La Réfugiée

by Rabih Alameddine, Nicolas Richard (Translator)

L'auteur du prix Femina étranger 2016 revient avec un roman brillant et terriblement actuel. " C'est toi qui as suggéré que j'écrive ça. Toi, l'écrivain, tu n'as pas pu. Tu as essayé d'écrire l'histoire du réfugié. Plusieurs fois, à de nombreuses reprises. Tu as échoué. Et échoué encore. Peut-être échoué mieux. Il n'empêche, tu n'as pas pu. Plus de deux ans après que nous nous sommes rencontrés à Lesbos, tu essayais encore. Tu t'y es attaqué par un versant, puis par un autre, en vain. Tu étais trop impliqué, incapable de te dépêtrer toi-même de l'histoire. Tu as dit que tu n'arrivais pas à trouver la bonne distance. Tu n'étais pas capable de trouver les mots justes, même après nombre de séances sur le canapé de ton psychiatre. " [...] Et quoi que tu fasses, as-tu dit, ne l'intitule pas Lesbienne libanaise à Lesbos, je t'en supplie. "
Une plongée bouleversante au cœur d'un drame humanitaire où se croisent les destins singuliers d'esprits rebelles qui ont en commun l'exil, la perte et l'espoir.

" Entre reportage littéraire et fiction, un texte audacieux tout en contrastes et ruptures. " Le Monde
" Un grand roman. " L'Humanité

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, LGBT, Queer, Middle East, Literary Fiction, Lebanon

408 pages, Pocket Book

First published September 21, 2021

About the author

Rabih Alameddine (Arabic: ربيع علم الدين; born 1959) is an American painter and writer. His 2021 novel The Wrong End of the Telescope won the 2022 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction.

Alameddine was born in Amman, Jordan to Lebanese Druze parents. He grew up in Kuwait and Lebanon, which he left at age 17 to live first in England and then in California to pursue higher education. He earned a degree in engineering from the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA) and a Master of Business in San Francisco.

Alameddine began his career as an engineer, then moved to writing and painting. His debut novel Koolaids, which touched on both the AIDS epidemic in San Francisco and the Lebanese Civil War, was published in 1998 by Picador.

The author of six novels and a collection of short stories, Alameddine was the recipient of a Guggenheim Fellowship in 2002. His queer sensibility has added a different slant to narratives about immigrants within the context of what became known as Orientalism.

In 2014, Alameddine was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award and he won the California Book Awards Gold Medal Fiction for An Unnecessary Woman.

Alameddine is best known for this novel, which tells the story of Aaliya, a Lebanese woman and translator living in war-torn Lebanon. The novel "manifests traumatic signposts of the [Lebanese] civil war, which make it indelibly situational, and accordingly latches onto complex psychological issues."

In 2017, Alameddine won the Arab American Book Award and the Lambda Literary Award for Gay Fiction for The Angel of History.

In 2018 he was teaching in the University of Virginia's creative writing program, in Charlottesville.

He was shortlisted for the 2021 Sunday Times Short Story Award for his story, "The July War".

His novel The Wrong End of the Telescope won the 2022 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction.

Reviews

[Elyse Walters · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rabih Alameddine has done it again….
He created an unforgettable character….*Mina Simpson*…..[Fifty-ish, Harvard educated, married to a woman - disowned by her family- Arab-American-Transgender surgeon]….
Mina leaves her wife at home in Chicago while she travels back to her birth country —Lebanon - (and lGreece) — who came to volunteer at the refugee camp…..
…..as well as a second unforgettable grand oldster, character, Sumaiya—an uncompromising relentless woman with terminal liver cancer. [these two women bond together with a kept secret]…..
And….
Once again Alameddine deepens our understanding of Lebanese history > people trying to run-escape- from devastated war-scarred Syria.
Mina returns to Lesbos, Greece, after being away about thirty years. Not easy returning home with memories of being rejected by one’s family ….but old friend ‘begged’ for her to come help at the Moria refugee camp.

The storytelling is sooooo good —extraordinary as “An Unnecessary Woman”…. page turning absorbing ….(I wasn’t expecting it to be)….great surprise….
Filled with dire conditions for Syrian refugees forced to dismantle their shelters —(with multi-dimensional-colorful characters)…
As heart wrenching as it is — it’s written with richness, intimacy and an abundance of humanity

Alameddine was Longlisted for the National Book Award - for fiction - for his ‘wonderful’ book “An Unnecessary Woman”. …..HE DESERVES THE HONORS AGAIN.
This follow-up novel - “The Wrong End of the Telescope” is irresistible, educational, important, with stark, skillful entertaining reading elements.
Rabih Alameddine hasn’t lost in touch ‘at all’. His writing throbs with energy- its beautifully written - intelligent- thoughtful - complex - tragic and humorous….
I’m a forever fan of Rabih Alameddine….(ha, and even forgive him for the ‘one’ sentence that bothered me on page 195….a sentence I worked out - had many conversations about with my close friends)….
What a BEAUTIFUL MAN…..AUTHOR….and overall humanitarian!

Always….many thanks to Grove Atlantic!

[Richard Derus · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rating: 5* of five

Congratulations to Author Alameddine! THE WRONG END OF THE TELESCOPE took home the 2022 PEN/Faulkner Award for Fiction !
See the announcement here!

I RECEIVED MY DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: When you are faced with an overwhelming event...say, the Syrian refugee crisis of 2016...which is, in itself, the result of a series of overwhelming events outside the control of any individual who is suffering the consequences of others' bad decisions...where do you even begin to process the emotional and psychic overwhelm of the event?

In Rabih Alameddine's The Wrong End of the Telescope, you begin by finding the voice you need to make alienation, victimization, and the abjection of fleeing everything you've ever known against your will, truly personal. Enter Mina Simpson. She is a trans woman in a lesbian relationship (one thing I found ever-so-slightly on the nose was setting a lesbian's tale on Lesbos...but that's where it happened in reality) with a Haitian psychologist, and fellow Chicagoan, Francine. She is a physician summoned to help with the overwhelming floods of refugees from Syria's dissolution by her friend and fellow transwoman (but heterosexual), Emma. Also a doctor, Emma cries for help that Mina arrives to offer exactly as the Holidays result in a vast sea of wealthy-Westerner disaster tourists showing up to "do their bit" to help...Them.

