Illusion and Reality in Ethel Mannin’s Portrayal of Abd al-Karim Qasim of Iraq in The Midnight Street

Abstract

The prolific British traveler and novelist of Irish descent, Ethel Mannin (1900–1984), was very involved and interested in the Arab region, mostly due to her anti-imperialist, anti-fascist attitude, and activism. A couple of her novels dealt with the Palestinian tragedy of Nakba, as Mannin was invested in documenting the crimes committed against Palestinians when Israel was created in 1948. However, one of her novels, entitled Midnight Street (1969), garnered less attention from critics. In this novel, she portrays the life and death of the former Iraqi leader, Abd al-Karim Qasim. When Mannin met the Iraqi leader in 1962, she became fascinated by his charismatic character. In this novel, she aims at offering a realistic representation of him by showing his flaws and virtues, as well as his weaknesses and strengths. The overarching theme that is tied to the main character is illusion and reality, in which Qasim is shown as self-delusional in terms of his revolutionary goals and ideals without considering the reality on the ground. I argue that in this novel Mannin mixes some fictional details, realistic events, and even some unfounded rumors. She is also represented by the character of Julia Nikolaidis, both of whom express love, respect, and admiration for Qasim, but are also able to understand the different and often contradictory aspects of the Iraqi leader’s character.

Introduction

Ethel Mannin was an exceptional novelist who championed progressive policies, women’s causes, sexual liberation, and socialism in the first half of the twentieth century. Due to Mannin’s belief in these ideas, Rooney (2015) asserted that Mannin seemed ahead of her time. In her book Stories from My Life (1973a), Mannin wrote: “I have been a socialist all my adult life, from the age of fifteen, and now, at close of play, in the seventies, am more than ever convinced of the necessity for social revolution” (p. 215). She was also “opposed to all forms of centralized government, and profoundly mistrusting all political parties” (Mannin, 1973a, p. 215). In this respect, she was considered one of the most prolific (Patten, 2022, p. 104) and “most remarkable people active on the far left in the 1930s” (Newsinger, 2018, p. 48). She also actively participated in anti-fascist and anarchist movements (Bell, 2005; Copsey & Renton, 2005, p. 78) and held strong anti-imperialist views (Canton, 2014; Williams, 2022, p. 219), particularly in relation to the Palestinian issue (Lassner, 2004).

Mannin wrote two novels, The Night and Its Homing (1966) and The Road to Beersheba (1963a), both of which dealt with the plight of Palestinians. ¹ Mannin strongly and genuinely “sympathized with the colonized people and their struggle to gain independence…” (Al-Rawi, 2016, p. 558). Palestine remained a dear cause for her because she felt that “Palestinians carry a living tragedy in their past that is difficult to be wiped out by the passage of time” (Al-Rawi, 2016, p. 562). Many of Mannin’s works can be interpreted within the context of “Irish–Palestinian solidarity” (Rooney, 2018, p. 91), largely due to her anti-colonialist attitudes (Rooney, 2015, p. 142).

In Stories from My Life (1973a), she wrote one of the last things about Palestine before her death, stating:

The hope for Palestine is more remote, and I think it unlikely that I shall live to see this cause, the one I have most intensely at heart, triumphant, with Palestine as Palestine again, with the indigenous people, the Palestinian Arabs, in control, a nation again, Moslem and Chrisitan, co-existing with a Jewish minority… More important than putting men on the moon is the establishment of justice and reason here on earth; but fantastically, it is easier to put men on the moon, which benefits no one. (p. 216)

In her novels, Mannin was known to mix romanticism and activism in a way that “combined literature and politics” (Croft, 1993, p. 207).

Due to her stance, especially on the issue of Palestine, there were calls in the UK press to boycott her works. However, her novels have gained popularity today by being viewed within the prism of anti-colonialism or post-coloniality (Al-Rawi, 2016; Rooney, 2018, p. 91). Mannin’s ideas coincided with similar intellectual movements in the Western world in the 1960s that called for empowering formerly colonized nations and freeing them from the remnants of Western colonialism with revolutionary calls for liberation, such as Fanon’s (1963) and Sartre’s (2005).

