Book Review: The Buried: An Archaeology of the Egyptian Revolution by Peter Hessler

In The Buried, Peter Hessler does something so fascinating, it almost feels like a magic trick. He slips quietly into the fabric of Egyptian society, observes its seams, and stitches the most minor and intimate details into the grander sweep of history. The result is a work that feels at once tender, panoramic, and deeply humane. The fact that he is still able to weave in the story of his young family’s life in Cairo during the turmoil, hope, and disorientation of Egypt’s 2011 revolution made this an enjoyable and rewarding read.

The book documents Hessler’s time as a foreign correspondent during a pivotal time in the history of modern Egypt. I am often wary of reading the work of foreigners who live in a setting that is different from the one they are accustomed to. One of the reasons is that many of these writers fall into the habit of seeing life in these places through the prism of their own background, failing to understand and accept the culture. I must admit that I was concerned about this when I picked up the book, especially given that it is set in Egypt, a country with one of the most exploited cultures in the world. For years, foreign powers, scholars, and even industries have treated the country’s history, heritage, and artefacts like a free-for-all global treasure that they could extract from without giving Egyptians any autonomy on how their culture is interpreted or preserved.

The author distinguishes himself by respecting and honoring Egyptian culture, approaching it from a place of curiosity rather than judgment. One of the book’s pleasures is watching Hessler fall in love with the beauty and challenge of learning Arabic. His fascination with the language becomes its own subplot, a kind of personal archaeology that mirrors his broader excavation of modern Egypt. Those language lessons, delivered by Rifaat, a diligent and astute language tutor, serve a strong purpose for Hessler as they pull him into Cairo’s neighborhoods and open up unexpected friendships. He moves through the city not like a foreign correspondent parachuting in for spectacle but like someone genuinely trying to understand how people build lives in the wake of political rupture.

And then there’s Upper Egypt, the literal and metaphorical ground of the book’s title. Hessler is captivated by the legendary archaeological digs there, and he uses them as a powerful parallel to Egypt’s present: layers of civilization, buried stories, fragile clues, and the patience it takes to interpret them. These archaeological chapters widen the book’s frame, showing how history is never entirely dead, only waiting for someone to brush away the dust.

Still, what truly distinguishes The Buried is its people. Hessler has an eye for characters who defy clichés, and he treats them with empathy, curiosity, and an almost novelistic attentiveness. Sayyid, the zabaleen garbage collector who becomes an anchor in the family’s daily life, offers a ground-level view of Cairo that foreign correspondents rarely capture. Through Sayyid’s struggles, generosity, gossip, and ambitions, Hessler brings readers into the intimate, improvisational rhythm of a community trying to survive the uncertainty of a revolution.

Manu, a gay translator navigating life in a country where his identity is criminalized, is another unforgettable presence. Hessler writes about him without sensationalism or pity, simply showing the courage and contradictions of someone trying to carve out a private world in a society that denies him the space to exist openly. Manu’s story adds emotional depth to the book, revealing how political upheaval interacts with deeply personal vulnerabilities.

Then there is Yusuf, the earnest politician who enters a local parliamentary race. Through him, Hessler opens a door into Egypt’s political machinery, offering a behind-the-scenes look at campaign strategy, ego, idealism, and the sheer logistical chaos of democracy in a transitional moment. Hessler humanizes Yusuf without romanticizing him, allowing readers to see the blend of ambition and sincerity that drives many local politicians.

In Cairo, educated people often talked about the “deep state,” the tentacles of the military, and the various conspiracy theories that supposedly connected the United States, Israel, Qatar, and the Brotherhood. Politics was distant and theoretical, but the Abydos version was simpler — this was basic human behavior. In some ways, I was impressed: without any guidance, locals had developed their own election traditions, which functioned remarkably well.

[…]

When Westerners hear the term “police state,” they generally assume that everything is controlled or monitored by the police. But a police state is often just a state that contains a lot of police. What these police actually do is a separate issue.

Along the way, Hessler also pulls readers into the surprising world of Chinese business expansion in Egypt, including the wonderfully odd trade in lingerie. He uses this unexpected detail to highlight the quiet forces of globalization shaping Egyptian commerce, especially in conservative communities where the tension between economic opportunity and religious norms becomes both comic and revealing.

All of this is told with Hessler’s signature narrative grace. His prose brings Cairo’s balconies, alleys, and cafés to life, and he has a knack for letting scenes unfurl in a way that feels effortless. Crucially, the personal story of his family, prominent as it is, never hijacks the book. Instead, it anchors the reporting, offering a vantage point that enhances rather than distracts from Egypt’s larger drama.

There is this rather memorable passage where he describes the spiderweb design in the building his family lives in.

But maybe that was the meaning of the spiderwebs. They connected it all: the revolutions and the refugees, the untimely events and the unlikely languages. There were webs around the building, and webs around the island; the continued the length of the great river and beyond. The webs ran everywhere from this place they called um al-duniya, the mother of the world.

For context, an article he has published in The New Yorker has led him to the building’s original owners, who graciously share their family’s story of exile with him. This is a really moving side story in the book, with an interesting similarity between that family and Hesslers, a divinely ordained connection.

The Buried is a rare kind of book: one that captures a nation in upheaval through the lives of ordinary people, while also situating that moment within the long continuum of Egypt’s past. The beauty of the book is that Hessler does not provide the usual outsider’s detached report on the revolution, the way one would expect a foreign correspondent to. Instead, he immerses himself in the story without overwhelming it, listening with intent, learning from the events, and reflecting on it through the experiences of those who lived it most intimately. The result is a textured, generous, and unforgettable narrative.