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Author:
- Publisher : Global East-West. London
- Publication date : May 27, 2025
- Language : English
- Print length : 202 pages
Hichem Karoui’s novel “The Librarian of Cordoba” follows the story of Zaynab, a dedicated librarian and scholar’s daughter who works in the Great Library of Cordoba, a vast repository of knowledge.
As political and religious tensions rise outside the library, Zaynab’s world is threatened. The radical Imam Malik’s inflammatory sermons create fear among the populace, while General Tariq exploits religious sentiment to consolidate power and suppress intellectual thought, viewing the library as a threat to his authority.
When restrictions are placed on the library and its precious scrolls face potential destruction, Zaynab and head librarian Yusuf al-Katib devise plans to protect their collection.
They form alliances with unlikely individuals, including Layla (a merchant’s daughter) and potentially Hasan (a guard with questionable loyalty to Zaynab’s family). Meanwhile, the scholar Dawud ibn Ezra faces increasing prejudice for his translations of Greek philosophers.
As tensions escalate,Zaynab attempts a covert mission to move scrolls but is discovered by guards.
The situation worsens dramatically when a mob storms the library seeking to destroy “heretical” texts.
Publisher’s link: https://books.by/global-east-west#the-librarian-of-cordoba
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/u/mYEy8o
Amazon: https://a.co/d/gvoM2lN
Extracts
Chapter One: The Library’s Heart
She stepped into the library, and the aroma of ages-old paper and ink enveloped her like a warm hug. It calmed her down to feel that because the world outside was a very different place. Her father’s lessons echoed in her mind with every careful step she took. She remembered the ways he had told her that knowledge is a treasure that cannot be stolen. At that moment, she wished it was true as she stood aware of how easily it could be lost.
Standing still in the library turned into a treasure filled with endless important learnings. Looking around reminded her of the world composed of shelves that lifted far to engraved ceilings, surrounded by silent scholars deep in thought. She closed her eyes and her paces turned into soothing strides full of refreshment.
The Great Library’s collection of scrolls and texts was more than just books and scrolls; it contained every single idea ever thought of by mortal man. As Zaynab gently traced the scrolls with her fingers, recalling her father’s tales of powerful imagers, which filled her with wonder, memories of her father started to populate her mind. Fragments and echoes of his presence floated around like motes of light caught in a shaft of sunlight. She vowed to protect his legacy, but with each sigh of sorrow-filled complaint she heard emanating from the rest of the city, her resolve was answered with even more pressure.
She hurried back to the alcove her father had once confided in. The air seemed charged with meaning. Scholars loitered by the door, their discussions drifting towards the power shifts threatening their place of learning. Zaynab, straining to hear their speech, felt a growing storm of dread coursing through her. With every comment about the unrest, her heart grew heavy—tempestuous strife makes everything more unpredictable; how could she remain a keeper of reality and protector of knowledge when the corridors that once granted her sanctuary may soon transform into a battleground stripped of the tranquil sense of learning? She absolutely couldn’t stop thinking that the trembling light from the candle reflected not only the beauty of the texts but the treacherously delicate glow of her most treasured ideals.
Her worries faded when she heard Yusuf’s voice, the elderly head librarian. His gentle and grave demeanour suggested that even the most steadfast of scholars were starting to waver.
“Zaynab,” he said, looking around as though he believed even the shadows were eavesdropping. “We must talk.”
His request drew her closer, but the gnawing dread in her gut warned her of the storm ahead. With every piece of information he shared, everything could shift.
Zaynab bint Hamid was encased in a vault of the Great Library when she pulled an illuminated scroll out. As she carefully handled the scroll, she could not help but feel its centuries’ worth of wisdom and the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. Her fingers delicately traced the gold art that shimmered alongside the colours that enriched the parchment. Every scroll was not simply text; every scroll was tried and tested, knowledge captured and sealed. The wisdom inscribed on the scrolls was safe as long as she was the guardian, in spite of the countless scholars they housed.