This article is situated broadly within the post-colonial theory framework, examining the enduring impact of imperialism and colonialism on formerly colonized societies and their social classes, politics, and literary and historical narratives, especially in the Global South. The proponents of this theory include several prominent scholars, such as Edward Said, Gayatri Spivak, and Homi K. Bhabha. Post-colonial theory has been applied across various disciplines, including communication studies, literature, history, political science, film, and the arts. In Said’s Orientalism (2016), for example, numerous false Western representations of the East have been highlighted, depicting it as “inferior” and “passive,” unlike the “civilized” West. Similarly, Spivak (2023) focuses on subaltern actors or marginalized voices whose perspectives are often overlooked. In this respect, Mannin challenges British colonialism in various ways by offering a voice to her Iraqi characters and richly depicting the characters, events, and setting of a Middle Eastern country that had only recently become independent from Western influence. Mannin presents her Middle Eastern characters as equals to Westerners, respecting them by depicting their wit, sophistication, and multidimensional identities.

This article focuses on a novel written by Mannin, which deals with Iraq’s former leader, Abd al-Karim Qasim. Though the novel is based on some true events and people, it remains a fictional literary work and is not a historical document. Methodologically, the article employs critical research, focusing on qualitative and interpretive analysis. The method is relevant and useful because it addresses the hidden power relationships in language and uncovers the “experiences, meanings and identities of individuals and groups” (Alvesson & Deetz, 2020). Such an approach is grounded in Critical Theory, focusing not only on the surface level of meaning but also delving deeper into the possible associations, allusions, and symbolic aspects of language in relation to power (Willis, 2007). This approach is also a good fit for the topic of this article, as it addresses various post-colonial themes (Darder, 2019).

The Midnight Street (1969) was dedicated to Mannin’s Iraqi communist friend, Khalid Zaki, who was killed in South Iraq in 1968 due to his involvement in armed clashes with government forces. Before discussing the novel, it is essential to provide some background information about how Mannin came to write about Qasim. When her book A Lance for the Arabs appeared in 1963, Mannin wrote a letter to her friend, Lady Marguerite Robinson, in South Africa, in which she stated the following:

Did you read my book A LANCE FOR THE ARABS? Gen. Kassim… was murdered the day the first copy—which I intended for him—came from the press (there’s a picture of me with him in the book, but it does neither of us justice, certainly not him, for he was the handsomest man I ever saw.) I had an interview with Nasser last November and was impressed by his evident sincerity and [h]is unassumingness. But he hasn’t the charm poor Kassim had. (But is vastly more intelligent). (Rooney, 2018, p. 86)

Mannin refers to the interview she conducted with Qasim at the Ministry of Defense in early 1962 (Mannin, 1973a, p. 179), 1 year before the Iraqi leader was executed. The novelist expressed great admiration for Qasim and mentioned that he discussed the issue of Kuwait extensively, especially the possibility of merging it into Iraq, and even regarded it as more important than the Palestinian cause.

Mannin formed a highly positive impression of Qasim, noting that his presence conveyed a blend of military precision and youthful charm. His modesty was striking, easily convincing Mannin that he led a very frugal life in a small apartment within the Ministry of Defense. Abstaining from alcohol and tobacco, he had no desire for material wealth; his only luxury, a white Cadillac, was a gift from the army. Unmarried and orphaned, “he is, they say of him, ‘alone’” (Mannin, 1963b, p. 36). Qasim was known to be solitary, often referring to himself in speeches as “Kassim, son of the revolutionary Iraqi people,” he aligned himself with the poor, expressing a profound sincerity despite not identifying as a socialist (Mannin, 1963b, p. 36). During her late-night conversation with Qasim, Mannin shared her concerns about the 1958 Revolution, as such movements often fail to meet their high ideals. Qasim confidently stated that his July 14 Revolution had already succeeded and then turned the discussion toward imperialism, passionately voicing his determination to rid the Gulf region of British influence (Mannin, 1963b, p. 39).

