“They were all there to greet me, enfolding me in the embrace of our collective dislocation from this place where all our stories go and return. Here is where we began. Where our songs were born, our ancestors buried.”

I waited far too long to read this book. This story is complex, heartbreaking and powerful. It challenged the way I perceived the conflicts of the Middle East and how I think about freedom, grief, joy and resilience. It’s a story of all those things intertwined, experienced simultaneously, and the lengths that generations of Palestinians have had to go to find even a shred of connection to and joy in their homeland.

Nahr, our protagonist, encapsulates such power and strength from cover to cover. She’s the daughter of Palestinian refugees and a refugee herself, traveling from Kuwait to Jordan to the West Bank and back again, ultimately landing in an Israeli prison from which she tells her story. She endures poverty, prostitution, loss, heartbreak and more, all while simply trying to carve out a space in the world where she can survive. I have so much more I could say about the power the women in this novel hold, in particular—the ways Nahr’s family both tear her down and show up for her in unexpected ways, and how they each encapsulate a different demonstration of grief—but it’s best to let those unfold throughout the story.

Many of the events in the novel are pulled from history, but they’re not delivered in a difficult-to-understand way. I took a lot of time while reading to learn more about the historical context that frames this more personal narrative. There’s so much we haven’t been taught about occupied Palestine, how much has been sanitized in the media, and this book served as a jumping-off point for me to learn more. I’ve heard someone say “This book will radicalize you,” and I completely believe that’s true. 10/10 recommend.