Mina's life as a trans person in Lebanon was harrowing, as I expect most trans people's live are everywhere. There is so much hate directed at trans people all over the world, from every imaginable quarter, that it was a genuine pleasure to see Mina's older brother and sole remaining family member was loving, accepting, and even if not capable of going against the Will of the Family in public, honestly supportive of Mina as her real self. What it has done *for* her, however, is made her adept at navigating the undercurrents of family life. Mina's actions relating to Sumaiya, one of "Them" and possessor of a powerful will in a dying body, prove that Mina is a woman of the most beautifully tender spirit, capable of understanding that love for another can not conquer all and does not confer metaphysical or physical superpowers...but does summon forth reserves of strength that inspire awe in her, and in me.

The story isn't always obvious. I mean by that the presence of the author, Alameddine, on the page is second-person and the main character, our narrator, is addressing him. (He includes a very amusing, exaggerated self-caricature at 12% in the Kindle file that does not give him near enough credit for being so delightful a persona.) The pattern of addressing "you" in MSS is one I am generally not in favor of...I've gotten out of bed, dressed myself, and driven to a charity-box run by people I dislike to deposit a book told in second person so I wouldn't ever run across it again...but done as Author Alameddine does it here, makes me feel included, a part of a larger story. That alone would merit all five stars!

There are many other reasons I loved this read as immoderately as I did. The Lesbian setting makes the fact that this refugee crisis isn't the first in the area, bringing up events that not that many of his readers will know about like the Anatolian expulsion of the millennia-old Greek population and the tragedy of Smyrna, both in 1922 at the birth of modern Turkey. The 2016 refugee crisis, likewise a manufactured event meant to hurt vulnerable people, and similarly is still ramifying through European society (goddesses please bless the departed Chancellor Merkel for her willingness to commit to rehoming a million Syrians in Germany, however self-serving it was in light of their collapsed birth rate), though not always to Europe's credit, is powerfully involving. But they did *something* and we, in the USA, did bugger-all. Like we're doing for the Afghans we abandoned. Like we did for the Kurds we abandoned.

But I digress. And disagreeably.

Author Alameddine's Lebanese queerness allowed him to be Mina in more ways than another writer could. This results in a series of beautiful insights:

...the aforementioned Mediterranean, yes, glorious. Or was this the Aegean, which Aegeus threw himself into when he thought his son Theseus had failed against the Minotaur? The clouds were such that both the asphalt and the water had the same color, a bluish slate, the color of oxidization on copper with a tinge of periwinkle violet.

Tinges of violet...the Minotaur, who ate both boys and girls equally, whose one weakness the ineffable Theseus found by penetrating his labyrinth...the despair of a rigid father setting his son a path in life and imagining that, despite the boy's strength and his quick wits, that he has failed to achieve the father's goals for him...the clouds of obfuscation, the sense of the Present being a fog-bank and only the keenest senses can suss out the proper course (whether it be towards or away from some obstacle). And more, given that this is a moment that Mina's just arrived and is in her car, trying to navigate while overwhelmed by the vastness of clouds obscuring her path to be of service...I could go on, but why? You'll read it, you'll find your own reasons to love the words on these pages.

Mina's marriage to Francine, which she dates to thirty years before the book's events...January 9, 1986, to be precise...began when, as Mina says, she saw Francine "...{dancing} as if she was exploring her body in space." Anyone, anyone who could inspire such a sentence is a worthy object of love as well as partner in commitment! And to make Mina, the awkward and the marginal, the object of reciprocal love and attention, was a stroke of genius. How many of us have the experience of marrying in accordance with Iris Murdoch's deathless marriage (and writing) aperçu: "One should never commit oneself until one is amazed at one's luck."

Possibly the wickedest moment of the book is the ending, where the story of how the story came to be told is told at last: The question posed by psychiatrist Francine to the writer (whose "...default state of being" is whining), in her comfortable Chicago apartment:

"Have you considered writing about an American couple in suburbia to help the Syrian refugees? If you did a good job, Syrian refugees would be able to inhabit the skin of Americans, walk in their Cole Haans, empathize with their boredom and angst."

And this, more than anything else Author Alameddine wrote in this beautiful work, stopped me in my tracks. Like the people in the scene, I bolted upright. Isn't this what we who read voraciously have always claimed Literature does? Allows its devotees to live a million lives, not just focus on one (probably tedious and humdrum) little existence? I like to think it can, and does, and clearly so does Author Alameddine.

But I caution the gentleman against pursuing the Frankenstein retelling he posits...Ahmed Saadawi already staked that corner out, don't you know. (That whole scene of writerly angst and desperation was slapstick funny, and made me chortle chuckle and guffaw...thanks!)

What I'm getting at here is a simple thing: I gave this book five stars, and I think it could get the annual nod of "six stars of five," barring something else this amazing coming across my field of vision. That means, in case I'm not quite making myself clear, that I think this book belongs on your shelf, reading device, or library holds list, wherever you triage the must-read-nows of your literary life. It is profound, profoundly beautiful, and fearless in its ambitious scope and craftsmanship.

I wait for this experience every time I open a book. It is a thrill to get it.

[Eric Anderson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Given that Rabih Alameddine's novel “The Wrong End of the Telescope” is about an Arab American trans woman's trip to provide medical support to Syrian refugees you might think this is a novel which is only about the big social issues of our age. It definitely is about those issues, but it's more importantly about the individuals involved with all their unique personalities and points of view. The author movingly humanizes a world that many of us only see mediated through the news showing the strengths and foibles of a wide array of fascinating people that she encounters. It's written in a style which is extremely enjoyable to read without exploiting the circumstances or people involved merely for the sake of entertainment. The plot is also effective and engaging without overwhelming the narrative. In other words, its primary motivation isn't to make a political point in the way of “American Dirt” but to present people who are neither virtuous or villainous. They are full of complexities and our fleeting encounters with them emphasize their uniqueness. Even if this makes it at times more of a meandering novel than Cummins' book which is like a conventional thriller, it means Alameddine's story is much more meaningful and successful.

