Maaza Mengiste headshot

Photo by Nina Subin

Maaza Mengiste is the author of Beneath the Lion’s Gaze and The Shadow King, the latter of which has been long listed for the 2020 Booker Prize. Born in Ethiopia, Mengiste grew up in Kenya and in the United States. Her work has dealt with migration and the Ethiopian Revolution, among other themes. As a teacher who has taught writing internationally, Mengiste is also deeply involved in human rights work. We spoke with Maaza on The PEN Pod about learning unique historical lessons, dealing with the pandemic as a writer and artist, and how we can use art to elevate underrepresented voices.

Let’s talk about The Shadow King. It’s a beautiful book, this incredible epic of Italy’s invasion of Ethiopia—and in particular, the role of women soldiers. How do you think people might read it somewhat differently amid the global pandemic?
That is a good question. I’ve been thinking about this question a lot lately—about what’s different now from the past. And you know, I’m a historical novelist. I am completely immersed in archives and all documents looking at the past. And I think I’ve done this as a way to understand who we are today, as a world, as a nation. But when this pandemic hit, when these protests started, I started thinking about 1935, the rise of fascism, and the people who stood up—the antifascists from across Italy, into Ethiopia, through Spain.


“Where you saw the rise of authoritarianism and the right wing, you were always going to find people who fight against that. And I think that my book can be read in that way, that here’s a history that is really not at all uncommon. It’s in fact very much a reflection of where we are right now. And here’s a group of people led by Black women, very much like the protests in the United States.”


Anyway, where you saw the rise of authoritarianism and the right wing, you were always going to find people who fight against that. And I think that my book can be read in that way, that here’s a history that is really not at all uncommon. It’s in fact very much a reflection of where we are right now. And here’s a group of people led by Black women, very much like the protests in the United States. Here’s this group—these are women who were farmers, the wives of farmers, who were peasants, who were illiterate, and they stood up against a well-oiled European machine, and that army won.

I think it’s a point of inspiration, but it’s a reminder that there are always people who tend to be written out of historical narratives, written out of the news accounts. I think of these women every time I look out at the protests because I think that those women and girls who are out on the streets now—whether it’s in the United States or around the world—are in some ways the inheritors of the fighting spirit, of grandmothers and mothers who came before them.


“There are always people who tend to be written out of historical narratives, written out of the news accounts. I think of these women every time I look out at the protests because I think that those women and girls who are out on the streets now—whether it’s in the United States or around the world—are in some ways the inheritors of the fighting spirit, of grandmothers and mothers who came before them.”


It’s such a point well-taken. Are you immersing yourself in other historical projects right now? Are you going back and looking at nonfiction or fiction accounts of prior events to inform what you’re writing now, or are you more forwardly looking at this stage?
I thought that I would be actually looking at what’s happening now, but I have found my gaze and my interests constantly going backwards. I was interested, even before the pandemic hit, soon after this book was done—I had a sense that I wanted to continue to look at different wars, different conflicts around the world. What’s happened is, during lockdown, I just started reading all these areas that interested me, which was in some ways the Spanish Civil War, the interwar years, and in Germany, what was happening across Africa and the liberation movements. What struck me again and again, was how similar everything feels today. I think there are lessons to be learned, but I also think that today, we have some unique lessons that we are learning at the moment.

I wanted to ask you a bit about your work as a teacher. Obviously, you teach writing here in New York, and you’ve taught in many centers around the world. I’m wondering what kind of writing guidance are you offering your students, your mentees right now?
What’s interesting is that I was on leave this semester, this past year, actually working on a new project, on a fellowship. But I’ve returned to New York and I have been in conversation with some new students of mine, as well as some former students. And I think that what they’re trying to do is find a way to grasp what’s happening—trying to find a way to position themselves, and their writing and their readings, in the world that we live in.


“We are going to be talking extensively about what other writers have done in similar moments, what writers have done at the cost of maybe their livelihood or their safety. I want us to look at those people and begin to understand how art is sustaining, but it’s also very dangerous to authoritarian regimes. My question to my class—and it’s the same question to me and to everyone else—is, ‘What is our responsibility, and what are we doing to fulfill that?’”


I think one of the things that I am going to be offering to my students is a way to question the place of literature in these times—the place of art, but also the role of artists and writers right now. We are going to be talking extensively about what other writers have done in similar moments, what writers have done at the cost of maybe their livelihood or their safety. I want us to look at those people and begin to understand how art is sustaining, but it’s also very dangerous to authoritarian regimes. My question to my class—and it’s the same question to me and to everyone else—is, “What is our responsibility, and what are we doing to fulfill that?”

What is your take on the role of writers and novelists during the pandemic, and here in the United States, this epidemic of anti-Black violence?
The one thing I understood and was reminded again about was the power of art, the power of literature, the sustaining and inspirational power. When I was in lockdown, I am pretty sure that I was not the only one to reach for a book, reach for music, reach for art, go to films, as a way not only to comfort, but to begin to get a foothold on what was going on and how to stop from completely slipping into panic. I think our role as artists, as writers—especially when we’re dealing with COVID—I think that writers, novelists, artists, remind us about the complexities of human beings and the human experience, that there’s nothing happening in a vacuum, that there are many layers to the person we might see standing in front of a group of federal police, and we need to look. I guess what writers and novelists force us to do in the work is to pause. Pause, and think, and complicate. And if there’s anything that COVID has made me consider, it’s how we begin to treat and speak of the people we have always assumed were expendable in our society, and yet they’re the ones that seem to be taking the brunt of the devastation of this virus.


“I guess what writers and novelists force us to do in the work is to pause. Pause, and think, and complicate. And if there’s anything that COVID has made me consider, it’s how we begin to treat and speak of the people we have always assumed were expendable in our society, and yet they’re the ones that seem to be taking the brunt of the devastation of this virus.”


I just landed from Switzerland to JFK—Terminal Four, which is the international terminal. And this was just a few days ago. I’m still in quarantine. And Stephen, every single person working in the airport—from the customs officers to the baggage handlers, to the people checking my temperature—they were people of color. Every single person. And it made me think about those people who are on the front line. And writers, novelists, artists—we are imagined to be at a place in society that’s further removed from those people who work directly with other people: the cashiers, the clerks, or these people I saw lifting luggage. But we’re the same, we’re all in this together. And it struck me then, in the airport, the magnitude of what’s happening to people we’ve never, maybe paid attention to before. And I think the role of writers and novelists and artists at this point—which is something we’ve all been doing, I think, but the stakes are higher—is how do we bring light to focus on those human beings and those lives? And how can we make sure that we create a system that makes them matter more?

I want to ask finally, what are you reading right now?
I am reading a book called Igifu by Scholastique Mukasonga. It’s a short book set in Rwanda, but I really liked Scholastique’s work, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it. It’s not very long, but it is just packed with wisdom and beautiful writing. Also on my bedside is another book called Afterlives, which is by Abdulrazak Gurnah. This is a book also set in Africa, but in Tanzania, and deals with someone who is part of the colonial troops in the German Empire. And this is a history again that nobody really talks about—that Germany had its own empire and had African soldiers. So this book has been fascinating to read. I’m switching between these two.