Marun Abbud

Abbud, Marun


Born Feb. 9, 1886, in the village of Ain-Kafa’a; died 1962. Arab Lebanese writer, journalist, and literary historian.

Born into a peasant family, Abbud studied at the Beirut Law Institute. He contributed to the journal Al-Rauda and others. His first short story, “Marik’s Widow,” was published in 1935. In his collections of stories Pages and Tales (1945) and Giant Dwarfs (1948), Abbud portrays a gallery of fellahin types. In his collection of articles From a Bag (1953), he critically surveys the life of Lebanese society. Abbud’s historical novella Red Emir (1954) shows Emir Bashir as a reformer, contradicting the view of official historiography. Abbud is also the author of a series of monographs on Arab writers of past centuries.


In Russian translation:
[Stories,] in the collection Rasskazy pisatelei Livana. Moscow, 1958 “Vdova Marika,” in the collection Sovremennaia arab-skaia proza. Moscow-Leningrad, 1961.
“Stupen’ki,” in the collection Sovremennaia arabskaia novella. Moscow, 1963.
“Propoved’ Ottsa Stefana,” in the collection V moem gorode idet dozhd’. Moscow, 1966.


Solov’ev, V., I. Fil’shtinskii, and D. lusupov. Arabskaia literatura. Moscow, 1964.
Ode-Vasil’eva, K. V. Foreword, in the collection Rasskazy pisatelei Livana. Moscow, 1958.


Mentioned in ?
References in classic literature ?
You'll give me your advice if I get in a muddle, won't you?
The father talked of his life and advised the daughter to avoid being led into another such muddle.
A nice muddle their slates'll be in before the trial's over
The bureaucratic muddle, so it seems, is to continue indefinitely.
To be sure that about not letting my nails grow, and marrying again if I have the chance, will not slip out of my head; but all that other hash, muddle, and jumble- I don't and can't recollect any more of it than of last year's clouds; so it must be given me in writing; for though I can't either read or write, I'll give it to my confessor, to drive it into me and remind me of it whenever it is necessary.
The regiment, involved like a cart involved in mud and muddle, started unevenly with many jolts and jerks.
Babcock's tender conscience seemed to him a capital farce, and his traveling back to Milan only to get into a deeper muddle appeared, as the reward of his pedantry, exquisitely and ludicrously just.
She trundled off on her wheel like a brown bee, while Sophie--heaven above and earth beneath changed--walked stiffly home, to fall over George at his letters, in a muddle of laughter and tears.
This going to hunt up her shiftless husband at the inn was one of Mrs Durbeyfield's still extant enjoyments in the muck and muddle of rearing children.
Instead of the sturdy establishment in prejudice of Bert's grandfather, to whom the word "Frenchified" was the ultimate term of contempt, there flowed through Bert's brain a squittering succession of thinly violent ideas about German competition, about the Yellow Danger, about the Black Peril, about the White Man's Burthen--that is to say, Bert's preposterous right to muddle further the naturally very muddled politics of the entirely similar little cads to himself (except for a smear of brown) who smoked cigarettes and rode bicycles in Buluwayo, Kingston (Jamaica), or Bombay.
On the other hand, the man who wound it up thinks the whole cause of the muddle rests with the man who is trying to unwind it.
Had the Russian army been alone without any allies, it might perhaps have been a long time before this consciousness of mismanagement became a general conviction, but as it was, the disorder was readily and naturally attributed to the stupid Germans, and everyone was convinced that a dangerous muddle had been occasioned by the sausage eaters.