Rebel English Academy
By Mohammed Hanif
Maktaba-e-Danyal
ISBN: 978-969-419-131-7
223pp.

Rumour says he is coming back. The coffin was locked. The burial supervised. The paperwork completed. Yet, somewhere in a dusty bazaar, someone swears former prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto has been seen. A pamphlet circulates. A whisper grows. And suddenly, a military officer, hundreds of miles away, is being screamed at for failing to keep a dead man dead.

In Rebel English Academy, Mohammed Hanif opens up the charged space between fact and rumour, showing how, in Pakistan, political gossip is never just talk. Set in the days following Bhutto’s execution, the novel unfolds in the fictional OK Town, where grief, denial and opportunism mingle in the air, and whispers travel quickly — from tea stalls to offices, from mosque loudspeakers to private bedrooms.

Soldiers, clerics and ordinary citizens alike find themselves unsettled by the slogan “Bhutto Lives”. Hanif understands something we continue to witness today: power may control events, but it rarely controls the story that follows.

It is through people, not slogans, that this tension becomes visible. Hanif explores three lives that reflect different responses to power. The first is Sir Baghi, who embodies the exhaustion of failed rebellion. Once a fiery revolutionary who paid for his rhetoric with torture, he now runs a modest English academy in a mosque’s compound. The academy of the novel’s title is less a school than a scaled-down revolution, a space where rebellion survives in language when it can no longer survive in politics; here, Baghi’s revolution narrows into grammar lessons and small, stubborn principles, a form of survival that may still afford him some dignity.

Mohammed Hanif’s deeply satirical new novel, set in the days following former prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s execution, uses three protagonists to explore ways of thinking about power

In contrast, Captain Gul represents a different kind of survival. Young, ambitious and slightly ridiculous, he works for the Field Intelligence Unit and dreams of becoming a legend whispered about in foreign capitals. Instead, he is posted to OK Town, where he must deal with slogans claiming “Bhutto Lives.” He is ordered to “make him go away” again, as if rumour requires a second burial. His bravado masks insecurity. He is loyal to the state but unsettled by how easily a whisper can undermine it.

Between these two men stands Sabiha Bano, who refuses both nostalgia and obedience. Once Baghi’s student and the daughter of a labour union leader, she re-enters his life carrying a pistol and difficult questions. Her essay Our Cow begins as a school exercise and turns into a charged memory of comrades, fire and impending violence. When she confronts Baghi and asks whether he is still the rebel people claim he was, she exposes the gap between his past and present. Sabiha is not content with nostalgia. She is impatient with compromise.

The academy of the novel’s title is less a school than a scaled-down revolution, a space where rebellion survives in language when it can no longer survive in politics.

It is in the friction between these three lives that the novel’s argument takes shape. Hanif does not linger on them merely for colour or subplot; each becomes a way of thinking about power. Through Baghi, we see what happens to rebellion when it survives but does not win. Through Gul, we see how authority performs strength while remaining anxious about legitimacy. Through Sabiha, we see the cost of inheriting both failure and force. Their stories are not digressions from the political moment, but its most intimate expression.

However, as the narrative expands in different directions, its momentum is occasionally unsettled by frequent shifts in perspectives and the sheer sprawl of voices and episodes. The narrative moves from Captain Gul’s cantonment theatrics to Baghi’s bruised introspection, from Sabiha’s essays to the spectacle of the alleged rumour-spreader’s burning.

In a town gripped by rumours and fear after the hanging of an ex-prime minister, stories do not unfold neatly. They collide, overlap and burn out mid-sentence. The fragmentation reflects a society where no life is allowed a single, uninterrupted narrative.

Hanif writes in a brisk, controlled style that carries the sharpness of his journalism. His sentences move quickly, often driven by dialogue that feels lived-in and unfiltered. He has a keen ear for how people in power speak, how rumours sound in a bazaar and how piety and paranoia share the same vocabulary. At times, this journalistic edge turns the novel into something close to public commentary. The satire bites harder than the sentiment lingers, giving the book its urgency and political clarity.

To write about a leader who was executed decades ago is not, in Hanif’s hands, an act of nostalgia. It is a way of asking why that moment still feels unfinished. The novel does not appear stuck in the past so much as alert to how often Pakistan returns to it and how the same tensions between elected power and uniformed authority resurface under new names and new slogans. Bhutto becomes less a historical figure and more a recurring argument.

The strong presence of Captain Gul underscores how deeply institutional power continues to shape civilian life. If there is an allegory here, it is not about one man’s authoritarian streak but about a cycle in which charisma, populism and control blur into one another.