After the fall of the Iraqi monarchy in 1958, Qasim’s Iraq ushered in a new political era, creating a more independent country from Western colonial powers, especially that of Britain. However, Mannin felt that Qasim was both “an idealist or an opportunist” (Mannin, 1963b, p. 37), and the description below concludes her observation:

Driving back through the midnight-empty streets of Baghdad, I carried away with me an impression of a man with a strong sense of destiny—of dedication-and of a deep sincerity; a man essentially a soldier, with all of the professional soldier’s basic simplicity, yet something of a dreamer. He has many critics, but that he has been able not merely to carry out a revolution successfully but steer it through the first few difficult years with considerable social achievements to the credit of his government has been demonstrated, and continues to be; he has many problems, but that right must eventually prevail is central to his personal and political philosophy, and that simple soldier’s faith may yet be vindicated. (p. 41)

In Stories from My Life (1973a), regarding Qasim’s death, Mannin mentioned that she was

Shocked and upset by his death, and always knew that one day I would write his story; it took me five years to find a way to do it, but in 1958 I wrote it in my novel, The Midnight Street, which is virtually straight biography, with very little invented. (p. 180)

Mannin also wrote an article about him in the Daily Telegraph on February 13 1963, in which she praised Qasim. Mannin concluded later that she understood why people found him so frustrating to work with. His behavior and the constant promise of a new constitution, which never materialized, led to his downfall. His good intentions paved the way for his failures. However, his sincerity was unquestionable. He was a dreamer and an idealist who should have stayed a soldier rather than venturing into politics.

Regarding his achievements and focus on the poor, Mannin mentioned that she observed substantial progress under his leadership during her extensive travels across Iraq. Land redistribution was in full swing, and new schools and hospitals had emerged. Notably, there was a large housing initiative aimed at replacing the poor’s “sarifa” or mud shacks with modern homes. He truly cared for the impoverished, referring to them as his “brothers,” which he expressed both publicly and privately (Mannin, 1973a, p. 180). Qasim made significant improvements in changing people’s sarifa, which can still be felt today (Al-Sudani, 2015).

Mannin’s description of Qasim’s character and the major events that led to his downfall remain realistic and objective. However, there were many fictional additions. This is part of Mannin’s approach to writing about revolutions, in which she “combines her idealism for the revolution with an unromantic pragmatism” (Rooney, 2015, p. 143). In addition, the novelist’s description aligns with what other historians and some critics have said about the former Iraqi leader. For example, he was described as active, committed, patient, sensitive, and sympathetic, especially toward the poor people (Hussein, 1989, p. 14; Mardan, 1989, p. 14). He was also highly praised for his kindness (Al-Jabiri, 2010, p. 96), especially at the beginning of his rule, and was loved and admired by many Iraqis. “Friend and foe still recognized that he was humble, dedicated, intense, hardworking, ascetic, and incorruptible” (Batatu, 1978, p. 835). However, his behavior radically changed, and many public attitudes shifted after an attempted assassination of his life on October 19 1959 (Batatu, 1978, pp. 835–836).

An Overview of The Midnight Street

Though Mannin never mentions any real names or places, she offers readers hints about the real representation she draws from. For example, the title The Midnight Street is not only a symbol but also an allusion to Al Rasheed Street in Baghdad, where Qasim faced an assassination attempt in 1959. It symbolizes contradictions because it represents both Iraq’s hopeful progress and future, as well as its reactionary past. It is once described as being “empty of everything but shadowy dreams” (1969, p. 143). The novel concludes with one of the main characters reflecting: “It had finished at midnight, at the end of the oldest and longest street in the city; the street that had held so great a fascination for… [Nadr ad-Din], but which he had warned [one] might find empty” (p. 224). ²

