Diversity and Interacial Relationships: A Conversation with Kasim Ali

3 May

“I can sometimes find conversations about racism to be too simplistic, focusing on white people’s behaviour towards non-white people. But what about the internalised racism of non-white people towards one another?”

Congratulations on your debut novel, Kasim. As an editor yourself, how has the experience been and the novelty of being on the other side of the author-editor relationship?

I was surprised by how hard the editing process can be on the author- side of things. As an editor, it feels quite easy to go in and suggest changes (though every book is different) but as an author, it can feel quite imposing to have a person come in and suggest changes to this thing that you’ve been creating in solitary for so long. And though I knew that the changes were all for the better, it did take some time.

Can you tell us a little bit about how the idea for Good Intentions first came to you?

I’ve wanted to write about anti-Blackness in my community for a very long time, for as long as I can really remember. It’s something that has been prevalent my entire life. But I can remember the exact moment I decided to write a romance – it was after watching The Big Sick and thinking ‘I want to write a romance where the interracial aspect doesn’t come from a white person with a non-white person’.

At the centre of the novel is Nur, and his relationship with Yasmina – what drew you to Nur as a character and how did he evolve beyond your initial idea of him?

Looking back, I never questioned that Nur was going to be the person that carried this narrative. Part of that is that he is very much like me – a young Pakistani Muslim who left home to go to university to study English – but he is also not like me (I, for example, do not find myself stricken with anxiety the same way he does). I first only really thought of him as a young Pakistani Muslim boy because that was what the narrative needed. As I kept writing, he turned into his own person with his own tics – the anxiety, the overthinking, the shame. That all came from the writing.

Central to the dilemma in the novel is the fact that Nur has kept his relationship with Yasmina a secret for four years, how easy/difficult was it to get into Nur’s headspace?

Though I don’t have any experience of hiding the specific thing Nur is hiding from his parents, I have hidden things from my own parents over the years, so it wasn’t too hard to get myself into his headspace. The thing I could very much relate to was the feeling of shame and guilt that Nur feels – not only because he is hiding something from his parents but because of what that does to his relationship with Yasmina. Often, I have felt the same way – understanding the necessity of secrets but also knowing how it’s impacting the people around me.

Nur and Yasmina’s relationship places the focus on interracial relationships within the Muslim community, what were the particular challenges but also the opportunities of doing so?

The challenge, always, was of authenticity. I didn’t want this to come across as a stunt – I needed it to come across as genuine and sincere. It mattered to me, above all, that people saw this book as a nuanced, complex exploration of something that can be quite hard to discuss.

How important was it for you to write a novel that represents the experience of Nur and Yasmina, to be a part of publishing’s drive towards more diverse, inclusive narratives?

By simply being a writer published by a Big Five publishing house, I am making the industry more diverse. I don’t know if my intention with this book was to be representative – I think I was writing it, primarily, for myself. Often, I can get worried that some people might see the book as being important more than anything else, but once I get over that, I know that it is important for people like me to be published, so other people like me can read these works, and can maybe write their own.

Were you ever worried about tackling themes such as faith, race and interracial relationships within the Muslim community and how important was it to do so with honesty and frankness but also sensitivity and understanding?

Absolutely. I think, quite often, we (that is, people who do not fit into the mold of straight, white, cis people) can only be seen as writing about ourselves and people like us. I was worried about people reading this and saying all Muslims are like this, or all South Asians are like this. But I refused to let that worry stop me from writing – if there are people who think that after reading this book, that is their own limitation, not mine.

‘He’d never considered the nuances of racism, how insidious it is, how it operates across a spectrum, rearing different heads to different people.’ The novel sheds light on racism within a community, was this a particularly important idea to explore?

I can sometimes find conversations about racism to be too simplistic, focusing on white people’s behaviour towards non-white people. But what about the internalised racism of non-white people towards one another? That was important for me to discuss – the whole crux of the book is founded on this idea. Whilst writing it, I did come face-to-face with my own shortcomings, with the way I was raised, and the learning I have done and continue to do.

I loved the fact that the novel is set in a lot of the UK’s underrepresented metropolises – Birmingham, Bradford, Nottingham – these cities, and more besides, are great settings, how much did they inspire the novel?

I have a lot of love for Birmingham, Bradford, Nottingham (and more in the UK). I wanted to set this outside of London, because I do not belong to London, though I have lived here for a couple of years now. My roots will always be found outside of it. I don’t think anyone would say description is my strongest skill as a writer but the feel of the book, I hope, is one of the Midlands.

Endings are so crucial to novels – without giving any spoilers, did you always have the endpoint in mind?

Always. I knew that what happened at the end had to happen, even as I could feel the pull of a dozen other endings as I was writing it. And there were some that I knew were going to be easier endings, simpler, nicer, happier, but I couldn’t allow myself to choose those. I needed that ending, because the story deserved it.

Publishing continues to push towards greater representation for all minority communities, do you feel that there is genuine progress being made?

This is a question I could talk about for hours but I won’t. I’ll just say: progress is happening, but not at the speed at which I would like.

Growing up, how aware were you of a lack of representation in fiction and what books/authors inspired you and your journey as a writer?

Not as much as I would like to say. I read Malorie Blackman and that was about it for non-white people until I studied English at university, where I found myself wondering why there were no non-white authors on the syllabus, even though my own bookcases were home to one or two. There, I understood my own failings. White Teeth by Zadie Smith was the first book I read that changed my entire thinking about publishing and writing and authors and books. I owe her a lot. Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist, Celeste Ng, N.K. Jemisin. More recently, I am heavily inspired by the beauty of Maggie O’Farrell’s writing, an author whose tremendous skill on the page blows me away every time.

I’m always curious with debut authors, the feelings around that first book being published? Can you enjoy the experience or is there a nervousness about the book’s reception and also that age-old question “what’s your next book about”?

Like quite a few things in life, it’s complicated. I bounce from feeling to feeling – sometimes, I am filled with so much joy, my skin is buzzing. Other times, I can feel so hollow, I want to call my agent and say ‘End the entire thing’. Often, I am somewhere between the two – joyful and ecstatic, nervous and terrified. I can find myself consumed with questions that have no easy answers – what will readers think, what will the reviews be like, will it sell enough to warrant more writing down the line – and they buzz inside my head endlessly. At least until I fall asleep.

Good Intentions begins at midnight on New Year’s Eve – a time for looking ahead, fresh starts – so, although we’re already a quarter of the way into the new year, what are your hopes for 2022?

I always hope that the world will be better – at the end of every year, I’m never entirely sure if we got there. This year, I’ll add some more inward-looking hopes onto it: that I am kind to myself through this process, that I continue to write without thinking of what people might think, and that I allow myself to be happy without looking for the fall.

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