I wanted to like this so badly but it ended up not being for me. I can appreciate memoirs that are creative in their structure, but I think it takes a really skilled writer to sell a non-linear memoir without it being confusing to follow. Unfortunately, I don’t think this was successful as a memoir at all. 

What I had thought (and what the marketing/back of book/and even the first chapter implied) was that this would be a cross-country travel memoir from the perspective of a queer Palestinian American. What this ended up being was a mix of small, non-linear vignettes from different points of her life and stream of consciousness observations. This book felt very directionless and meandering in a way that was not satisfying. Her ramblings lacked cohesion and structure. It felt at times like Jarrar did not have anything in particular to say and at other times like she was so unfiltered and unedited that the message was muddled. 

In some ways this was too much (which I suspect Jarrar was going for) and not enough. We got lots of details of sexual exploits and a shoddy retrospective psychoanalysis for said sexual exploits. I am absolutely down to hear about queer people discovering their sexuality, but these sections did not seem to add anything. There was almost no discussion about the intersection of her queerness with her religion. While we had many TMI moments, there were also moments that could have been so interesting and insightful that had no development. I enjoyed some parts about her family, her struggles in traveling to Palestine, and her pregnancy with her son, but these sections did not make up for the confusing, underdeveloped ramblings that comprised most of the book. 

Also, this is just a me thing, but I’m deeply unimpressed by such a detailed account of infidelity. I have 0 patience for cheating and the discussion around a “right” to sex was very upsetting. Your partner does not owe you sex. Anyways. . .