In the first few pages, the reader is introduced to approximately 10 characters, including Major-General Karim Nadr ad-Din, the prime minister, head of state, and commander-in-chief of the armed forces. Nadr ad-Din is the main character and represents Qasim. Similar to her genuine views, she portrays Qasim as kind-hearted, humble, sincere, and moderate. We are also introduced to Julia Nikolaidis, a French journalist and correspondent for Le Temps de Paris, who is of half-Greek and half-French descent. Nikolaidis represents Mannin herself and is described as a “trained observer” (p. 95). In the novel, Julia describes Nadr ad-Din as follows: “He really is extremely handsome!” (p. 55). Later in the novel, Julia reveals that she “felt herself drawn to him, that he stirred her imagination; even that, absurd as it was, she was a little in love with him” (p. 181). She thought of Nadr ad-Din as someone who “had immense personal charm, and he was evidently sincere; he believed in the promises he made and his intention to carry them out” (p. 47). Other characters include Colonel Jalal Chehebi, a former Deputy Prime Minister who stands for Abd al-Salam Arif, and who later became involved in Qasim’s execution. ³ Chehebi was presented as “more ambitious” (p. 17) than Qasim and was very ungrateful.

Mannin discusses Qasim in a trilogy though Midnight Street solely focuses on him. In both Free Pass to Nowhere (1970) and Mission to Beirut (1973b), the novelist contrasts the two eras of Qasim (Nadr ad-Din) and Arif (Jalal Chehebi) using the same fictional names. In Free Pass to Nowhere, Mannin focuses on the Iraqi Christian Minister of Transportation, Stefan Annab, who served during Nadr ad-Din’s era, showing how he was politically persecuted, imprisoned without trial, and eventually assassinated by Chehebi’s agents. The novel contains numerous positive references to Nadr ad-Din such as how he preferred to live in a modest place at the Ministry of Defence unlike Chehebi who lived in the “Presidential Palace across the river” (p. 68). Yet, Nadr ad-Din “had become the prisoner of his good intentions, and in the end they had brought about his downfall, and his death” (p. 29). In contrast, Chehebi’s regime made people constantly afraid to speak due to the political persecution of Nadr ad-Dinists and Communists. Chehebi’s critics were routinely persecuted, and one can sometimes see the “display of corpses winging in the sunshine above the glowing flower beds in Liberation Square” (p. 56). Similarly, Mission to Beirut (1973b) favorably portrays Nadr ad-Din as someone with a “tremendous personal charm- a quite unique charisma” (p. 52), for he was “very much loved by the ordinary people, especially the poor people of the serifa” (p. 43). In contrast, Chehebi brutally killed Nadr ad-Din and betrayed his friends in his blind pursuit for power.

One interesting characteristic of Ethel Mannin’s passion for feminism is that she shows strong women in her writing. For example, Nadia, Qasim’s sister, is portrayed as someone who refuses to be controlled by her brother and insists on winning her newly married husband, despite the pressure he received from Nadr ad-Din to marry her and the rejection from her husband’s family. Also, Fatima, Chehebi’s wife, decides to leave him after knowing that her husband ordered the execution of Nadr ad-Din since the latter did not order Chehebi’s execution when he was in power. Addressing Fatima long before he was executed, Nadr ad-Din once revealed: “[Chehebi] was plotting against me, but more importantly, he was plotting against the Revolution. He was sentenced to death, but I reprieved him” (p. 21).

More importantly, one constantly sees Julia, the Western journalist’s strength, determination, and sincerity. She is presented as a

Slim blonde woman in white, bare-legged, bare-armed, and bare-headed in the midst of Islam, and apparently impervious to the male stares which combined disapproval with lasciviousness. She was about thirty-five, and by Western standards attractive, though too thin for the men who leered at her as a lewd woman who exposed herself to their gaze. (p. 41)

Despite being a foreigner in a vulnerable situation, she insisted on delivering the truth and expressing herself honestly in front of Nadr ad-Din. She once mentioned that she had to save Nadr ad-Din “from himself!” (p. 185) due to his “self-delusory euphoria” (p. 90). She concluded that Nadr ad-Din’s “integrity, the sincerity of his belief in himself as leader, and his massive self-delusion… added up to a megalomania in which there was no self-aggrandizement, or power-seeking for its own sake; it also added up to the frustration and exasperation for his colleagues” (p. 93). To the Minister of Information, Shukrallah, Julia once said, “Your Ministry can control the country’s press, Excellency, but it cannot control the people’s thoughts, or their tongues. Gossip breeds like flies in our climate” (p. 100). In other words, all three main female characters are strong, determined, and highly confident.