Hanif suggests that, unless the balance between civilian rule and state authority is resolved, history will not simply echo but repeat itself. In that sense, Rebel English Academy reads less like a backwards glance and more like a warning about cycles we have yet to break.

The reviewer is a Teaching Fellow at the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences at LUMS

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 15th, 2026

The Book of Sheen: A Memoir
By Charlie Sheen
Gallery Books
ISBN: 978-1668075289
368pp.

A human train wreck may be the simplest way to describe Charlie Sheen.

His career began with promise, progressed quickly and crashed often, but somehow kept moving. After five decades in Hollywood, Sheen finally tells his side of the story in his memoir The Book of Sheen, a blunt account of fame, failure and survival.

The title may sound plain, but it is apt as the book allows Sheen to lay everything out. He writes about his early struggles to become an actor, his sudden success and his long fight with addiction. What starts as a story of opportunity slowly turns into one of self-destruction, marked by relapses, rehab stays and missed chances.

Sheen may not have become the superstar many expected, but he remains part of a strong Hollywood lineage. His father, Martin Sheen, paved the way and Charlie followed with memorable roles in Platoon, Wall Street, Major League and Hot Shots. The memoir makes it clear that talent was never the issue. Addiction was.

The book opens dramatically, with Sheen describing his birth, during which he nearly died. His umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck, and a priest was called in. His doctor refused to give up, and Sheen survived. It is a powerful beginning and, in many ways, it mirrors the rest of his life: narrow escapes followed by hard falls.

Actor Charlie Sheen may not have become the superstar many expected, but he remains part of a strong Hollywood lineage. His memoir makes it clear that talent was never the issue. Addiction was.

Sheen writes openly about his failures as a husband and father, and his inability to stay sober for long. When he was successful, he was one of the most photographed men in the world and the highest-paid actor on television. Then the tabloid headlines took over. Sex, drugs and reckless behaviour undid much of what he did.

The book’s voice ensures the reader feels as if Sheen is speaking directly to them. The pace is fast and casual, and sometimes lacks structure. He names friends, lovers, wives and one-night stands with little restraint. At times, it seems he forgets this is a book for the public, not a private confession, and these passages feel excessive and distracting.

Still, the memoir has its strengths. It is written in a clear chronological order, with short chapters that keep the pace moving. Sheen describes his childhood, constant changes in schools and friendships with future stars such as Sean Penn, Rob Lowe, Nicholas Cage and Chris Penn. He shares moments from the sets of Apocalypse Now, including meeting Marlon Brando and learning about his father’s heart attack while filming.

There are many entertaining behind-the-scenes stories. Sheen talks about making Super 8mm films with his brothers and friends, his late arrival on the set of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off for a cameo, and turning down the lead role in The Karate Kid on his father’s advice. He also reveals that he stuttered as a child, tried weed for the first time during his teens, and was mistaken for a real soldier by the Philippine army during the shooting of Platoon. Sounds unbelievable? Well, it happened!

The book becomes more engaging when Sheen focuses on his career. He describes how easily success came to him and how uncomfortable that made him. His account of losing and then gaining a role in Platoon at his brother Emilio’s expense is especially revealing. The darker chapters cover arrests, domestic disputes, rehab stints and scandals that made him famous for the wrong reasons. He does not shy away from these moments, but he also often blames substances rather than taking full responsibility.

When Sheen discusses Spin City and Two and a Half Men, the tone shifts. There is little gossip and few behind-the-scenes details, which might disappoint those who want to know more. Although he does talk about the insecurity he felt when Michael J. Fox returned to the sets of Spin City, he doesn’t satisfy the readers by reminiscing about his exit from the easiest job in the world — playing a version of himself in Two and a Half Men. What he does talk about freely is the subject of addiction, which seems to be the book’s central theme.

The memoir also features celebrity anecdotes about Bill Clinton, O.J. Simpson and Sophia Loren, playful spelling quirks, and defensive explanations of his past behaviour. These sections are lighter but less gripping than the rest of the book.

Sheen also touches on important moments of his life: his relationship with The Rookie co-star and director Clint Eastwood, working alongside his father, and living with HIV after being diagnosed with the disease in 2011. These parts are handled with more restraint and maturity.

In conclusion, The Book of Sheen is not a story of triumph. It is a story of survival. As Sheen himself writes, “We can live the stories or hear about them later from others. I choose the former.” His life proves that fame, talent and family connections are no guarantee of stability. This memoir is messy, honest and uneven — much like the man who wrote it.

