African Classicism: Alternative Historicity in the Work of David Diop

Mythical Genealogy

The author and literary scholar David Diop – son of a French mother and a Senegalese father, born in Paris but raised in Senegal – has been a prominent figure since his award-winning novel Frère d'âme (2018) among the most important voices in Franco-Senegalese literature. In Où s'adosse le ciel (Julliard, 2025) continues a poetic and historiographical quest already evident in his earlier books: the endeavor to reconstruct African history beyond colonial narratives. What is new about this novel is that it draws connections not only between the colonial era and the present, but also between a mythical past—Ptolemaic Egypt—and 19th-century Senegal. A kind of African classicism. The book's epigraphs quote Léopold Sédar Senghor, who speaks of lost traditions and hidden treasures in the Sahara sands; Marguerite Yourcenar, who discusses the reconstruction of monuments with authentic stones; and Yoro Diaw, who describes the settlement of West Africa through Egyptian invasions. These references emphasize the themes of lost history, cultural reclaiming, and the profound connection between Egypt and West Africa.

The novel presents an alternative history, based not on writing, monuments, or archives, but on oral tradition and memory. The protagonist, Bilal Seck, comes from Maka, a Senegalese village near Saint-Louis. He knows the genealogies of the kings and queens of the Waalo, Kayor, Sine, and Djolof, all regions in present-day Senegal. Bilal is a griot (a "louangeur," a praise slave), whose family has always been linked to a royal lineage. Griots possess a profound knowledge of history and genealogy, and their knowledge is the foundation of the kings' power. Nevertheless, Bilal's blood is considered "impure," an ancient belief so severe that upon his death he cannot be buried in his home village but must be hanged from a baobab tree. This social degradation of his caste is based on an ancestor's "original sin." Bilal himself questions this injustice. Within this historical context, a continuity between ancient Egypt and Senegal becomes visible, mediated through the voice of the griot Bilal Seck. He becomes the "72nd maillon," the 72nd link in a chain of storytellers who carry a "chant des origines." In doing so, Diop provides a counterweight to French colonial history, which silenced Africa's past, and simultaneously offers a foundation for the identity of both Wolof and Senegal.

The thesis of genealogical continuity between Egypt and Senegal is poetic, not historical. It cannot be archaeologically proven. Diop constructs an alternative historicity: Ounifer leads his people westward, to the "Bel Horizon." This movement into Senegalese territory creates a mythical genealogy. Senegal is presented not as a French colony, but as the heir of Egypt. In this way, the history of Africa is conceived from within. This motif also has a political dimension: it contradicts the colonial thesis of Africa's "historicity." Instead, the novel establishes Senegal as part of an ancient, venerable tradition connected to the high cultures of Africa.

Plot structure and character constellation

Three spaces structure the novel: the desert, Bel Horizon, and the Jeddah hospital. The desert is, on the one hand, a space of death, a place of illness and abandonment; on the other, it is a space of purification, where memory is clarified. It functions as a transit and intermediate space, where history merges into myth. Bel Horizon is the mythical endpoint of the Egyptian trek. It is described as a place where heaven and earth touch, a utopian landscape beyond colonialism and oppression. The fact that this goal is never definitively reached points to a utopian character in African self-affirmation: identity is a movement, not a fixed state. Finally, the hospital is a space of isolation, where Bilal lies with the dead and dying. Yet it is precisely here that his most productive memory unfolds. Amidst the cholera victims, he begins to recite Ounifer's words. The hospital thus becomes a paradoxical place of rebirth—a literary liminal space where life and death, past and present, merge.

The novel is structured on two levels. On one level is the story of the griot Bilal Seck, who contracts cholera in Jeddah in 1893 on his way to Mecca. Confined to the infirmary, among the corpses of other pilgrims, he begins to lay bare his only possession: the words passed down to him by 71 predecessors. Bilal recalls his life in Saint-Louis, his education, the humiliations he suffered at the French colonial school, and his betrayal by Yérim Thiaw, who lured him to Mecca and ultimately abandoned him in a foreign land.