The novel’s plot intricately weaves the tragic saga of Karim Nadr ad-Din, who is depicted as a leader with noble intentions but who is ultimately ensnared by his naivety. He used to repeat the cliché “Son of the People,” an epithet that Nadr ad-Din was interested in using, which gave him a false sense of protection for the poor people. Nadr ad-Din surrounds himself with a group of sycophants who often feed him lies, further perpetuating the illusion of unwavering public support. Chief among these is Shukrallah, his propaganda officer, who ensures that Nadr ad-Din remains blissfully unaware of the growing dissent among the people, often referring to him as the “Beloved Leader” (p. 189). On the other hand, his driver, Azad, plays a crucial role in continuously reminding him of the harsh reality. The same applies to Julia, for, before his execution, she once warned Nadr ad-Din of a possible coup, saying: “it could all erupt very soon—it could happen suddenly, some quite small thing could trigger it off …” (p. 90). In a subsequent encounter, Julia beseeched Nadr ad-Din to reconsider his choices and make real political reforms and reconciliation with tears in her eyes, stating: “Karim—I beg of you, act—before it’s too late!” (p. 193). This statement foreshadows the tragic events that will follow in the novel, in which Nadr ad-Din gets brutally executed.

As the narrative progresses, Nadr ad-Din’s isolation becomes increasingly pronounced. His circle of trust narrows to a select few, including his aide, Ismail Omar, and the Minister of Information, Ibrahim Shukrallah. Rumors or what is called in the novel “coffee-house gossip” (p. 181) of a homosexual relationship between him and Ahmed Kedri add a scandalous layer to his already precarious position, further alienating him from the predominantly conservative Muslim population. Hence, the erosion of Nadr ad-Din’s power is gradual but inescapable. His inability to perceive the disconnect between his idealistic vision and the stark reality fuels his downfall. Ultimately, he is betrayed by his own military and air force, culminating in a coup that leads to his execution at Iraq’s TV station in Baghdad. The literary figure and poetic style used by Mannin to describe the first air bombardment are worth referencing here because they offer a vivid image of both the physical world and the psychological state of the Iraqi leader: “That first bomb destroyed more than the armory; it crashed through all Nadr ad-Din’s personal defenses of self-delusion, but, strangely, not his self-confidence” (p. 208).

When cornered at the Ministry of Defense, Nadr ad-Din refused to surrender and raised his arms, saying: “They’re our last few hours of freedom—why should we give them to our enemies?” This reflects a determination to preserve self-respect and autonomy despite the risk of death and uncertain outcomes. The question that Nadr ad-Din had at that stage was not related to avoiding captivity, “but how to avoid surrender” (p. 80). The novel concludes with a haunting scene where Nadr ad-Din’s lifeless body is constantly shown on TV, serving as a grim testament to his failed leadership and the fleeting nature of power. This elaborate portrayal underscores the tragic irony of a leader whose dreams of unity and progress were undone by his blind spots, character flaws, and weaknesses. Nadr ad-Din often said that progress was made, but the leader’s dreams often became mixed with unreal changes on the ground. He once said: “We had to overthrow a police state to create something for the common people, with homes for everyone, and a just distribution of land, and people no longer going in fear” (p. 66). Though some of what he said did happen, it was not enough to dramatically change people’s socio-economic situations.

The Theme of Illusion and Reality

One of the major themes in the novel is the distinction between illusion and reality, which is effectively portrayed through the characterization of many characters. This includes discussions of the 1958 “bloodless revolution” (p. 19), its leadership, and the impact that it had on those involved. For example, an Iraqi official mentioned that everything went “according to plan—except that the deaths of the President and the Prime Minister had never been part of it. They had been killed when they emerged from the Palace together to surrender” (p. 18). In reality, the 1958 “bloodless revolution” is a myth, and the quotation here is an indirect reference to the killing of King Faisal II, the Regent Abd al-Ilah, and later Prime Minister Nouri Said during the revolution events.