Mina is a Lebanese doctor who answers a friend's appeal to help in her organization's efforts to assist refugees that are arriving on the island of Lesbos amidst their transit to other European locations. She's also dealing with her own personal issues especially to do with the family that rejected her and she uses this trip as an opportunity to reconnect with her brother. Mina is aware that this journey isn't just a philanthropic one, but also has to do with her own ego – although, perhaps less so than some of her fellow volunteers whose primary objective is to take selfies at the refugee camps and beached dinghies.
Read my full review of The Wrong End of the Telescope by Rabih Alameddine on LonesomeReader

[Rosh (on a medical break) · Rating 4 out of 5]

In a Nutshell: If you are a literary fiction fan, you can’t miss out on this one!

Story:

Mina, a surgeon in her fifties, a naturalised American of Lebanese-Syrian origin, a trans woman, a lesbian: this is the intriguing person in whose first person perspective you will hear this book.

Mina has arrived at the Moria refugee camp on Lesbos Island at the invitation of her friend, Emma, who runs an NGO there. After being alienated from most of her family except her brother because of her gender identity, Mina finds it overwhelming to be so near her original country after three decades. However, she seeks some kind of fulfilment while using her skills as a surgeon and a speaker of Arabic to help out those brave souls who have crossed the Aegean Sea at a high personal and financial cost in the hope of a better, safer future. “The Wrong End of the telescope” follows Mina’s experiences and ponderings in Lesbos Island.

The book is written in very short chapters, and as they are in first person, they feel more like reading someone’s journal entries. And just like journal entries, they cover a wide range of topics, both in the past and in the present. Mina muses over her struggles with her mother to accept Mina as a girl born in a boy’s body, her relationships and her thirty year old marriage with Francine, her relations with the rest of her family, her childhood, her interactions with the other volunteers and the refugees, especially with Sumaiya (a determined mother who is battling terminal cancer without wanting her family to know the extent of her illness), her opinion of some of the “humanitarian tourists” who were more interested in selfies than in actual help,... Every part of the writing goes straight to the heart.

Some of the chapters are addressed to an unknown person. To my utter shame, it took me ages to figure out whom these chapters were addressed to. But once I did, the beauty of those chapters was enhanced even further by their poignancy and determination. Realising the secret person’s identity was a brilliant experience!

The chapter titles are innovative in form. They represent the content accurately without giving any clue of what's included in the content. That's exactly how chapter titles should be. I hate it when the title reveals what's going to come in that particular chapter. I also enjoyed how the author blended fact and fiction seamlessly into the narrative. The addition of the factual events created a deeper impact about the extent of the refugee crisis. I need to praise the level of the language as well. What an outstanding vocabulary! The precise word for the precise sentiment throughout! I relished this reading for the lexicon as much as for the content.

This is the story of a journey of self-realization and social awareness. It is queer. (Whichever meaning of 'queer' you choose to apply here will be correct.) It is a complex read because of the numerous rambling conversation-style chapters. It is slow because it is a literary fiction in the truest sense of the word. It is humorous. It is realistic. It is emotional. It is hard-hitting. It doesn’t shy back from tough discussions. It is…worth a read. But note that it is also quite intense and overwhelming. Read it on a strong day.

4.25 stars from me.


Thank you to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for the ARC of the book in exchange for an honest review.



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[Jessica Woodbury · Rating 4 out of 5]

The longer I read this book, the more I was amazed by everything it is doing despite looking so simple at first. As a long-time American and immigrant of Lebanese and Syrian descent, Alameddine considers the intersection of this identity when confronted with the present day crisis of Syrian refugees.

This is also a fascinating piece of not-exactly-autofiction in a way that I could talk about for hours. Alameddine is not the narrator, but he is a character. More than that, he is the person our narrator is addressing as "you" throughout the novel. Mina has much in common with Alameddine--she grew up in Lebanon, fell out with her family over her queer identity, was able to get to the US as a student, and then stayed. Mina is middle-aged now, married, a successful surgeon, and has lived as an out trans woman and lesbian for decades. In many ways their lives are echoes of each other. Because of their many similarities, Mina can serve as a stand-in for Alameddine, and for much of the book she does.

Mina has come to Lesbos at the request of a friend, wanting to provide medical care and whatever other help she can to the waves of incoming refugees. But she finds that there is not much to really do. One of the central questions of the book is trying to grapple with how a desire to help in the face of a massive crisis can leave one feeling powerless and even defeated. There are white Americans and Europeans, there to help but also to take selfies of themselves helping. There are NGO's and camps, but even a massive effort produces little actual result. And after all the efforts to get the refugees resettled, there is then the question of what will happen to them next in a Europe that is becoming steadily more aggressive in anti-refugee sentiments.

Mina spends a lot of time thinking about her childhood in Lebanon, about how similar she is to these refugees, and yet she often finds she relates more strongly to the white helpers than her own people. She copes by clinging to one particular woman and her family, going above and beyond for them, while also realizing how little it is in the grand scheme of the world and even in this one family's journey.

Mina is also here as a contrast to Alameddine. His character has spent years interviewing refugees, hearing their stories, and he feels a similar call to help. But when he arrives, he finds himself paralyzed, hiding in his hotel, unable to confront the size of the crisis, the amount of suffering, his own cowardice. Mina becomes what Alameddine cannot be, and thus becomes the person who he instructs to write the story even if she is not the writer.

This is a novel told in a series of short chapters, often a single story or anecdote about Mina or a refugee she encounters. Sometimes I find novels like this slow me down, but this time I didn't have that problem. Even if Mina moves around through her thoughts, we stay rooted in the central period of the story, set over a few days.

There is so much sympathy and care in these pages, a real effort to recognize that every single person that comes across the page, even if just for a moment, is a person who deserves as much as any other person. It made me think a lot about how I have also found myself wondering how I can best help others, and how inadequate everything seems in a world where that is built to keep us unequal. I can't say it isn't depressing to read, but it is so invested in humanity and in finding how we continue to carry on and encourage each other. It certainly feels relevant.