In parallel, Bilal tells the story of Ounifer, an Egyptian priest during the Ptolemaic period. Ounifer rebels against the Greek occupiers and leads a group of followers into exile. Traveling with him are the Nubian warrior Antef, the general Ptahhotep, the beautiful and deceitful Kémi, and other figures, all of whom embody symbolic roles. Their destination is "Bel Horizon," that mythical place "où s'adosse le ciel"—where the sky leans.

The two narrative threads are not linearly connected, but rather overlap: Bilal speaks with Ounifer's voice, quotes his words, and continues the chain of events. This establishes a cyclical temporal structure: past and present, myth and history, Senegal and Egypt are not separate spaces, but rather parts of an overarching narrative.

The characters are both archetypal and concrete: Bilal Seck is a griot and guardian of tradition, yet also a social outcast. His blood is considered impure; he cannot be buried "normally." This exclusion is paradoxically the condition of his strength: only the marginalized can preserve memory. Yérim Thiaw is the figure of the traitor. Once Bilal's friend, he becomes the chef de canton by serving French interests. He symbolizes collaboration with the colonial power. Ounifer is both a prophet and a resistance fighter. He represents the principle of remembrance and rebellion against foreign rule. Antef stands for fidelity and loyalty, but also for the conflict between duty and love. Ptahhotep functions as a guardian figure, a representative of ancient Egyptian wisdom. Kémi, in turn, is an ambivalent female archetype reminiscent of mythical traitor figures. These constellations create reflections: Bilal and Ounifer correspond to each other, Yérim Thiaw and Kémi function as traitor figures, Antef and Ptahhotep as loyal counterparts.

Blood and physicality

The motif of blood is central. It permeates the novel on two levels: African tradition and colonial science. In tradition, the blood of the griots is considered "impure." They are not to be buried in the earth but must be hung from trees, as their blood would "corrupt" the earth. This mythical motif stems from the castic structures of West African societies. It marks the ambivalence of the griots: they are impure yet indispensable, excluded yet central bearers of memory. – In the colonial context, blood becomes an object of medicine. The doctor Jousseaulme wants to analyze Bilal's blood to find out why he survived cholera. Here, blood becomes a biological substance, a "sample." Bilal refuses: "No." This "no" is ambiguous—it rejects the colonial appropriation of the body and affirms the blood's own culturally embedded significance. Blood thus becomes the intersection of two discourses. It is a medium of exclusion (impure) and at the same time a medium of remembrance (blood as a carrier of tradition). This ambivalence points to the construction of "purity" as a social and political category.

The cholera epidemic is more than a historical detail. It functions as a metaphor for the interpenetration of body and history. Death in the infirmary, the decomposition of corpses, the maggots, the flies – these naturalistic images evoke the stark physicality of Frère d'âmeThere, as here, the decomposition of the body becomes a symbol for the disintegration of social orders. Bilal survives cholera—but only to become the bearer of a memory that marks his own society as "impure." Illness thus becomes a threshold: it destroys, but it also opens the possibility of a new voice.

While the obsession with violence in Frère d'âme While the narrator was driven to madness, here the proximity of death becomes the trigger for memory. Bilal lies among the dead, yet he recites. Death thus becomes not an endpoint, but a threshold. Diop thereby introduces a motif of resurrection: in the vicinity of physical demise, memory is reborn. Illness is not merely presented as a biological phenomenon, but as a metaphor for the colonial situation: decay, alienation, annihilation—and yet, survival. In this novel, the body is a text: blood, illness, wounds are read like signs. Bilal refuses to have his blood drawn because he knows that the colonial discourse seeks to dissect the body into data. But he himself writes a different bodily text with his voice, a text of remembrance.

Postcolonial dimension in a comparative analysis of works

The Bilal-Yérim Thiaw relationship is more than a personal tragedy. It represents a fundamental motif in colonial societies: the ambivalence between solidarity and collaboration. Yérim owes his career to Bilal, yet he uses this position to ingratiate himself with the French. Betrayal thus becomes a mechanism of colonial rule: it stabilizes itself not only through external violence but also through internal divisions. Bilal's reaction to the betrayal, however, is not merely an accusation. He integrates Yérim into his narrative, making him part of the chain. Betrayal is part of history, just as loyalty and remembrance are. This stance points to a dialectic that Mbembe explores in Coming out of the big night (2010) describes how postcolonial subjectivity arises in the tension between violence, complicity, and resistance. On the Egyptian level, this motif is reflected in the figure of Kémi, who betrays Ounifer. Here, too, betrayal is not merely a moral weakness, but a structural element of a society in flux. The novel shows that identity does not consist of pure loyalty, but always involves ruptures.

