabbing a provocative passage, rather than reading the story itself. Either way, religious invective greatly influences the success of a story. This, however, does not lessen the political implications of literature in the Middle East. As the Palestinian author Ghassan Kenafani noted, “Politics and the novel are an indivisible case.”

Currently, Dar Al-Shorouk has a bookstore branch in Talaat Harb Square. Known for a diverse selection, from beau monde coffee table bric-a-brac to popular modern shorts, Al-Shorouk’s bookstore in Talaat Harb Square, and the increasingly diverse selection of highbrow and colloquial literature, is a microcosm for understanding the re-negotiation of urban spaces and current Cairene reading trends. First, the presence of Al-Shorouk in the territorial haunts of an Egyptian everyman suggest that the new and growing middle class is not segregated from the rest of Cairo. Thus, the socio-politicization of urban landscapes rises anew. Egypt’s premier crust isolates itself in Heliopolis and new, gated communities sprawling in the desert. The transplantation of the American University of Cairo out of downtown and into the isolated desert further demonstrates an elitist trend to get out of downtown; the Canadian, German, French, and British universities, which cater to the upper-echelons, are planted in the desert as well, far outside of Cairo proper. Hence, a Dar Al-Shorouk branch, in the midst of downtown’s intellectual denizens, reflects a socio-cultural divergence and convergence. Cairo’s culture doesn’t need wealthy American-educated Egyptians to thrive. Instead, the growing middle class and low-income population share space and interact downtown. The beautification projects undertaken on the square also reflect renewal and government interest in the downtown scene. Just as Suleiman Basha was European chic and post-revolutionary Talaat Harb was Arab nationalist, the square is now becoming an urban setting for the rising middle class and artistic youth.

Second, the volume and type of books sold reflect both a demographic and social trend. According to Al-Shorouk, the highest selling genre is Shabab (Youth) literature. Books such as A Book without a Name by Ahmad Al-Essaily, I Wanna Get Hitched by Ghada Abd Al-Aal, and Busted by Amr Taher are a few examples. Demographically, this justifies the assumption that Cairo’s young Egyptians are at the threshold of social consciousness. Greater political activity is likely to follow. According to the CIA World Factbook for 2009, the largest cross-section of Egypt’s population, at 63.8 per cent, is between the ages of 15-64. The median age for the entire population is more revealing: 24.8 years. Conspicuous consumption of literature by this consumer cohort further implies an increasingly conscious youth; the artistic content is socially and politically critical. Thus the reigns of civil society are being turned over into their hands. Also, Mubarak’s hands-off approach to literary production suggests a return of art to civil society. The Shabab movement and the statistics on literary trends are demonstrative thereof.

Third, monarchical history and Islamic literature reflect a new and pervasive trend, respectively. Interest in the monarchy is two fold. First, works on the monarchy reflect an awakening. After the revolution, many historical solecisms were perpetrated in order to validate the revolution and justify the new regime. Egyptians, who now speak of the monarchy of Mubarak, have begun to peel away the patina of government rhetoric to investigate the truth behind the embellished libertine Farouq II and his corrupt aristocracy. Second, one could postulate this is a sad preparation for Gamal Mubarak’s inevitable succession. Has Egypt’s complacency with the status-quo reached this point?

Islamic literature in the posh Al-Shorouk demonstrates the pervasiveness of conservative sympathies across socio-economic strata. After all, demand generates supply. The most prominent authors sold in the bookstore, in no particular order, are Mohammad Al-Ghazali, Yousef Qardhawi, Gamal Al-Banna, Mohammad Emara, and Mohammad Qutb. The cornucopia of prominent twentieth century theological names suggests a divergence. Institutional Al-Azhar characters, such as Al-Ghazali and Qardhawi, represent a more mainstream and subdued Islamic flavor. In contrast, the names Al-Banna, Emara, and Qutb suggest a more radical current. Either way, the conspicuous consumption of these Islamic writings justifies the aperçus that Egyptian civil society is sufficiently fecund with religious fervor and discussion across socio-economic levels.

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In Chekhov’s play The Cherry Orchard, first performed in 1904, an aristocratic family must not only sell their estate, but also watch as the son of a former serf cuts down the precious cherry orchard. The wealthy landowner Mme. Ranevsky and her family are so idiotic and profligate, one wonders how this class ran the country. Lopakhin, the nouveau riche merchant, is rational but shrewd; he cuts down the cherry orchard, after all.

Chekhov wrote the play as a comedy, but it has usually been interpreted as a tragedy. In hindsight, one can understand both interpretations. Pre-revolutionary times are too chaotic to comprehend seriously; post-revolutionary reality is much more somber. With the revival of Russo-Egyptian cultural dialogue and the presence of Chekhov’s work in the Talaat Harb, one feels compelled to be literary. The morning of February 20, 2010, saw the much-awaited return of Mohammad Al-Baradai. A son of the 1952 revolution, he is very much like the merchant Lopakhin, albeit more vatic and hoped-for; Mubarak’s regime is much like the hapless Ranevsky family and their landowning posse. The pro-Baradai Facebook groups, media much-a-do, and the large crowds at Cairo’s International Airport suggest a great deal of boisterous fervor fomenting against Mubarak and Co. Whether Baradai will be successful is more a question of prince-regent Gamal’s faux pas. What Egypt doesn’t need is a Lophakhin, who will cut down more than he will build up. Perhaps Baradai should visit Al-Shorouk and check out Chekhov’s translated works, or some Shabab literature, for some guidance and inspiration. A little reading never hurt.