A note for queer readers: while Mina does sometimes worry about how people will perceive her, especially as she knows that trans women are not always able to be safely out in the communities the refugees are coming from, she encounters very little of the misgendering she anticipates. There are many references to Mina's childhood and her parents' refusal to accept her as she was, especially as her brother that she hasn't seen in decades joins her on the trip. Both Mina and Alameddine are American in large part because they were safer living as openly queer people there than they were at home. They were their own sort of refugees, and this is often contrasted with the current refugee crisis, as you'd expect. Queer suffering is certainly part of their biographies but it is not centered in the novel.

I was a little cautious about a book with a trans woman as a main character that wasn't written by a trans woman, as I always am in such situations. But I forgot about that pretty quickly, Mina is so fully formed, her identity as trans relevant at some times but mostly not.

I worry that because of the heavy subject matter people will avoid this book and I would just like to take a minute to encourage you not to. This book tapped into questions about empathy and sympathy and taking care of people that I can't remember seeing in other novels. It made me ask questions about my own life. And I enjoyed reading it, happily picking it up each time I had a minute. It's absolutely worth your time.

[Tony · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rabih Alameddine is a character in this novel, unnamed but titled. He is the writer. He wants to write about the Syrian refugees, but can't. So he importunes his friend, Mina Simpson, a trans Lebanese doctor to write the story instead. The writer shows up on the Isle of Lesbos where the refugees have come, at great peril, the first stop on an uncertain journey. Mina is there, doing doctor things. In her telling of what happens, and what previously happened, she calls you you, talking to us but calling you you. Or, she's talking to you, but we are privy. Odd, that, and maybe unnecessary, but never to the point of annoying. Because, since you are introduced, we want to know what you are doing. (Wait, she has me doing it now, writing a review for other people but talking to you. I mean YOU have me doing it now. Oh, . . .).

The storytelling, as always with Alameddine, is wonderful. I found myself caring for the characters, even you. Mina is married to Francine, a psychiatrist with dreadlocks. The chapter where they meet, unintroduced on a dance floor, Bob Marley playing, I found especially moving. No woman, no cry, but this woman was dancing.

Mina's mother is the only horrid character in the novel. Francine insisted that women like her should not have children, that we served only as garnish.

Some things I knew already, some things I didn't:

Do you know what Iranian mothers call their baby boys? Doodool tala. You're my doodool tala, aren't you? Come to mama, doodool tala. We don't have an Arabic equivalent, though we really should. It means golden pee-pee. How can a young man not demand that the world kneel before his golden penis?

I didn't know that.

A charming fact: Let any Harold Robbins book fall open to the creased part, and one would find all the dirty bits.

I knew that.

We readers grow up though. You did too. Your bookshelves smiled with the new weights and colors.

Mine too.

A little dialogue:

"Why is it that you live in such a safe place yet consider the world so dangerous?"

"I'm an American."

There is some anti-Americanism here. Which may have caused me to bristle. Alameddine came here to escape persecution. But still bashes. I may have bristled, as I said, but I had no riposte to what he wrote. And to be fair, Alameddine expresses his ambivalence to things American, expresses his ambivalence for refugees, too.

Which made me think, you wrote this why?

And maybe that's why you had someone else tell it.

[Lisa (NY) · Rating 4 out of 5]

[4+] Mina, a Lebanese American trans woman doctor, travels to a refugee camp on the Greek island of Lesbos in order to use her vacation time for something meaningful. What follows is an enlightening, witty, riveting story of desperate Syrian refugees, the volunteers (some very entitled) as well as Mina's own story and her evolving relationship with her brother. I am in awe of Alameddine and how he skillfully wove all these elements together to make a powerful, profound and entertaining novel.

[Michael Finocchiaro · Rating 4 out of 5]

I did not need to go with him to see the world. I sat in my
comfortable chair, the canvas on my lap, tbe needle leading a thread,
each entry point a heartbeat. Delay and delay each cross-stitch, delay
and delay each beartbeat, and suddenly I'm above yellow China. I
soar over azure Italy. Is this Morocco's red I see before me?
No, I did not walk the world. I flew above it, and I soared.
Don't contradict me. I told you I'm always right. Don't argue
with me. Of course I flew on my threads. Why would you believe that
a woman could fly on a broom but not on threads, why?
I'm ninety-nine, and I can still thread a needle by candlelight.

[Sarah-Hope · Rating 5 out of 5]

On Rabih Alameddine's web page, The Wrong End of the Telescope is described as "a transporting new novel about an Arab American trans woman’s journey among Syrian refugees on Lesbos island." It's also a novel about much more: how families pull apart and come back together; end-of-life decision-making; "humanitarian tourism"; the complexity of the many stories of even the smallest group of people; how and why we choose to pull up roots and head into a new unknown; gender and sexuality; and how we learn who we are and who we love. In other words, this is a book about Everything—and I mean that in a good way.

Underlying this novel is the premise that Mina Simpson, the central character, is writing this book because a friend of hers, who is a well-known author, has found himself unable to write about the Syrian refugee crisis and urged her to take on this task. The novel is written as if Mina were talking to her writer friend, with broad use of second-person narration, and feels simultaneously a deeply personal document and a statement to the world. "You will remember when" sorts of references abound, but ultimately don't distance readers. Rather, these let the reader view the world from multiple perspectives.

This novel has me thinking about intersectionality, the interconnectedness of social categories such as race, class, and gender that create overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage. Mina isn't just a trans woman: she's a lesbian, she's Lebanese, but has lived in the U.S. since being rejected by her family years ago, she's a physician, she's in a thirty-year committed relationship with Francine, a Haitian psychiatrist she met in med school. Intersectionality.

Pretty much every other major character in The Wrong End of the Telescope has a similarly complex identity. A friend who runs an NGO providing services to refugees, mostly Syrian, who come in overcrowded boats to the island of Lesbos, a gateway to life in Europe and to a life not overwhelmed by the ongoing impact of Syria's complex and violent civil war, has urged Mina to come work with these refugees. This friend is also a trans woman, but "straight." On the island, Mina is joined by her brother, the only member of her extended family still in contact with her. He has embraced the fact that the brother he was raised with has turned out to be a sister. He's divorced. His wife has custody of their children and has moved to Dubai. On the island this trio meet the writer, a gay man who is committed to documenting refugee lives, but who has come to Lesbos as a volunteer, not a writer, and is overwhelmed by the experience of working with these individuals without his literary identity allowing him to maintain an authorial distance.