As the scents of almond oil and aged paper wrapped around her, Zaynab strayed into her father’s voice, illuminating the enlightening thoughts from deep in history. It was an excerpt of his unrolled scrolls containing philosophy that preserved the essence of wisdom and sent cultures into a beautiful, intertwining whirlpool which shaped their existence. One thing was very certain: protecting them was not simply a responsibility; it was tender trust promised to cherish in return for her father’s remembrances. Old-world creators, along with current scholars, were not so easily forgotten. Voices, as Zaynab had never heard before, echoed starting from somewhere. Throughout all of her existence, dire political circumstances outside the almost unbreachable library were the first to paint a new coat to the horizons of her calm, now overwhelmingly suppressed tempest sanctuary.
The tranquility of her thoughts was blended with dread as a door suddenly opened with a creak. The head librarian, Yusuf al-Katib, strode into the room looking stoic as ever. Zaynab’s heart started racing as she noticed discomfort etched into his brow, a worry that was borrowed from her own fears. He leaned closer – clearly perturbed.
“They are speaking of restrictions again, Zaynab,” came his voice, low and shaky. “Worse yet, they seek to inventory the library’s most precious scrolls, to identify what they deem ‘dangerous.’”
The urgency of his warning turned Zaynab’s blood cold. The scrolls that held her dreams for the future, along with centuries of scholars’ philosophies and wisdom, were now under unparalleled threat.
“We need to make haste,” she said in a firmer tone. “They can’t be allowed to uncover the scrolls, especially those ones.”
Her voice had grown so faint that it was little more than a breeze as she gestured towards an alcove where the most sensitive materials rested. Her imagination whirred at the thought of their dangerous potential, resembling beacons capable of illuminating deep analysis—and the destruction they could cause in calculating hands. Yusuf gently nodded, age and time casting heavy burdens on his body, but now hope flickered far beneath those layers.
As the two of them brought their minds together to plot out their plans, the constant murmuring coming from the grand hall of the library turned to something more buzzing, like agitated thoughts being put under a microscope. Voices escalated into arguments, and Zaynab felt a cold wave of dread wash over her. Words like ‘purge’ and ‘heretical’ ominously rang within the halls of the library. Zaynab took a sharp breath, feeling the sanctuary they occupied start to fray at the seams. The voices of overzealous scholars, which used to fill the library with spirited discussions, now sounded drained out of hope. The library, which used to be the lighthouse of wisdom, now was crumbling, losing everything in a dim void.
Motivated by a fierce need to protect knowledge, Zaynab spoke to Yusuf while scanning the scrolls.
“As long as we do not waste time, I demand that every effort be made to safeguard what we have.”
An urgent whisper of what might come blended with what they were actually discussing. Every scholar, even the younger ones who had not fully grasped the topic at hand, began to hasten. It felt as if an impending storm was waiting to pounce, though, in this case, the storm would do everything in its power to extinguish the light of knowledge that had previously existed and given life to countless civilisations. The library, unlike others, felt shivers along with what could only be called a heartbeat.
As Zaynab lingered in the library, the distinct smell of books made her remember past arguments between scholars, making her uneasy. She had always found peace in the scrolls, but today, they felt like they were burning. Her father’s lectures on the importance and magic that came with knowledge echoed in her mind, and even the whispers she loved so much were making her uneasy.
Zaynab instinctively leaned towards the group of scholars whispering away in a dim nook and straining to piece the discourse together. Words like “political turbulence” and “impending threats” wafted into her consciousness, disrupting a different kind of their own. She turned to leave, well aware of the political tensions and discussing intricacies as she imagined. What was once a light and generous tone carried with countless exchanges where feelings were tossed around. Now, no one dared to speak because they were afraid what they wanted to share out loud would be taken hostage.
With every tick of the clock, the rhythm of her pulse grew faster. Outside the library, the disagreements had reached a ceaseless volume. Her heart rate was already elevated, and the sounds coming from the courtyard did not help as she gazed out the arched window. Amorphous figures danced restlessly as if they were a blend of pure fire and fear. Zaynab recalled the tales of what came before—how ignorance used to spread like wildfire, consuming every ounce of reason and rationality, leaving nothing but the ashes of words long forgotten. The scrolls she protected so carefully came to her mind; she pictured them as solitary lighthouses in the stormy seas that were the world.
A voice whispering from the alcove pulled her back to the present, and she rejoined the world with a sigh:
“We cannot remain complacent.”
Amidst all of the other scholars in the library, it was Dawud, the one who was known for his strong will.
