The Return: Fathers, Sons and the Land in Between

Hisham Matar

56 pages 1-hour read

Hisham Matar

The Return: Fathers, Sons and the Land in Between

Nonfiction | Autobiography / Memoir | Adult | Published in 2016

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Symbols & Motifs

Content Warning: This section of the guide contains depictions of graphic violence, illness or death, and emotional abuse.

The Bottomless Abyss

The “bottomless abyss” is a symbol in The Return that represents the unresolvable psychological pain of ambiguous loss. Written by Jaballa Matar in a smuggled letter, the phrase captures the unique grief of a loved one being “disappeared.” Jaballa warns his family that if his letters are discovered, he will “fall into a bottomless abyss” (151), a fate he distinguishes from death by torture. This distinction suggests a state of perpetual, conscious suffering without end. When one of Jaballa’s letters is published by someone else, Matar confirms, “The bottomless abyss opened up” (153). This transforms the potential threat into a grim reality, as Jaballa is tortured, moved, and subsequently never heard from again. 


For Matar, the adjective “bottomless” implies a descent without relief, symbolizing the core of the memoir’s central theme, The Relationship Between Closure, Grief, and Healing. It is the conceptual space where his father is “both dead and alive” (145), a paradox that Matar cannot reconcile. The symbol extends beyond the prison walls, becoming a metaphor for Matar’s own experience of living in the aftermath. When he contemplates his father’s fate, he feels “an abyss open up beneath me” (43), illustrating how this state of inconclusive grief is inherited. It is a void that cannot be filled by memory or hope, only by the concrete truth of what happened, which the regime perpetually withholds.

Poetry

Poetry functions as a central motif in the memoir, representing a form of spiritual survival, a historical record, and a conduit for identity that transcends circumstances like imprisonment in Abu Salim. It is an art form that offers a counter-narrative to the regime’s attempt to erase its victims. Matar learns from former prisoners that, at night, his father’s voice could be heard reciting poems, a lifeline that comforted fellow inmates and communicated his continued existence. Jaballa Matar’s choice of poetry is significant; he recites the “elegiac Bedouin poetry of the alam,” a form whose name signifies “an apprehension gained through loss” (53). This specific genre connects his act of resistance to a cultural heritage rooted in mourning and memory, reinforcing his identity against the prison’s dehumanizing anonymity.


This motif directly develops the theme of Art as a Form of Witness and Survival. Poetry becomes more than a comfort; it is a tool for communication and a test of recognition. When Jaballa first uses it to signal his presence to his recently captured brother, Mahmoud, the gesture fails. Mahmoud and the other relatives cannot identify the voice, a testament to how prison “tamper[s] with your cognitive powers” (60). This failure emphasizes the transformation wrought by suffering, which is presented as a change deep enough to render a familiar voice unrecognizable. However, when Mahmoud recounts Jaballa’s poetry readings, this allows Matar to recall childhood gatherings at his home where his father would read the alam, demonstrating the power and reach of this artform.

Photographs

Photographs are a recurring symbol in The Return that embody the fragmented, elusive, and often speculative nature of truth in the face of enforced disappearance. Each image represents an attempt to capture a fixed reality but ultimately underscores the uncertainty at the heart of Matar’s quest. The most enigmatic instance is the photograph of Jaballa found in the possession of a blind, amnesiac prisoner in Abu Salim, an artifact that offers a concrete connection but whose meaning is entirely lost: “Why? Who was he to Father? The prisoner did not know” (12). This photograph symbolizes a piece of evidence severed from its context. In contrast, the age-progressed forensic portrait Matar commissions represents a manufactured truth, a scientific attempt to bridge the gap of time. While Matar calls it credible, Ziad immediately rejects it as inaccurate, highlighting the conflict between plausible fiction and the family’s deeply personal, internal image of their father.


Amal's photographs of her brother Izzo offer a different kind of fragmentation. The image of a 10-month-old Izzo on Jaballa's knee, taken just before the family was torn apart, is a moment of intimacy that captures, unknowingly, the last trace of a life still whole. Unlike Jaballa, Izzo's death is marked with a real photograph that shows his fatal wound; the contrast between this picture and the false picture of an older Jaballa highlights the lack of closure Matar's family has compared to Amal's.


Later, the photographs of the young men killed in the 2011 revolution, displayed in the Benghazi courthouse, transform photographs from a private token of memory into a public instrument of political witness and mourning. They represent the collective demand for accountability that grows from individual loss.

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