The above paragraph packs in a lot of information. I include these many details because they illustrate the complex intersectionality in The Wrong End of the Telescope.

Added to this mix of characters are a Syrian family, part of the initial group of refugees Mina works with. The mother has terminal liver cancer, but has managed to travel this far with her family. Now, however, she's ready to end her life and for her family to go on without her.

In the hands of a less-skilled writer, this complexity could feel melodramatic. Alameddine keeps it down to earth, "normal" if you will. And the normality of all this complexity is what makes the book so remarkable. The Wrong End of the Telescope begins slowly, and the second-person narration is distancing at first, but the reader becomes fiercely engaged as the novel progresses. Ultimately, The Wrong End of the Telescope is a "must-read" that pays off in remarkable richness the effort the reader makes to enter the world of the book.

I received a free electronic review copy of this title from the publisher via NetGalley; the opinions are my own.

[Josh · Rating 5 out of 5]

With this being my 3rd Alameddine novel, I find this one to be his best. Multiple stories coalesce perfectly. Finger pointing a-plenty, he doesn't hold back and nor should he.

Reading this was not only a learning experience, but also left me witnessing the author bleeding out throughout each page.

The supposed innocents see the apparitions in the mirror looking back as they tell themselves that they are not the problem. No nations, no borders.

Recommended to all.

[Sujoya - theoverbookedbibliophile · Rating 5 out of 5]

4.5/5
Dr. Mina Simpson is a Lebanese American physician who travels to Syria to provide medical aid in the migrant camps on the Greek island of Lesbos where displaced migrants from Syria are temporarily housed till they commence on the next leg of their journey. She is joined by Emma , her friend who is a nurse, Rasheed a social worker and later her brother Mazen who still lives in Lebanon.
With them is also "the writer" who is addressed throughout the novel and is depicted as a generous person who wants to help but is too overwhelmed with what he is witnessing and tends to distance himself at times .He is is seen trying to convince Mina to write about her experiences.
“Writing simplifies life, you said, forces coherence on discordant narratives, unless it doesn’t, and most of the time it doesn’t, because really, how can one make sense of the senseless? One puts a story in a linear order, posits cause and effect, and then thinks one has arrived. Writing one’s story narcotizes it. Literature today is an opiate."
The Wrong End of the Telescope describes Mina's experiences in the refugee camp - the people she meets and befriends , the patients she treats and the feelings of anguish and helplessness that is brought on by witnessing firsthand the plight of the fleeing Syrian refugees. She also describes the efforts and motivations of social workers and volunteers who flock the area to aid the refugees with a bit of satire and humor. Interwoven with the stories of the camp (s) is Mina's own story. Mina ,born Ayman, is a trans woman , disowned by her own family, happily married to Francine and settled in the United States. She has not visited Lebanon in forty years . Mazen is the only family member who has kept in touch with her .
The novel is broken into small chapters and flits between Mina's own story and those of the refugees. Never does the author come across as too political or preachy while drawing upon real life incidents that have gained worldwide attention and very tactfully shows the human angle associated with events happening in that part of the world from the perspectives of the refugees - old and young , volunteers and social workers. He also explores the inner conflict of refugees who leave their home country and assimilate with their adopted country hoping that such assimilation would truly provide a new lease of life only to find that often that might not be the case. The author's reference to Greek mythology in parts of this book makes for a rich reading experience.
Given the subject matter I expected this book to be hard to take in . But with beautiful prose and a respectful, delicate approach to the sensitive issues broached in this exquisite novel the brilliance of Rabih Alameddine’s masterful storytelling shines through. The Hakawati was the first Rabih Alameddine novel that I read and absolutely fell in love with. The Wrong End of the Telescope is my fifth book by Rabih Alameddine and I truly look forward to reading more of his work!

[Ari Levine · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5. An unexpectedly playful and irreverent novel about some of the bleakest subject matter imaginable: the trauma of the Syrian refugee crisis, the unconscionable brutality of ISIS, the moral blindness of American foreign policy, and palliative care for inoperable cancer. Alameddine's storytelling is elliptical and digressive, and seemingly effortless, branching off into short digressive vignettes that pack a huge amount of human experience into a mere page or two.

But his real talent is creating flawed, complex, multi-layered, emotionally honest, fully human characters. Mina, the novel's first-person narrator and protagonist, is a trans woman surgeon who grew up in Beirut but settled in the States after almost her entire family disowned her. Invited to spend a week volunteering as a doctor in a refugee camp on the Greek island of Lesbos, the closest she has come to Lebanon in thirty years, Mina becomes fiercely attached to easing the suffering of Sumaiya, a recently-arrived Syrian refugee who is dying of late-stage liver cancer.

But everything in this novel turns metafictional, but it works in surprising ways with a genuine emotional payoff: there's nothing hyper-cerebral or contrived about it. The novelist has written himself into the novel as a blocked Lebanese novelist whose life story parallels Alameddine's own, and whom Mina addresses in the second person as she crosses paths with him on Lesbos. Mina is a fictional surrogate and emotional heat-shield for Alameddine, and is telling the story that the novelist can't bring himself to tell directly, because he doesn't want to exploit other people's misery (like selfie-snapping disaster tourists and sanctimonious humanitarian celebrities), and can't find a way to fictionalize the depths of the horrors and suffering he's been exposed to without cheapening or falsifying or sentimentalizing them.

In Mina's hands, fiction, or lightly fictionalized reality, becomes a vehicle for telling difficult truths with emotional impact and moral nuance that journalism can't deliver. This was an extremely satisfying reading experience, and very highly recommended.

[Sofia · Rating 4 out of 5]

How do people become persons to us, persons we can relate to rather than part of a group, labelled and boxed in? I think part of this 'seeing the person' comes from listening to their stories, because their stories, their needs, their feelings, their actions, strike a cord with us and make us relate and 'see' them.