“Each sermon becomes a new spark, especially with Imam Malik gaining traction. Not only do we become isolated, but the way of life that we have become accustomed to does too.”
The words that spilt from Dawud’s mouth were quite heavy, even though he was so firm in logic. Seeing the world through his rational lens, Zaynab found herself heartbroken at the idea. What rose to the surface were emotions hidden by scholars’ shields, a glint of fragility.
Racing thoughts vultured her mind. Zaynab always paid the cost of pursuing knowledge in a world uncaring for the forsaken. Yet, could she, a ‘woman,’ aspire to something beyond the mere title of a scroll keeper? Weighing her options was as daunting as lifting the heaviest of tomes.
“What must we do?” She quipped, stepping into the light with her voice quaking, “Guardians of Shadows Grimoire.”
Reluctant whispers of agreement rippled through the scholars, but Zaynab’s eyes were drawn to Yusuf – her mentor turned conspirator. His age-old worries were written in deep crevices etched into his skin. When he opened his mouth, she was met with silence. Reason was completely overridden as thunderous noises blasted from outside. Zaynab’s heart was anew, and chaos threatened to engulf them.
“They gather,” murmured Yusuf. “We may not remain safe for long.”
Although dread filled the library, Zaynab still felt it—a whisper of change, the winds of fate transforming around her like dry leaves caught in the storm.
The furious storm was brewing outside, yet her mind was fuelled with a different kind of tempest as well. Pressured forces were colliding within and around her, and she knew having all that power and knowledge would question her determination. This led to the undeterred promise that not only would she be the ruthless keeper of ‘lost words,’ she would protect the sanctuary of learning in the school like a fierce soldier.
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Chapter Two: The Seeds of Dissent
The soft light of the setting sun, a warm golden hue, filtered through the mosque’s stained glass, casting an array of colours onto the assembly gathered below. The intricate patterns of the stained glass danced on the marble floor, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to the solemnity of the scene. Imam Malik ibn Ismael stood tall upon the pulpit, his eyes sharp and piercing, a hint of fervour igniting his voice as he began his sermon. Today, he would not merely speak—he would incite. The air itself seemed to crackle with tension as whispers of division slithered through the crowd, echoing the undercurrents of fear that stirred within Córdoba.
The sun blazed overhead as Imam Malik stood at the pulpit, his voice weaving a spell of both fear and fervour among the gathered masses. Each word punctuated the air with vibrant intensity, the crowd swaying like willow branches caught in a tempest of religious zeal. Beneath the grand dome of the mosque, whispers of dissent hung heavy, muffled by the fervour of those listening intently to his every syllable.
“These scholarly fancies,” he proclaimed, arms raised to catch the gaze of every individual in attendance, “are veils of deception! They shroud our hearts in doubt and parse our reliance on true faith!”
Gasps rippled through the congregation, a mixture of shock and agreement igniting the air around them. Standing at the fringes, Zaynab felt the heat of his words seep into the marrow of her being, stoking the embers of worry that had long flickered within her.
As Malik spoke of corrupt philosophers and dangerous texts, the crowd’s energy shifted. The heat of the moment ignited an urgency within many, urging them to stand against the intellectual currents threatening their sacred beliefs. Small groups began to form, fueled by the belief that they were the defenders of divine truth, turning their gathered strength into an echoing force against knowledge. The urgency in their actions, the fervour in their voices, was palpable.
“Stand with me, brothers and sisters! The time has come to purge our realm of these poisonous thoughts!”
At the back of the mosque, Zaynab clenched her fists, feeling the tremors of hostility ripple through her community. Against her instincts, she had witnessed the rising tide of fanaticism to mark the swelling unrest. Each chant of support for Malik rang like a death knell for the very knowledge she worked to protect. She spotted familiar faces, friends and colleagues who had once shared in scholarly discussions, now gripped by fervour, swept away in the undercurrent of popular sentiment. The fear for the knowledge she cherished, the fear for the enlightenment she held dear, was a heavy burden on her heart.
The Imam was a masterful orator, a manipulative leader who sensed the shifting tide and revved the crowd into a deeper frenzy. Each mention of those who favoured reasoning over faith was met with enthusiastic objections:
“Let their names be forgotten! They bring upon us the displeasure of the Divine!”