France appears in the novel in the guise of school and medicine. Bilal recalls the école des otages in Saint-Louis, where he was forced to learn French history. When he asks, "Why are we learning the history of France and not that of Senegal?", he is insulted and punished. Here, the colonial logic of historical amnesia is revealed: the colonized are not meant to have their own past, but rather to adopt the history of the colonizer. Medicine functions similarly: the doctor Jousseaulme sees Bilal not as a subject, but as the object of his research. Bilal's blood is to become a sample, a raw material. France thus appears as a power that appropriates bodies and memories. France decides what counts, what is investigated, what is passed down. African memory is devalued, African bodies are exploited. But Diop proposes a counter-movement: Bilal tells his story. His words are not "knowledge" in the Western sense, but "parole" (speech). But it is precisely this parole that eludes colonial appropriation. It is not measurable, not objectifiable. Bilal speaks French, but he uses the language to express a Wolof memory. He transforms the medium of the colonizer into a tool of counter-history. Here, what Homi Bhabha called "hybridity" becomes apparent: the colonial language is not merely imitated, but transformed.

Frère d'âme It told the story of the madness of a Senegalese soldier in the First World War. There, the monologue was litany-like, the imagery drastic, the voice torn between trauma and memory. The porte du voyage without returning reconstructed the slave trade in the 18th century, conveyed through the notes of a French botanist. Où s'adosse le ciel combines both strategies: the monologic singing from Frère d'âme and the historical reflection from The porte du voyage without returningWhat is new is the mythical dimension: the assertion of a genealogical connection between Egypt and Senegal. With this, Diop designs a more comprehensive "Africanité," a history that does not begin with colonialism but reaches deep into mythical origins.

Poetics and Orality

The novel's poetics thrive on powerful imagery: blood as a symbol of purity/impurity, but also of memory. It alludes to social caste systems and colonial biology. The title refers to a cosmic place where heaven and earth meet. Here, heaven is not Christian, but mythical—an image of the unity of past and future. Griots are to be hanged from trees after their deaths. The tree thus becomes a symbol of memory, of the connection between heaven and earth. The Nile in Egypt, the sea between Africa and Arabia, the cholera-infested wells—water is both a source of life and a bringer of death. Finally, the desert is a place of transition, of exile, of purification. This imagery forges connections between Egypt and Senegal, between myth and the present. The motif of Bel Horizon is central: it is a metaphor for the utopian, a place that is simultaneously real (Senegal) and mythical (the place of origin). The language is permeated with mythical allusions (Osiris, Isis, Abydos) and African symbols (baobab, Wolof proverbs). This results in a hybrid poetics that transcends colonial boundaries.

Diop's language in Où s'adosse le ciel It is characterized by repetition and a litany-like structure. Bilal's narratives are reminiscent of psalms or hymns. This form evokes oral traditions in which repetition is not redundancy, but rather reinforcement. Diop consistently orients himself toward the oral tradition. The narrator, Bilal Seck, defines himself as a griot, that is, as a bearer of a culture passed on not in books, but in voices, in songs, in performative memory. "L'histoire de l'indignité de ma caste est arrivée jusqu'à moi au bout d'une chaîne de paroles rapportées par soixante et onze maillons vénérables. J'en suis le soixante-douzième" – in this self-definition, it becomes clear that history is conceived as a "chaîne de la parole," a chain of words.

Western tradition privileges writing because it suggests permanence and objectivity. Diop contrasts this with a different model: history lives in voices that are passed on, but also altered, adapted, and revived. Orality is more fragile, but also more dynamic. It enables an alternative historiography based not on monuments, but on performative acts. Diop imitates orality in his textual style: repetition, litany, and rhythmic sequences create the impression of spoken discourse. The text is not meant to be read silently, but demands an imaginary listener. In this way, he recalls the tradition of epic storytelling as cultivated by the griots in Africa.