Hence Alameddine's telescope gives us the stories from a refugee camp in Lesbos and we meet people who usually form part of a labelled group for us, doctors, boat people, refugees, NGO's. Through his lens they become persons and we can imagine the 'what if it was us'. And yes, I do not want to be in their position, because they are going through hell at the moment but yes it could easily be me. Alameddine even explores a bit the trauma of following these stories and becoming a witness because that too takes it's toll. I guess that is why it is so much easier to group people and label them and set them aside because then we would not have to explore and more over, 'do something'.

Moria refugee camp on the island of Lesbos, Greece. | Photo: AFP

Moria migrants: Fire destroys Greek camp leaving 13,000 without shelter - 9 September 2020





An ARC gently provided by author/publisher via Netgalley.

[Albert · Rating 4 out of 5]

I started writing this review before I had finished the novel, something I can’t remember previously doing. I just needed to start sorting my thoughts. I really valued the opportunity to gain some insight into the plight of Syrian refugees, their perspectives, how they are viewed in Europe and America and how reactions to the refugees have changed over time. In addition to this story, there is the story of the narrator, Dr. Mina Simpson, her challenges in arriving at her sexual identity, how she related as a result with her family members and how she created a life for herself. There is also the active participation of the author in the story, his struggle in telling the story of the Syrian refugees.

If it seems like there is a lot going on here, I agree. I did not see the benefit in emphasizing both storylines, the Syrian refugees and the search for individual sexual identity. I felt the two stories did not fit well together and detracted from one another. There were also digressions related to or supporting the stories that in some cases did not seem to add value.

The novel is made up of many short chapters, which moves the story along. Given that this novel is the typical length of many novels today, approximately 300 pages, with intriguing stories and characters, it did not feel like either of the main stories was given its due.

[Emma Deplores Goodreads Censorship · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.5 stars

I think I would have enjoyed this book better had I known it’s not really a novel, but a collection of linked anecdotes dealing with immigration and responses to the refugee crisis. Generally, a novel requires a plot, and a plot requires structure, stakes, a central problem for the character(s) to solve. The narrator has nothing at stake in this story, and neither does anybody else, really; a few secondary characters do have problems, but the book isn’t about them, nor does it attempt to create any tension or doubt around those problems. Nevertheless, the book is well-written and very short chapters are addictive for me, so I’d read halfway through before realizing I found it lacking, and wound up finishing anyway.

Our narrator is a trans woman named Mina, a doctor in her 50’s who grew up in Lebanon, moved to the U.S. for college and never returned. In the present day, nothing novel-worthy is really going on in her life—she’s happily married, has a good job as a surgeon in Chicago, has long ago come to terms with her identity and with being kicked out of her family (and long ago reconciled with the only relative she cares about). She goes to Lesbos for a week’s volunteering at the urging of a Swedish nurse friend, finds that there isn’t much for her to do, and mostly spends the week hanging out with friends: the nurse, also a trans woman; her brother, visiting from Lebanon; another volunteer nurse, a gay man from Palestine; and the author. As in Rabih Alameddine, the author of this book (she addresses him as “you” throughout). I can see that aspect appealing to those who like metafiction, but that’s not my jam. I did appreciate that he shows some sense of humor about himself (the Swedish nurse thinks his breakout novel is totally worthless and boring), but then he also has Mina very invested in him, which feels a bit self-absorbed.

The blurb, in trying to sell this book as having a plot beyond the volunteers’ wandering about sharing anecdotes and wishing vaguely to be of help, positions it as being about Mina’s involvement with a Syrian refugee family, particularly the mother, who is dying of cancer. Yes, that’s in the book, but the family isn’t as prominent as the blurb would have you believe. And while they obviously have problems, they’re figuring them out themselves, with the help of NGO’s as needed; their challenges are something Mina observes rather than something that calls her to action.

(Nevertheless, I was uncomfortable at the end with Mina’s euthanizing Sumaiya. To my mind, Mina clearly shouldn’t be doing this—she’s a surgeon, not a palliative care specialist, and has never done anything like this before; she’s not licensed to practice in Greece, where she’s only briefly visiting, and makes no reference to its laws on euthanasia, let alone attempt to abide by them; she does not consult with Sumaiya’s treating physicians or any other doctors. Sumaiya just asks Mina for this while high on pain meds and Mina just does it, which in Mina’s mind was clearly the humanitarian choice, but which I suspect is illegal and likely a violation of medical ethics as well. Examining ethically questionable actions by a protagonist is of course one of the purposes of literature, you relay the character’s reasons and let readers judge for themselves, but the book pretends there are no concerns with this at all and that I take issue with.)

Otherwise, the writing is good and many of the anecdotes enjoyable or interesting in themselves, even though many of them have nothing to do with the rest of the story—there are whole mini-chapters relating the tales of Mina’s friends back home or people the author interviewed once. I think this would make perfect bathroom reading, because you can pick it up, read 2-6 pages, and set it down again with no need to refresh your memory as to what happened before. Not great as a novel though, and I was never completely convinced by Mina as a character.

For those interested in reading about the refugee crisis from an insider’s perspective, I’d recommend The Ungrateful Refugee instead: a literary memoir by a former refugee, now visiting refugee camps and bringing people’s stories to life far more skillfully than Alameddine does here, while addressing many of the same themes and concerns.

[johnny ♡ · Rating 4 out of 5]

i still think trans people should be the ones telling trans stories, but this was a really good read. mina feels real, lovable, and accessible. this novel isn’t only centered around mina’s transness, but love, family, and friendship. the struggle of refugees is so accurately displayed and queer muslim identity is accepted.

[Lynne · Rating 3 out of 5]

I learned a great deal about immigrants and their plight from Syria. The stories were interesting but the writing felt flat to me. The topics were very emotional but the writing was not. Overall an interesting book. Thank you NetGalley for the ARC.

[Beauregard Francis · Rating 3 out of 5]

A difficult book to review. The bits involving our narrator, Mina, I really loved. I especially loved her relationship with her brother. Unfortunately, this book had a trope that I have encounter several times in the last few months and have hated every time, which is the "author is a major character in the book".

