In Morocco by Edith Wharton

Edith Wharton journeyed to Morocco in the final days of the First World War, at a time when there was no guidebook to the country. In Morocco is the classic account of her expedition. A seemingly unlikely chronicler, Wharton, more usually associated with American high society, explored the country for a month by military vehicle Travelling from Rabat and Fez to Moulay Idriss and Marrakech, she recorded her encounters with Morocco’s people, traditions and ceremonies, capturing a country at a moment of transition from an almost unknown roadless empire to a popular tourist destination. Her descriptions of the places she visited – mosques, palaces, ruins, markets and harems – are typically observant and brim with colour and spirit, whilst her sketches of the country’s history and art are rigorous but accessible. This is a wonderful account by one of the most celebrated novelists and travel writers of the twentieth century and a fascinating portrayal of an extraordinary country.

The evocative descriptions of the sights and scenes of Morocco in this book are classic Wharton. Her detailed recollections are full of light, colour and sound.

Wharton’s trip to Morocco in October 1918 was procured through her connections within the French government and throughout the book she describes staying at various government and military bases. It’s not your typical trip to Morocco by any standards but I was nonetheless interested to read about her experiences (unusual as they were) of Morocco a century ago and to compare this to what Morocco is like now and how we now perceive it as tourists.

It is certainly worth pointing out that Wharton was keen on French imperialism so she tends to praise the intervention of the French in Morocco, although I only occasionally felt that her praise was overly explicit. Generally it is more subtle but the book should be read through those lenses. It is not an account of how Moroccans felt about the French presence in their country.

Before I started reading In Morocco, I admit I did find it difficult to imagine this high-society American lady amongst the chaos of Moroccan cities. However, and notwithstanding her acceptance of the French presence, she seems to have embraced it and been generally unfazed by the traditions and culture she witnessed. This may have been helped by the fact that she was also already well-travelled – most of her travels were around Europe but in the book she occasionally compares things she saw in Morocco to similar things in Tunisia and Algeria.

Some of Wharton’s experiences are not actually very different to today’s Morocco. She describes her vehicle becoming stuck on a dirt track and of nobody being around for miles to help. She describes the intense heat of the sun (even in October) and the freshness of the blue sky. She describes the nomadic Berbers, descendants of an ancient group, who are still very visible in Morocco today.

I didn’t find this book especially easy to read as it tells of rather disconnected anecdotes from Wharton’s travels. However, her descriptions are thorough and colourful and made me want to return to Morocco to see more of its brilliant and historic sights.