You know you're buying a special sort of book when other customers start interfering at the till.
"No, not that way," said a man with an Egyptian accent, as I handed my pile of books across the cash desk at Waterstone's. "The Koran must always be on top," he chided, leaning over to rearrange my purchases. But how should it lie in the plastic bag next to the other books? My fellow shopper-cum-spiritual adviser was at a loss, "I don't know about plastic bags." Then he brightened: "God forgives all."
While the Koran may be short on such finer points of modern etiquette, millions turn to it every day for advice on matters as mundane as arranging a loan and as spiritual as the afterlife. For the world's 1.3bn Muslims, the Koran (which means "reading" or "reciting") isn't just a special book, it's the special book - the direct word of God revealed by the angel Gabriel to the Prophet Muhammad, between 609 and 632AD.
The power of the Koran lies in its language, as well as its message. Islamic tradition is full of stories of unbelievers who were won over to the faith at the mere sound of its words. Arabic speakers marvel at the beauty and complexity of the language of the Koran, which they take as proof of its divine origin. The music of the verses that make up its 114 suras, or chapters, is clearest in the calls to prayer which ring out from the great mosques of the Muslim world. But I have heard it in as plain a place as my parents' home in Canada, where my father rises at five every morning to recite from the holy book.
The trouble is, I don't understand what he's saying. I was born a Muslim, because my father is Muslim and so too the long line of family which stretches from the concrete of Cairo to a village deep in the Nile delta. My mother comes from a rather different green valley - in south Wales, where her father was a lay preacher, and her brother an Anglican vicar. She converted on marrying my father, and I was brought up with an icing of Islam - avoiding pork, shunning alcohol, absorbing a few verses of the Koran by rote. But I never learned how to pray, and never studied Arabic. Some of my father's Muslim friends blame him for not raising me more strictly in the faith. But my father, who is a faithful believer, is also a sensible man. He saw the children of those same critics turn away from a religion thrust upon them like a vaccine against the west. My father reckoned far better that I find my own way to Islam.
And I did earlier this year, when I spent several months in Cairo. The catalyst for my move, like so many recent changes in the wider world, was 9/11. I slowly realised that I could do more than just read about relations between Islam and the west; I could live them. So far, my awakening has been more cultural than spiritual. But with my fair skin and lanky figure, I have had a hard time convincing Arabs that I'm "one of them." People stare when I take my place in the mosque. And my Arabic, though much improved, is still better suited to the kasbah than the Koran. So for the moment, I have to make do with English translations of the good book.
Fortunately, there is no shortage; the Koran first appeared in English in 1649, and there have been at least eight major translations since. Unfortunately, these generally turn transcendent Arabic into lumpen, archaic English. More's the pity, since the Koran is far from an easy read for westerners. Unlike the Bible, its chapters are not organised chronologically, nor do they contain the paragraphing and punctuation familiar to English-speakers. The Koran repeats the same stories in different suras, and often breaks off suddenly from one subject - say, divorce - to offer instruction on another - say, prayer - before returning to the original strand, a style which can confuse even the keenest reader.
Not so this latest translation, by Mohammed Abdel Haleem, director of the Centre of Islamic Studies at London's School of Oriental and African Studies. After seven years' labour, Haleem has transformed the complex grammar and structure of the Koran into a form of English which flows smoothly without taking liberties with an inviolable text. Each sura begins with an executive summary, and is extensively footnoted - a real boon, since the Koran often alludes to events without providing any historical context. Haleem has dealt with the Koran's confusing habit of switching person several times in the same verse by introducing parentheses to clarify who is speaking, and being spoken to. He has also corrected errors of translation which crept into earlier English versions. All this turns the Koran into a book which makes sense to English-speakers, and allows them to peer into the heart of Islam. Haleem argues it is time that English became one of the languages of Islam, like Persian, Turkish and Urdu.
With this translation, I caught glimpses of the beauty which so moves my father. But only just: although excellent, this translation still lacks the power of the original. As Haleem points out, there are aspects of the Koran in Arabic, such as the multiple meanings of certain words, which are simply impossible to convey in English without changing the essence of this sacred book. I am still waiting to be wholly inspired.