There is a widespread sense of self-delusion where unrealistic ideals, imaginary values, and future goals are conflated with real achievements. In this respect, Karim Nadr ad-Din was often described as having “delusions of grandeur” (p. 51) and as a “megalomaniac” (p. 91) who is living in his “megalomania” world (p. 92), sometimes due to the role played by Shukrallah, who “himself lived in a dream, deceiving Karim because he was himself deceived by the cheering crowds and his own propaganda” (p. 92). However, at the same time, he is often described as being down-to-earth, humble, and in touch with the poor people. Some Iraqis even felt their leader “sincerely believes he is divinely appointed to lead this country” (p. 50). Even when the Revolution is mentioned, it is often associated with the leader. In his assassination attempt, Nadr ad-Din “had himself received only a flesh wound, and the Revolution had not been wounded at all” (p. 31). Here, we see how the character of the Iraqi leader is embodied in the Revolution itself. In other words, Nadr ad-Din himself becomes the Revolution. This legendary figure can allegedly improve the country’s socio-economic conditions, particularly in effectively addressing poverty and significantly reducing it. In A Lance for the Arabs, Mannin mentions that Qasim “spoke of the attempt on his life …,” and she felt that the Iraqi leader “saw this attack as an attempt to destroy the revolution rather than an attack on him as an individual” (Mannin, 1963b, p. 39).

Additionally, the theme of illusion and reality is reflected in the discussion of fatalism, or what is known in Arabic as mektoub, implying a fatalistic outlook where destiny is perceived as preordained by a divine power. Characters in the narrative often reference this concept to express a sense of inevitability about their personal and national fates, especially Nadr ad-Din. This fatalism seems to both comfort and constrain the characters, as illustrated by Nadr ad-Din’s statement: “My destiny, and the destiny of my country, is in the hands of God. Mektoub! It is written… My task, under God, is to shape the destiny of this country” (p. 191). This statement echoes the previous discussion on how Nadr ad-Din felt an imaginary divine mission to lead the country into progress without realizing his limitations and human flaws. Before the novel ends, some people living in shacks even refuse to believe that their leader died, for he allegedly managed to flee to another country, like Türkiye. Nadr ad-Din projected a false mythical figure of an indestructible savior character.

Mannin employs the literary technique of contrast, multiple times and in various ways, to illustrate her points, particularly enhancing the theme of illusion and reality. We read, for example, about the contrast made between the “terrible” past as “a police state” (p. 18) during the monarchy and the “bright” present, which supposedly has more freedoms. Julia once said that the new government of Iraq set up a “democracy in the making; not in the Western sense, but suited to their particular needs” (p. 20). The other contrast is at the character level, especially between the benevolent Nadr ad-Din and his trusted aides versus the evil conspirators, such as Chehebi and his fellows. Despite the latter characters’ deception, a few sincere characters tried their best to show the reality, including Julia, Azad, and his aide, Omar.

In one interaction with Azad, the latter felt that “Karim Nadr ad-Din was a dreamer, which is a fine thing if you are a poet, but a Head of State needs to extend his dreams in action” (p. 24). Azad once articulated his thoughts to the leader: “Fine dreams, Excellency, but it does not give the people houses and jobs.” Nadr ad-Din responded: “A dream brought about the Revolution” (p. 25). The novel ends with a reminder of this theme, during which Julia contemplates Nadr ad-Din, recalling what he had previously told her about how one “cannot separate the dreamer and the dream, the singer and the song.” However, the “dreamer wakes; the song finishes” (p. 224). In other words, positive dreams cannot replace harsh reality. In addition, Qasim’s aide, Omar, decided to sacrifice his life for the sake of his leader, though he could have joined the conspirators or even stayed with his wife in Türkiye during their honeymoon.

Another contrast is found between the West and East, particularly in the ideals of democracy and the rule of law, unlike in the case of the “police state” (p. 185) that Nadr ad-Din ultimately established, especially following his decision to dissolve the Revolutionary Council. Another contrast that is repeatedly mentioned is between the army and the people. The latter was depicted, or at least imagined, as more passive, peaceful, and welcoming of the leader, while the army was more disciplined, organized, and required more rights. Nadr ad-Din once revealed that the “Army must have priority in all things, because it had made the Revolution and was its life-blood” (p. 22). This was Qasim’s imagined and positive view of the Army, though it was also why he was overthrown.

