Interview by Ilgaz Gökırmaklı, on May 30th, 2025
Not a symbol – just a giraffe!
Blurring the lines between reality and imagination, and brought to life by its characters and animals, The Sleepless Giraffe in Damascus is one of the most unique examples of contemporary Arabic literature. We spoke to the author, Khalil Alrez, who invites readers into an imaginary Russian neighborhood in Damascus that resists being pulled into the surrounding years of war.
In your novel, the giraffe is not just an animal, but also seems to reflect the narrator’s inner world…
I didn’t treat the giraffe as a symbol when writing the novel; I just thought of it as a giraffe. The same goes for the dog Raisa Petrova, the dog Mostas, and the cat Ghazal. But readers don’t have to adopt my view. They are free to see what they wish in the giraffe. Some see it as a symbol of the Syrian people or the Syrian revolution. Now you’re viewing it as a reflection of the narrator’s world. That’s beautiful, even delightful—and I have no objection.
You returned to Syria in 1993 after about 10 years in Russia. What was that experience like for you? How did it affect you?
Returning to Syria was a shock. Of course, I missed Moscow. I didn’t regret leaving, but not seeing some places again did make me sad. I had finished writing my first novel Sulavesi and a play Two People in Moscow. So I felt I needed to return home and present myself to my potential readers as a writer.
How did your writing process for the novel develop?
When I was writing The Substitute, protests against the Bashar al-Assad regime had just started. Like The Giraffe, that novel also takes place in a Russian neighborhood. In both novels, the characters and spaces are shared, so it wasn’t difficult to move from one to the other. I started writing Giraffe before I even finished the previous novel. I often work this way—while wrapping up one novel, I’ll already be immersed in the atmosphere of the next.
You frequently refer to Russian literature and culture…
Yes, my last three novels—The Substitute, The Giraffe, and The Handkerchief with Cherries—all feature Russians. Russian culture is simply part of my cultural makeup since I lived with Russians for so long. I make references to Russian culture in my books.
Your style fluctuates between reality and fantasy. How do you maintain that balance?
My narration is based on fiction but never detaches entirely from reality. Reality is the raw material of storytelling; I don’t stray too far from it. Every writer chooses a path, then gradually moves away from it. To transform real events into fiction, the writer needs skills developed over time. I used those skills.
In past interviews, you mentioned identifying as a “hybrid” person. Does that affect your writing?
No culture is pure, and no ethnic structure is entirely homogenous. Maybe that was true in ancient times. But in our age, we all are, to some degree, hybrid individuals. My hybrid identity is something I accept, and I want to be part of this developing movement.
Which Turkish authors or books have you read?
I’ve read famous Turkish writers in Arabic translation. I especially liked Orhan Pamuk, Elif Şafak, and others. I learned a lot from Pamuk’s novels. If I had to choose, I’d say My Name is Red is the best of them all. I’ve read several by him, but this one is both the most beautiful and the most perfect. In your novel, you can write about a giraffe, a dog, or a cat, but if you succeed in building a complex world that grips the reader, your novel will stand out. That’s what Pamuk accomplished, and what I also strive for in my own work.
Image Istock / Wired website.
