The mind tends to remain in stasis, neither consumed by pure ecstasy nor overcome by fearful anxiety. However, there may come a time when thoughts oscillate between the two extremes until we are brought back to the neutral state of reality, perhaps this time with a new perspective. In the Sudanese novel Season of Migration to the North by Tayeb Salih, the narrator experiences a similar mental conflict when he returns from his studies in Europe to what he remembers as a collective, civilized house in Khartoum. His expectations are soon met by the village's harsh and ever-changing conditions brought on by colonialism, as well as Mustafa Sa'eed's mysterious narrative confession. When Mustafa dies and suddenly disappears, his trace of existence allows the narrator to ruminate and become familiar with the most nightmarish events that Mustafa experienced during his life. Mustafa's looming presence as the narrator's mental personification of the hostility and violence feared is a necessary haunting of the mind that challenges his false idealizations of the village with a piquant dose of reality. Thus, his transcendence into Mustafa's dark and horrifying identity places the narrator in a middle ground between utopian fantasy and paralyzing fear: reality. Such recurring convergences of fantasy and fear into a single reality force the narrator to fully confront the changes, uncertainties, and controversies of postcolonial life that await him. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an original essay For the narrator, the village comes to represent the heart of two polarizing periods of his life: childhood and postcolonial adulthood. We learn from the beginning of the novel that the narrator feels excitement and a “great desire for [his] people” in Khartoum, almost on the verge of obsession. He goes on to say that despite the time he spent studying in London, he did not simply miss his people, but “desired them…dreamed of them” (3). The narrator's admiration and appreciation for the humble way of life of the villagers is the ultimate sign of his tendency to glorify Khartoum. Relying solely on his childhood memories, the narrator actually has limited knowledge of the people and places that seem most familiar to him. In a sense, the village goes beyond simply existing as a setting and instead behaves as the awe-inspiring symbol of the narrator's utopian fantasy. As he returns, he compares his domestic stability to that of a palm tree, “a being with a bottom, roots, a purpose” (4). The mention of "purpose" is of great importance considering his higher level of education compared to that of his people. His strong attraction to his home cannot only be attributed to its supposed familiarity, but also to the narrator's perception of the villagers' admiration for the abundance of his newly acquired knowledge. Therefore, immersing himself in an environment that he considers rudimentary in terms of education helps him feel “important…continuous and integral” (6). His educated background then becomes quite ironic in the sense that, although he is probably the most intelligent inhabitant, he is also the most ignorant of the cruelty and oppression perpetrated by his people. Eventually, the narrator's once positive view of the village turns into a burdensome outlook. of postcolonial life, however, change only occurs after Mustafa's death. For us readers, we might begin to consider how Mustafa's accounts ofsuicidal lovers, homicidal activities, and general sociopathic tendencies begin to weigh down the narrator, thus pushing him away from his idyllic notions and toward a darker, more disturbed state. of spirit. This darkness is then reflected in his encounter with the village during the night. Although he had observed the expanse of the land many times, he still had to “open [his] eyes to life” and see the village “at such a late hour of the night” (40). In this case, the night acts as a symbol on many levels, perhaps most notably as a representation of the dark and depressed postcolonial state of the village. Simultaneously, the night refers to the narrator's growing perspective of his home as a place infested with mistreatment of its own inhabitants in relation to one another, particularly between men and women. Finally, the shadows of the night are perhaps symbolic of the uncertainty of the future. both for the personal life of the narrator and for the general well-being of the village. It is only much later, when the narrator is overwhelmed by the violence and misogynistic treatment of women, that he expresses his anger at the forced marriage of Wad Rayyes and the eventual murder of Hosna Mahmoud. His frustration and disgust with the village's practices becomes more evident when he calls Hosna "the most sensible woman in the village" (109), while those who view her as an object are truly crazy. Therefore, we see a clear contrast between the narrator's early stages of fabricated idealization of the village and his later transition into a dismayed inhabitant. Although the narrator is increasingly depicted as being consumed by horrific acts that closely surround him, it is ultimately the mental personification and physical takeover of the narrator that arouses the greatest fear. When recalling his brief encounter with Mustafa, the narrator likens his presence to that of a “nightmare” (39). We once again find the insertion of the night, but this time in the form of frightening images. The narrator describes Mustafa's arrival as having occurred on a "dark and suffocating night" (39), a moment that shook and destabilized the village's inhabitants forever. Although the narrator does not specifically present himself as a victim of Mustafa's stories, he is certainly overwhelmed by what he has heard. It is almost as if Mustafa himself is the disturbing and inescapable nightmare, which the narrator associates with the influences of violence. He even admits that Mustafa is becoming “an obsession that [is] always with [him] in [his] comings and goings” (51). His compulsive thoughts toward Mustafa, along with a growing hostility toward his people, are what ultimately lead the narrator to the crucial exposure of Mustafa's private room. An unrivaled fury that swells internally from the “adversary…inner” (111), it opens the door to books, photographs, and arguably the most terrifying and thought-provoking image, a portrait of Jean Morris. For the narrator, her photo evokes a more descriptive account of Mustafa's murder of Jean, during which he stabbed her with a dagger. The narrator's decision to later reveal this disturbing image is likely linked to his frustration with the village's corruption to the extent that, by releasing the darkest memories of Mustafa's life, he is committing an act of revenge of sorts. against such corruption. this reminds us of the narrator's embrace of Mustafa's vicious influence. Inside the play, he is both inflicted and consumed by violence, so much so that we see his and Mustafa's identities merging. Although the scene in the play may seem to push the narrator even further into.