The fervour of the crowd crescendoed around him like a wild inferno, dimming the glimmer of reason in their eyes.
“We will not let ignorance encircle us! We shall rise!”
The people, moved by a shared identity newfound in Malik’s fervour, were now emboldened to march against intellectualism and hoist banners etched with condemning text against the libraries that had once been a beacon of enlightenment. Zaynab realised that this was no longer just a rally; it was a summons for chaos. It was no mere gathering; it was a call to arms.
As she turned to leave, determination stole over her, igniting a quiet rebellion within. She would not allow this blinded zeal to swallow the heart of Córdoba or dim the spirit of inquiry ignited by the luminous scrolls she guarded. But what could one voice whisper against the roaring tide of the devout? The fear that had once bound her seemed combative now, pushing her toward action in the dimming light of hope.
Yet, even as she slipped away from the thrumming crowd, Zaynab felt eyes upon her. Shadows lingered, discerning, as if they foresaw her defiance. Tension coiled within her, tightening like the noose of a predator, and she shivered at the notion that the growing atmosphere of hostility might soon reach her sanctuary. The tension was growing, and the conflict was impending. She had to act, but how? Lines were drawn, and she would have to navigate this world where alliances could shatter and trust could vanish like sand slipping through her fingers. Her determination to stand against the tide was unwavering, but the path ahead was fraught with uncertainty.
General Tariq stood on the fringes of the Great Mosque, his gaze penetrating the sea of fervent faces that hung on Imam Malik’s every word. The evening air was thick with incense and anticipation, each syllable of the cleric’s sermon a thread weaving tighter into the fabric of Córdoba’s populace. As he spoke of the dangers lurking within foreign philosophies, Tariq felt an unsettling thrill. The man was a tool, a vessel for his ambitions. With each invocation against intellectuals, Tariq’s mind raced ahead, calculating the political leverage this could afford him.
“…their corruptive ideas lead us astray!” Malik’s voice boomed, punctuated by the echo of gasps and murmurs from the crowd.
As the Imam riled the faithful, Tariq’s heart drummed a steady beat of opportunity. His thoughts ventured toward his own aspirations—how to harness this fervour to consolidate power. The shifting tides of opinion were as tangible to him as the weight of his steel sword at his side. If Malik could paint the scholars as treasonous, rebels against the very faith that sustained them, then the distractions of the court would pale before his burgeoning influence. He would become a harbinger, not just of faith, but of fear.
As the clamour grew, Tariq zeroed in on a sentiment that surged within him: fear could be a currency, one he could spend liberally and with calculated precision. He noted the way the people leaned in, drinking deeply from the cup of fanaticism. He mentally catalogued their faces—those eager to turn suspicion into action. In their eyes, he saw shadows of the scholars they believed needed to be purged, starting with the great library, a symbol of knowledge he believed sapped the strength of the Caliphate.
But knowledge, as Tariq was aware, was a double-edged sword. It could pierce through the fog of ignorance, or it could burn in the fires of zealotry. The reckoning would come, and he would ensure that the sharpest blade fell not upon him but upon those hoarding the knowledge deemed dangerous. It was all a game of balance, one that required finesse as sharp as the finest blade. With Malik at his side, waxing poetic about the perils of enlightenment, it would be child’s play to stoke the flames further.
The crowd erupted in fervent applause, giving Malik’s warning weight beyond mere words, and in that moment, Tariq felt the vision of conquest bloom before him, haloed in the fiery glow of the torches lining the plaza. He thought of Zaynab, the keeper of the whispers in the heart of the library. Her clandestine work and knowledge possessed an allure that both fascinated and troubled him. To crush dissent, he knew, would require targeting the source of dissenters like her. She could be a catalyst for all he sought or a thorn in his side. The slippery slope had begun, and he was poised at the precipice.
As the last echoes of Malik’s sermon faded, Tariq turned from the rising crowd, plotting his next moves, feeling the inevitable pull towards chaos. The library stood like a towering reminder of what knowledge could birth, and he would be damned if he allowed it to remain unchallenged. He took a deep breath, resolving to manipulate the tides of passion and fear. The architects of knowledge were about to face their reckoning, and he would orchestrate it with the precision of a maestro conducting a grand symphony of ruin. It was time to act, to sow dissent among scholars, and to tighten the noose around their fragile existence.
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