Don't get me wrong I can love autofiction...if I know what it is going in. I hate when the author writes themselves as a character and then the narrator and their story takes a backseat to the author. Mina's narrative was so engaging, that I just felt impatient every time we got yanked out of her story and into the author's. Maybe I would've felt differently if I knew the book was like this going in! But the flap on the book said absolutely nothing about it.

Not a bad book at all. But ultimately not one that worked for me, sadly.

[Tamara Agha-Jaffar · Rating 4 out of 5]

The Wrong End of the Telescope by Rabih Alameddine explores the plight of refugees arriving on Lesbos. The narrative unfolds in the first-person voice of Dr. Mina Simpson, a transgender Lebanese-born doctor estranged from her family for decades. The short chapters and their quirky titles reflect Mina’s musings, sensitivity, and dry humor.

Mina, born Ayman, has been living in the United States for over thirty years. An experienced physician, she answers the call for help from a friend with a Swedish NGO assisting refugees arriving in Lesbos. Being so close to Lebanon conjures up memories of her childhood and family, the conflicts she had with her abusive mother for being trans, and her ensuing estrangement from her siblings except for her brother, Mazin.

Interspersed with flashbacks on her childhood and her life with her partner in America, Mina encounters refugees and hears their harrowing tales of oppression and escape. She is particularly drawn to Sumaiya, a Syrian wife and mother with terminal liver cancer. Sumaiya wants her condition kept secret for fear it might jeopardize her family’s chance of going to Europe.

While in Lesbos, Mina encounters a gay Lebanese author she had met and admired in the past. He is in Lesbos, presumably interviewing refugees for his novel. She addresses him as “you” in her narrative and includes his back story. But this unnamed author, possibly based on Alameddine, himself, has been severely impacted by the scale of human tragedy. He has become disillusioned and reclusive, hiding in his hotel room to avoid interaction. Mina and her friends temporarily draw him out of his self-imposed shell.

Mina describes the two groups in Lesbos with an acute eye for observation. The first group are the volunteers, some of whom come with genuine concern and desire to serve refugees; others come primarily prompted by a desire to be seen in an altruistic light. They take selfies while posing with refugees and behave with shocking insensitivity. The second group are the refugees, themselves. And, here, Mina’s description is at its strongest. As an Arab and a volunteer, Mina straddles between the two groups. She speaks the language of refugees and understands their culture in ways American and European volunteers do not.

The media posits refugees as a group of indistinguishable individuals hoarded together en masse. Mina gives each refugee she meets a unique identity and background, ranging from the crotchety, grumbling grandmother; to the Iraqi child who holds her hand and guides her through the camp; to the young newlyweds who can barely keep their hands off each other; to Sumaiya and her family; and to countless others. They are unique, well-rounded human beings with a story to tell. All are portrayed with sensitivity, empathy, and compassion. And all are depicted as struggling to make the best of a horrendous situation, waiting patiently in long lines for documents and food amid the squalor and the mud.

The seamless blend of fact with faction grounds the novel in real events. Rabih Alameddine reverses the customary lens. He looks through the wrong end of the telescope to shine a light on the volunteers and journalists as they are perceived by the refugees. In the process, he portrays refugees as complex individuals who have embarked on a heroic struggle to survive after losing their homes, livelihoods, and families. He bears witness to their struggle without being maudlin or creeping toward sensationalism. No matter how brief the encounter, each refugee discards anonymity, assumes a unique identity, is presented as fully fleshed-out and as well-deserving of our sympathy.

My book reviews are also available at www.tamaraaghajaffar.com

[Kamila Kunda · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tice Cin said about her perspective, from which she wrote “Keeping the House”: “I write from the place of loss”. As I believe in literature being a constant dialogue between authors, I was drawn to Rabih Alameddine’s “The Wrong End of the Telescope” not only because Alameddine is one of my favourite authors but also because I sensed it would be a continuation of the theme of loss. Rightly so, at some point Mina, the novel’s protagonist, asks rhetorically, or rather mentions a question Alameddine asked in one of his essays: “What is life if not a habituation to loss?”.

The novel has one main storyline - transgender doctor Mina, a Lebanese-American, travels to Lesbos to help refugees, mainly from Syria. She joins her friend, Emma, also transgender, and is later joined by her brother Mazen coming from Lebanon. They are all especially invested in helping one Syrian family, in which the mother, Sumaiya, has terminal cancer.

The story is however interspersed with Mina’s monologues to the author, Rabih Alameddine, his own musings, anecdotes and stories by other characters, changing from the first to second person singular. They deal with deeply profound topic, though as it is the case with all Alameddine’s novels, the moods change - it’s easy to laugh out loud one minute and cry from despair and heartbreak the other. Loss permeates all stories. Loss of the past, people whom we loved, the land. Loss of ourselves or who we used to be. To survive, to grow, we must adapt to loss.

“The Wrong End of the Telescope” is also a devastatingly beautiful story of deep connection between people, seen in small things, like a certain gesture or spark in the eyes, nostalgia for the same smells or the same sense of humour.

“It is not just the land that binds us, not just the red earth, the fig tree, the lemon, or the olive. It’s more than the city of Beirut, the surrounding mountains, or the Mediterranean. You and I are bound together with the aroma of cardamom. And cloves. Saffron”.

[Leap through the pages Coffee and Commentary · Rating 3 out of 5]

"Why did you keep at it so long? Did you believe that if you wrote about Syrian refugees the world would look at them differently? Did you hope that readers would empathize? Inhabit a refugee's skin for a few hours? As if that were some kind of panacea."
🔭🌊🍊
A compelling account of displacement, identity, illness, and what it means to be an advocate. The Wrong End of the Telescope offers an authentic, raw glimpse into the refugee crisis; it delves into the deep pains of displacement, separation from a familiar environment, home, language, the sacrifice of finding safety, what safety means in an ever-changing, hyper-aggressive world, and the misinformation and intolerance directed towards those seeking shelter. Featuring a cast of complex characters, this novel is a graceful yet firm affirmation of the need for not just for global compassion, but global action. A resilient and challenging reminder that each refugee is not just a number in philanthropy or a piece in a political debate, but a person with a name, a past, a family, a future with so many possibilities.