The novel is also a tribute to Wolof. Bilal repeatedly refers to proverbs, to the wisdom of the language, to the poetic power of Wolof. In a time when French is the dominant language, the novel evokes the cultural depth of the local language. This creates a dual strategy: the novel is written in French—that is, in the language of the colonizer—but it constantly refers to Wolof as a source. The colonial language is relativized by conveying the memory of another language.

The question of generations: Diop's contribution to African literary history

Perhaps the most important image in the novel is the "chaîne de la parole," the chain of words. Bilal describes himself as "soixante-douzième maillon," the 72nd link in a long tradition. This image encapsulates an alternative theory of historiography: history is not what is recorded in archives or monuments, but what is passed down orally. This tradition is fragile, threatened by oblivion, disease, and betrayal. But it is also resilient, for it survives even when writing and monuments are destroyed—a cultural memory that preserves values, myths, and identities across generations. In Diop's work, it is not writing, but voice that carries this memory.

Formally, the novel combines fragments with songs. The chapters are not linear, but rather function like loosely connected oral episodes. This fragmentary nature is part of the poetics: it reflects orality, which is based not on completeness, but on performative presence. At the same time, many passages are songlike. Repetitions, rhythmic phrases, almost liturgical structures—the text aims not only to inform, but also to resonate. In this way, Diop connects the written form of the novel with the oral form of song.

Bilal sees himself as the 72nd link in a chain. But the question is: To whom does he pass the word? In Jeddah, among the dead, he seems to be without a successor. Herein lies a tragic dimension: Memory could end with him. The novel suggests that the mere act of speaking is itself a passing on of the word. The reader—and, within the embedded fiction, the imaginary listeners—become heirs to the "chant of origins." In doing so, the novel inscribes itself into the chain. The book does not replace oral transmission but transforms it into literary form. The motif of generational transmission simultaneously points to a collective identity. It is not the individual that counts, but the chain. In a time when colonial power rewards individual careers (as in Yérim's work), the novel presents a different model of subjectivity: that of the link in the chain. Bilal's journey from Mecca through Egypt to Djenné and finally back to Saint-Louis du Sénégal is a search for his origins and an exploration of the history passed down to him. He strives to decipher the "true" meaning of the tradition and sees himself as a "seer" and "chronicler of destinies."

The name of Bilal's daughter, Nételli, means "telling" in Wolof. This choice is crucial for Bilal, as he hopes his daughter will become the 73rd transmitter of the origin story, despite being mute from birth. While her inability to speak may be a tragic irony, the name nevertheless symbolizes the hope for continued transmission. Nételli finds a new form of transmission through writing, thus ensuring the story's continuation into the future. His daughter's marriage to the son of the noble Thiaw family (Yérim Thiaw's family) is also intended to dissolve the distinction between "pure" and "impure" blood.

In the end, Diop proposes a radical alternative: history is not what France tells us, but what the griots sing. History does not live in the archive, but in the chain of words. Identity is not purity of blood, but the continuity of song. This alternative historicity is also a utopia. It transcends the violence of the colonial era, the diseases, the betrayals. It leads back to a mythical unity in which Egypt and Senegal are linked, analogous to European classicism. Thus, Où s'adosse le ciel More than a historical novel. Literature here seeks to piece together a fragmented past.

Diop thus complements the theme of memory in his previous novels: Frère d'âme recounted the traumatic memory of the First World War. The porte du voyage without returning reconstructed the repressed memory of the slave trade. Où s'adosse le ciel Now, Diop crafts a mythical memory that stretches back to ancient Egypt. All three novels are about voices that have been silenced—the soldier, the slave, the griot. Diop gives them a language that is both poetic and political. The new novel demonstrates that African literature need not only address colonial traumas but can also sing of its own genealogies. Diop positions Senegal not on the periphery, but at the heart of an ancient tradition. This creates an alternative historicity that seeks not to prove, but to narrate. It shows that history is more than archives: it is song, blood, memory, chain. And it shows that Africa can conceive of its future from a mythical past that still lives on in the voices of the griots.