The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye by A.S. Byatt (1994): A Review

Title: The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye

Author: A.S. Byatt

Publication Year: 1994

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Pages: 288

Source: ebook

Genre: fairy tale, mythology, retelling

A.S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye is a collection of fairy-tale retellings, many of which were originally published as parts of her other works. If I were rating the book based only on the first four stories, I would have gently placed it in the 2–3 star zone, closed the book, and gone off to stare dramatically out a window.

I don’t just like retellings of fables, myths, and fairy tales — I love them. But I love them most when they are not dragged into the room by force, handed a microphone, and told, “Now give voice to the voiceless, immediately.” I especially love them when they parody the originals, because parody lets authors roast the past, the present, and possibly the future. As long as I am not the roastee, I am game.

The first four stories, however, were… fine. Simple. Quiet. A little too quiet. Boring, even. They were the kind of retellings that sit politely in the corner and refuse to cause a scandal. I kept telling myself, “Stay calm. Do not abandon hope. There may still be a djinn.”

And then we arrived at the main event: The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye.

Suddenly, everything changed. My rating shot up to 4 stars, possibly 5, possibly “I have been personally attacked and I am grateful” type of appreciation. Have you ever read a story that looked you directly in the eyes and said, “This is about you, isn’t it?” That was this story for me. And no, not only because of the Djinn, even though I come from the world of Shehrazad, nightingales, and djinn-adjacent fairy-tale chaos. Okay, fine, maybe a little because of the Djinn. But my djinns live safely in stories, where they belong, and do not generally appear in hotel rooms offering life-altering companionship.

The real attack came through Gillian Perholt, a narratologist who travels to other countries for academic conferences — and this time, she goes to Ankara. A narratologist. Attending narratology conferences all over the world. Now in Ankara. Excuse me, A.S. Byatt, did you install a tiny literary surveillance camera in my life?

I loved the scholarly world of the story: Gillian’s presentation, her conversations with colleagues, the storytelling, the academic rituals, the inner turmoil, the sense of being both professionally brilliant and existentially overcaffeinated. It all felt deeply familiar — as if I had just attended a narratology conference in Denmark three weeks ago. Which I had. And then Mr. Djinn appeared and casually tore a hole in the fabric of reality, as one does.

And because Gillian is a narratologist — someone whose job is to analyze other people’s stories because, apparently, narratologists cannot tell their own — no, I am not offended, why would I be offended, I am perfectly calm — much of her relationship with the Djinn becomes about telling stories and listening to stories. Also, a little bit of it happens in bed. No, actually, a lot of it happens in bed. I’m sorry, but this is important literary information and must be preserved for scholarship.

What I appreciated most, beyond the humor and the magical scandal of it all, was how strongly the story centers women: their voices, their silences, their stolen choices, and the ways stories can either trap them or set them free. Byatt creates female characters with force, intelligence, and complexity — women who refuse to remain decorative objects in someone else’s myth.

Also, it takes place in Turkey, so naturally it felt like home: academic conferences, layered histories, stories inside stories, and then suddenly a Djinn. Honestly, very realistic.