Thumama Al-Jandal... The Princess of Stories and Memory

It is not easy to engage with a book comprising 428 pages of folktales without realizing from the very first pages that you are facing a project that transcends mere entertainment, extending further: the preservation of memory. In the book *Ya Hazaya, Ahzi Lakum: Stories from the Land of Frankincense*.

Does the author of such a book not possess a high literary sensibility? Is this book not precious, rather than being just another "may God keep your book" (i.e., mediocre or forgettable) volume?

Through this bond of fraternity and affection, a brief conversation took place between me and Ms. Thumaina over the phone on the morning of Sunday, August 30, 2026, concluding with an agreement to meet soon, God willing. Thumaina deserves for colorful words of gratitude to reach her ears regarding what she offers to readers.

In this book, the Omani author Thumaina bint Hubais Al-Jandal does not merely recount the tales; she revives an ancient voice that was on the verge of fading: the voice of the female storyteller who used to give meaning to the night and weave a parallel reality from imagination.

Through the titles of the stories alone, the reader perceives the breadth of the world the book presents. Between "The Leaf of Patience" and "The World Turns," and between "The Ant’s Skin" and "The Golden Peacock," we are confronted with a narrative tapestry where wisdom coexists with myth, and daily experience with imagination, reflecting the richness of popular consciousness in Dhofar, historically known as the "Land of Frankincense."

This book does not treat the tale merely as a literary text, but as a vessel for values. Titles such as "Harvest of the Tongue," "You Are Given According to Your Intentions," "The Father’s Scale Does Not Tilt," and "Whoever Humbleth Themselves to God, God Exalts Them" reveal a dense presence of folk wisdom, which here transforms from a brief maxim into a living narrative embodied in situations, characters, and events. This is one of the book’s strengths, as it succeeds in transferring wisdom from abstraction to experience.

Alongside this, the book throws wide open the door to popular imagination. Stories such as "The Wondrous Pillow," "The Three Boxes," "The Language of Birds," and "The Genie of Qurm" belong to a symbolic world charged with wonder, where the possible blends with the bizarre, and the impossible becomes part of the narrative structure. This presence does not appear detached from reality, but rather as an extension of it, as is customary in oral folktales that do not draw strict boundaries between reality and myth.

The Dhofari environment, moreover, is not merely a spatial backdrop, but an active element in shaping the tale. In "The Frankincense Tree," "The Sea of Beauty," "The Pigeon Hunter," and "The Sultan’s Spring," nature appears as a parallel memory to humanity, participating in shaping the story and defining its contours. Here, the book succeeds in presenting a comprehensive cultural image of the place, not through direct description, but through the narrative itself.

Social relations are not absent from this narrative world. Stories such as "The Woodcutter and His Three Daughters," "The Audacity of the Son’s Wife," "The Test of Friendship," and "The Friend in Hardship and the Friend at Banquets" reveal the structure of society and its values from within the tale, not from without. These are texts that teach without direct preaching, and critique through the situation rather than through discourse.

Despite this richness, the work faces a challenge worthy of critical attention: the considerable length (428 pages) may cause some stories to appear similar in structure or moral message, a phenomenon common in folk literature that relies on repetition as a means of reinforcement. However, this does not detract from the work’s value so much as it situates it in its natural context as literature stemming from collective memory rather than pure individuality.

On the other hand, the author is credited with her ability to preserve the spirit of the oral tale, a quality evident even in titles such as "Show Me or I’ll Show You" and "It Falls... It Falls," where the living language, close to the setting of gatherings, appears rather than the polished language distant from the pulse of the people. This lends authenticity to the text and brings it closer to the reader.

In the final analysis, “Ya Hazaya Ahzi Lakum” does not appear to be merely a collection of tales, but rather a cultural project aimed at rescuing what can be saved from oral memory and transforming it into a written text capable of enduring. It is a work that restores dignity to the tale, not as a fleeting amusement, but as one of the forms of collective consciousness. In an era when details are rapidly slipping into oblivion, this book reminds us that what is narrated does not die—it simply awaits someone to write it down.