Yasmeen Haddad Loves Joanasi Maqaittik
300 Pages

Yasmeen Haddad Loves Joanasi Maqaittik



A young woman enters a whole new world of attraction in a community struggling with generations of loss of land and culture.
Yasmeen’s tradition-bound mother wants her to stay in Montreal, get married, and have babies. But the young Syrian-Canadian wants more. Her appetite for adventure leads her to a teaching job in the northern Quebec village of Saqijuvik. Eager to adopt her new home and its Inuit inhabitants, Yasmeen embraces every experience that comes her way: camping on the tundra, hunting for ptarmigan, sewing with the local women. She plunges into her northern adventure, no holds barred.
But it’s 1983 and instead of the ideal, pristine Arctic Yasmeen imagined, she uncovers a contradictory world of igloos and pool halls, Sedna and Jesus, raw caribou and alcohol. In the middle of everything is Joanasi, a beautiful but volatile man who leads her into territory that is almost as unsettling as the land itself.
Yasmeen Haddad Loves Joanasi Maqaittik is a story of powerful love and potent lust. It is a tale of adventure, of the attempt to bridge worlds and cultures, of self-discovery in the face of the unknown. Set in the vast and beautiful North, it pushes past the standard narrative of southerners bringing “civilization” to a people who have survived in the most unforgiving of environments for over a thousand years.


Published by
Published 13 October 2017
Reads 0
EAN13 9781771861250
License: All rights reserved
Language English

Legal information: rental price per page €. This information is given for information only in accordance with current legislation.

Yasmeen Haddad
Joanasi Maqaittik A N O V E L
Yasmeen Haddad Loves Joanasi Maqaittikis a story of powerful love and potent lust. It is a tale of adventure, of te attempt to bridge worlds and cultures, of self-discovery in te face of te unknown. Set in te vast and beautiful Nort, it puses past te standard narrative of souterners bringing “civilization” to a people wo ave survived in te most unforgiving of environments for over a tousand years.
Yasmeen Haddad  Loves Joanasi Maqaittik
Yasmeen Haddad  Loves Joanasi Maqaittik
All rigts reserved. No part of tis book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mecanical, including potocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, witout permission in writing from te publiser.
© Carolyn Marie Souaid
 ---- pbk; ---- epub; ---- pdf;---- mobi/pocket
Cover poto by Pierre Dunnigan Book Design and Cover by Folio infograpie Editing by Elise Moser and Robin Pilpot Proofreading by Brownwyn Averett Autor poto by Joel Silverstein
Legal Deposit, t quarter 
Bibliotèque et Arcives nationales du Québec Library and Arcives Canada Publised by Baraka Books of Montreal , rue Lacroix Montréal, Québec   Telepone:  - info@barakabooks.com
Printed and bound in Quebec
Trade Distribution & Returns Canada and te United States Independent Publisers Group --- (IPG); orders@ipgbook.com
We acknowledge te support from te Société de développement des entreprises cul-turelles (SODEC) and te Government of Quebec tax credit for book publising administered by SODEC.
In loving memory of Doreen Saker Ceeseman
his book is a work of fiction. Names, caracters, places and incidents are prod-ucts of te autor’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
       . he sidewalk is wet and slick, window displays of skeletons and zom-bies wit eyes spun back in teir sockets—a veritable Festival of te Dead—calling to er. he Halloween moon is conspicuously absent. Se crosses a dark intersection bordering on a derelict park se normally avoids. Except for a crepe-tin layer of snow on everyting, te grass is brown and worn and te trees are bare. At one time, before te pigeons and te omeless moved in, it was a sanctuary of mown grass and manicured edges, a landmark named for its centrepiece bronze of a famous explorer, Jon Cabot, scanning te orizon wit a map in one and and te oter sading is eyes. As toug answering a dare, Yasmeen saunters toward te park. Se notices some motion at te base of te statue, a sabby man looking small and unstately before te monument’s gran-deur. Someting in is appearance makes im vaguely familiar, is lopsided Montreal Canadiens tuque, is unsteadiness, te brown paper bag in is lap. Qanuippiit?” se calls out. A sarp wind blows te air backwards off er face as se approaces im. he surprise in is face leaps out at er, te fact se can speak is language. Se feels te burn of is eyes as e drinks out of te brown bag, sizing er up. Se is wrong; se’s never seen tis man before. “Were did you learn to speak Inuktitut?”
Ya s m e e n H a d d a d Lo v e s J o a n a s i m a q a i t t i k
“I was up nort for a wile.” He takes anoter slug and looks down at te space beside im. He glances in er general direction, ten down again at te same space. Se esitates but can’t find a reason not to join im. he marble steps are cold. hey sit togeter in silence, observing te ebb and flow of te city. Once upon a time, se would ave stoked te conversation. Se would ave asked wat community e was from, wy e was ere, wen e was returning to te Nort, se would ave bombarded im wit an earful of questions. Se would ave ardly waited for is answer before moving on to te next. Se doesn’t do tat anymore, se’s learned to let tings appen in teir own time. “You look like a smart girl,” e finally says. He orks up a moutful of mucus and spits it across te darkness. “Maybe a teacer.” Se nods, impressed by is guess. “Lots of girls go up nort to be a teacer. And to be in love wit an Inuk.” He smiles. “I ad aQallunaaqteacer once. Se was smart, se left before se found a man.” He drinks a little more, sniggers and passes er is bottle. Yasmeen sakes er ead no. hey return to teir comfortable silence. he snow picks up, needles tem wit icy pellets. He pulls te at down over is ears. A fat, wet flake falls onto er lases and melts down er ceeks. Se sits tere quietly. he fact tat se can go on tis way, indefinitely, wit a tousand tings to say and no real urge to say tem, amazes er. And doesn’t. After a wile e stands and stretces, wobbly on is feet. He scratces is ead and furrows is brow, trying very ard to remember someting. He looks wistfully into te distance. “Tell me everyting you know about winter,” e says.