Elias Khoury: Farewell to a friend of Palestine and keeper of its memory
Khoury leaves behind literature as a vessel of memory for the stories buried by history.

Elias Khoury
On September 15th, the Lebanese novelist Elias Khoury died at the age of 76. A novelist, playwright, essayist, and critic, Khoury leaves behind an unwavering body of work.
Khoury’s novels, including Children of the Ghetto, Broken Mirrors, Little Mountain, and Gate of the Sun, brought him global recognition. The latter, centred around the Palestinian Nakba, exile, and displacement, was later adapted for the screen by the Egyptian director Yousry Nasrallah.
Khoury’s work, translated into over ten languages, focuses on the Palestinian plight and the Lebanese Civil War In 1989. He was one of the first Arab writers to be translated into English after Naguib Mahfouz.
When his early book The Little Mountain (1977) was translated into English in 1988, Edward Said, contrasting him with Naguib Mahfouz – described as a ‘politically committed, and, in his own highly mobile modes, brilliant figure’.
Khoury saw himself as a custodian of stories, often saying, “I don’t tell the story, I tell how the story has been told,” an homage to the oral traditions that so influenced his style.
He worked as an editor for multiple dailies such as Al-Safir and Al-Nahar, a columnist for Al-Quds Al-Arabi, co-editor of the Palestinian Affairs Journal with Mahmoud Darwish, and editor-in-chief for the Journal of Palestinian Studies.
In addition to writing, he taught in universities such as Columbia, NYU, and American University for Beirut (AUB) where he was awarded an honorary doctorate in June 2023.
Though he earned many accolades, including the Katara Prize for Arabic Fiction, one of his proudest achievements was the creation of Bab al-Shams (Gate of the Sun) a protest village established by Palestinians in 2013 and named after his novel. The village was a symbolic act of resistance against Israeli settlements, standing for three days before being demolished.
Khoury’s commitment to the Palestinian cause went far beyond the page. In the 1970s, he joined the Palestinian resistance, training with Fatah fighters in Syria and Jordan. His novel White Masks was written in just three weeks during this period of fervent activism. His willingness to critique the revolution he supported eventually led to his forced resignation from Palestinian Affairs, and the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) subsequently banned his work. Yet, Khoury’s dedication to justice was unwavering; censorship did not silence him.
In fiction, Khoury preserved the memory of Palestine, with the adamant belief that “Literature cannot be a compensation for history, but it can point to an absence.”
Khoury often visited Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon, documenting stories of the Nakba at a time when such accounts were rarely shared. But through his writing he brought these stories back to the surface and called upon the world to bear witness. In his novels, he revived these voices, ensuring they were not forgotten.
For Khoury, the Nakba was not an event of the past but an ongoing tragedy, one that stretched across decades and borders. He came of age during the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, watched the horrors of the Sabra and Shatila massacre unfold in 1982, and passed away as Gaza faces yet another onslaught. “Palestine is a condition,” he would say. “Every Arab is a Palestinian. Every poor man who carries a gun is a Palestinian. Palestine is the condition of us all.”
Khoury had been battling illness for over a year. In his final months, in his essay A Year of Pain, he drew parallels between his own struggle and that of Gaza and Palestine. “Gaza and Palestine have been under brutal attack for almost a year too, and they are steadfast, unmovable. They are the example that I learn from every day how to love life,” he wrote.
Born in 1948 in Beirut’s Achrafieh district, Khoury grew up in a middle-class Christian family and spent his life in a city that would feature heavily in his works. Despite a year-long battle with illness, he never stopped writing, remaining committed to the causes he held dear.
Khoury is survived by his wife, Najla, his children, Abla and Talal, and his grandson, Yaseen.