Fact, Fiction, and Rumor

It is essential to note that Mannin’s plot and the delineation of characters demonstrates an understanding of background information and numerous historical details about Iraq. For example, the novel hints at a rumor about Nadr ad-Din’s homosexual tendencies because he was single and preferred to be accompanied by men. For example, offering details of a close encounter and interaction with Ahmed Kedri, a poor boy from the shanty town. The latter once shouted at Nadr ad-Din’s advances, saying: “Don’t touch me” (pp. 130–131). Nadr ad-Din responded apologetically: “You misunderstood. I wanted to embrace you because I was deeply moved by your song. I made a mistake. We both made mistakes. Let us forget it” (p. 132). In one encounter with Nadr ad-Din, Azad warned the leader about “coffee-house gossip” because “it affronts Moslem orthodoxy. They say it is a public scandal, unbecoming in a Head of State… what I ask myself is whether the services of such a boy as Ahmed Kedri are worth the harm done to your reputation” (p. 162).

In addition, Julia often pondered Nadr ad-Din’s sexuality, but she could not reach any conclusions: “He could be homosexual, of course, but no one had pinned that label on him, or had any name been associated with his” (p. 72). From her first meeting with the leader, she felt that he did not have homosexual preferences, and “somewhere at the back of her mind she did not believe it” (p. 75). In reality, there were numerous rumors about Abd al-Karim Qasim, including allegations about “his deviated behavior” (Al-Shawaf, 2004, p. 54), which is an indirect reference to his alleged homosexuality. However, these rumors often originated from his enemies and opponents to tarnish his reputation, something the Ba’athists at the time were actively involved in doing (Iraq in a Century, 2012).

Despite Ethel Mannin’s claim that the novel is a “straight biography, with very little invented,” it remains a literary work and not a fully realistic account, as there are many characters that do not exist and events that did not occur. For example, Nadr ad-Din is presented as having a mother and one sister. Abd al-Karim Qasim had two sisters (Mardan, 1989, p. 13). Amina was married to Muhammed Salih Al-Qaissi, and Najia was married to her cousin, Abd al-Jabar Jawad (Hussein, 1989, p. 8). Also, his mother was deceased when he became the leader of Iraq. In addition, Qasim’s assassination attempt in 1959 at Al Rasheed Street was mentioned in the novel. However, some details were modified, since Qasim was not alone with his driver, as the novel mentions, because he brought with him one of his aides, Qasim Al-Janabi, and the latter was injured during the actual attack. In addition, Fatima, who was Chehebi’s wife in the novel, abandoned her husband after Nadr ad-Din’s execution. There is no evidence to suggest that this happened to Abd Al-Salam Arif’s wife, Nahida Hussein Al-Rayes, who had seven children.

In conclusion, Ethel Mannin’s The Midnight Street eloquently pays homage to the Iraqi leader Abd al-Karim Qasim. Mannin’s narrative is rich with themes of power, idealism, and the interplay between illusion and reality, embodied by the character of Nadr ad-Din, a symbolic and sometimes truthful representation of Qasim. Mannin expresses her views through the character of Julia Nikolaidis. Both deeply admire and respect Qasim, while recognizing and understanding the contradictory elements of his personality. The novel is situated within the post-colonial framework in which Mannin skillfully weaves personal and political narratives and symbols, reflecting the intricacies of leadership amid historical and revolutionary upheaval following the 1958 Revolution in Iraq and the establishment of the Republic.

Mannin aimed to offer her Iraqi characters a voice to effectively articulate their views, concerns, and aspirations following the creation of the new Republic. Her portrayal of Qasim balances his virtues with his flaws while engaging with anti-imperialist, anti-colonial, and feminist messages. Through vibrant characters, a refined literary style, and a rich historical context, Mannin critiques societal norms and captures Iraq’s volatile sociopolitical climate during Qasim’s brief rule. Her work is both a literary critique and a testament to her commitment to progressive ideals and the insightful treatment of an important stage in Iraq’s history.