The reviewer is a broadcast journalist who also writes on sports, film, television and popular culture

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 15th, 2026

[Continued from previous column]

“Take a slip of paper and write on it these words: I adjure you, O mice, who dwell here, not to injure me yourselves nor to permit any other mouse to do so; and I make over to you this field. But should I find you staying here after having been warned, with the help of all that is holy, I will cut you in seven pieces.”

This very fine recipe to banish field mice is to be found in E.P. Evans’s The Criminal Prosecution and Capital Punishment of Animals, a book which covers the period from the 13th to the 20th century and is full of accounts of homicidal and reckless pigs, bulls, horses, donkeys, mules and cows and mischievous caterpillars, flies, moles, worms, snails and leeches. All of them were delivered a wide range of punishments and threats under the penal and religious codes, by both legal and ecclesiastical authorities, despite Thomas Aquinas’ interdiction that animals are not subjects of law, because they cannot understand words or think rationally.

I’m putting it all out there just to give you some idea of the fine works that made up the literature review for the project that was my first novel. And yet, the novel was not quite there. As mentioned in the previous column, the termites were helping connect the characters, but the bond was still ephemeral.

After the passage of so many years, I no longer remember exactly how I found a direction for the novel, or the mental process through which it came about but, finally, reading all those books paid off. Having written all the character sketches for my book, I could tell what would be interesting for the reader and that, without the slightest hint of nepotism, the novel’s leading protagonist should be my nana [maternal grandfather], a poet and a horseman whose health and circumstances had been considerably reduced and who, in his seventies, became obsessed with a female TV singer and finding himself a bride.

Every Sunday, he would sit with the matrimonial advertisements in daily Jang, and mark potential candidates with his red and blue pencil.

His eyesight was failing and, whenever he heard his favourites come on TV, he would get up from his chair and slowly make his way to the TV where, with his nose pressed to the TV screen, he could regale himself with her vision.

Every Sunday, he would sit with the matrimonial advertisements in daily Jang, and mark potential candidates with his red and blue pencil. One no longer finds these pencils in stationery shops, but there was a time when the half-red, half-blue pencils were widely available. Called checking pencils, they were traditionally used in editing. One used the blue pencil to write or mark material that needed to be inserted, while the red pencil was for content that should be deleted.

However, my nana had his own philosophy of usage for these pencils. He would first make a longlist of the potential candidates by circling the relevant ads with the blue pencil and, later, after a careful review, make a shortlist by circling them with red. What was the inspiration behind this philosophy, one does not know, although it might be helpful to mention that, during World War II, the blue-red checking pencils were also used to mark troop positions on maps.

Later, nana would compose his replies to these ads. A typical reply ran up to four pages. As my nana’s favourite, I was entrusted to post these letters and, ever the reader, I would often open these letters, and have my nana’s prose keep me company on my way to the post office. I remember a few things about those letters. That their prose was ornate and the approach poetic, in the sense that, when mentioning his age, he would exaggerate his youth by reporting himself 20 years younger.

Aware of nana’s doings, the family worried that one day his letter might reach someone in our circle of acquaintances, causing the family due embarrassment.

Alas, nana’s letters were not preserved by time, but I used the memory of my nana’s twin obsessions to create the fictitious singer Noor-i-Firdousi, and two letters that Salar Jang, the character inspired by my nana, sent her, one of which contained an ode.

An Ode to the Nightingale of the Battlefield
When the crow of war appeared cawing in the skies,
And on motherland’s unsullied virtue the evil eye cast,
Ere heavens sent a thousand armed seraphs to defend her throne,
The locks of fury spread out on her fair countenance, the Nightingale,
Rose in the spellbound heavens and mangled
the abject avis with her ire’s talons.
In her scorn his grave, and last perch the bird found.

Salar Jang’s obsessive, unrequited love for Noor-i-Firdousi became the novel’s driving force.

I also had a pet obsession of my own, which I wished to give full play in the novel as a secondary plot. This obsession had to do with the concept of infinite time and eternity. How to fathom time that has no beginning or end, and how to intellectually reconcile it with our notion of material time. This obsession was assigned to another character.

And thus, by slow degrees, the novel came together.

Some time after I had finished writing it, I remember visiting my former office, where I had worked as a sub-editor. Sitting there, listening to the editors and reporters discuss the day’s events, it suddenly occurred to me that I could seamlessly capture the whole scene with all its characters, and their gossipy, happy, boastful selves. From struggling to connect characters like the pieces of a patchwork quilt, I was beginning to see how I could weave lives together.

The columnist is a novelist, author and translator.

He can be reached via his website: micromaf.com

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 15th, 2026