[charlotte, · Rating 4 out of 5]

Rep: Lebanese-Syrian trans lesbian mc, Haitian lesbian li, trans side character, Lebanese gay side character, Palestinian gay side character, Syrian side characters

CWs: transphobia, torture, implied rape, violence

[Royce · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rabih Almeddine has created another beautiful narrator/heroine in Mina Simpson, a Lebanese-American trans doctor who, at the request of a friend, volunteers on the island of Lesbos, assisting refugees arriving in boats from Syria, and other parts of the Middle East, attempting to emigrate to Western European countries. R.A. eloquently and with such depth describes Mina, the reader feels as though she is in Mina’s mind. I cannot adequately describe how well Rabih does this, but he is such an incredible writer, using the finest and most eloquent prose, the story jumps from the pages. He details Mina’s journey from Lebanon to her time in college and medical school in the United States. She transforms into the person she is now. I never imagined R.A. could write another female narrator so beautifully as he had in an Unnecessary Woman, but he did. Early in this novel, he refers to the female narrator, Aaliya, the “Unneccesary Woman,” in his novel, “An Unnecessary Woman,”in such a humorously delicious way for those who have read this novel.I found it quite entertaining how he inserted it into the story.
Also, I must mention that R.A. should win an award for the best titles of chapters in a novel. Each title is better than the preceding one. Some, like “What to Ask at a Book Reading,” or “You Almost Ran into Me, Mr. Crazypants,”are quite funny.
I highly recommend this relevant and poignant, beautiful and entertaining novel because of what Rabih Almadinne writes and the incredible way in which he masterfully writes.

[Gary · Rating 3 out of 5]

This is a ramshackle book. Fundamentally, it is about the refugee/migrant experience. It takes you inside the camps and inside the lives of a number of Middle East migrants, mostly who have made their way to the Greek island of Lesbos enroute to some other country. You meet some fascinating characters along the way, including a Lebanese-American female trans doctor and a host of vignettes about life in Syria, Lebanon, and elsewhere. The author himself winds in and out of the story, mostly staying out of sight. The short vignettes are often very well written -- this is, after all, by the author of The Hakawati and An Unnecessary Woman, both of which are small masterpieces. But Alameddine is also capable of sloppy, digressive, and self-indulgent writing, and that is also well represented here. If you are interested in probing beneath the surface of the migrant crisis to the human core beyond the headlines, this is a good place to start. The author had a lot of information and stories to tell, but this grab bag does not do them justice as a novel.

[Stoic Reader · Rating 4 out of 5]

✨️ In one of his interviews about this book, author Rabih Alamedinne said that the story is really simple: "it's this family who's had  disaster and they're migrating and this person is trying to help. That story has been written many, many times. So what makes it different? The current situation. We're in this situation with all these migrants coming from the third world."

Told in short chapters, "The Wrong End of the Telescope" weaves a compelling narrative, skillfully blending cynicism and hope. There's so much happening that you have to look at it in piecemeal but at its heart is Mina Simpson, a transgender Lebanese doctor embarking on a journey to volunteer at the renowned Moria refugee camp in Lesbos, Greece. As the story unfolds, a boat arrives, carrying a terminally ill Syrian mother and her family. With limited resources, Mina grapples with the challenge, delving into the migrants' displacement and reflecting on her own constraints and motivations. This novel asks simple yet profound questions: What is helping really about? How much would you do to make a difference in tough situations? What does true kindness mean? And, how can one live as human being and not be angry at so many cruel things happening?

The Wrong End of the Telescope by Rabih Alameddine is a collection of funny, devastating, unsettling and absurd moments but  still finds that little joys of living and teaches us that some things are salvagaeble, that even if there's no hope - there is hope. 👊💥

[Dona van Eeden · Rating 5 out of 5]

Another one for the favourites shelf.

The characters you meet in this book are vibrant, unexpected and real:
There's the main character, Mina, an American surgeon who goes to Lesbos to help with the refugees arriving on the island. Every few chapters pieces of her past is illuminated to us, and we get to know her struggles with her family - how they cast her out and denied her existence as a woman; her wife; her denial and final acceptance of who she is; and how she sees the world.
Mina's brother, Mazen, is a ray of sunlight in this book even though he seems to play a minor role. He is witty and conversational and optimistic even at the worst of times.
Sumaiya, who drove me to tears and showed me the strength of a woman who is fighting for her family's health, safety and happiness. With her vicious strong will and sarcastic quips you can see she is a force to be reckoned with (as many women in this book are). But her vulnerability shines through and breaks your heart into pieces. Her doting husband, Sammy, is an ever present but rarely noticed shadow at her side. Theirs is a story of true, devoted love.

There are so many other amazing characters. One of which is also a main character, addressed by Mina throughout the book. He is a writer (a stand-in for the author himself), a person who sees the stories in people, and he shines a harsh light on the breaking points we reach in our lives - how unexpected and confusing it can be. “What breaks us is rarely what we expect.”

The writing in this novel is witty and poetic and moving, none of it feels like a cliche as it covers many of the social issues we face in our society. Alamedinne gives an unflinching view of the refugee crisis and is unafraid to dive into the psyches of those who show up to volunteer at refugee centers.

So many themes are covered in this book, I don't know where to stop or where to end. There is the futility of trying to do good, empathy and altruism as acts of self-servitude, the bonds of blood and language and nationality, loss, grief and senselessness. This is by no means a book that is just sad or angry - it contains love and humour and connection all in the same thread. It will make you do some introspection, look at the world through a different lense, make you laugh and cry. It is a must read!

Some fave quotes:

"Dust motes wandered aimlessly through the air as if on a mild narcotic."

"In spite of quite a bit of evidence to the contrary, I like to think of the world as kind, of humanity as decent if flawed, my misinterpretation of the just-world fallacy. I like to think we humans try to do the right thing."

"Pete Jones had a generic name, a unique story, and a disarming smile."

"He began to understand that he was using the pain of others to alleviate his own." "...he was using the suffering of poor villagers to satisfy his sentimental needs. He needed them to suffer, he told me, in order to feel needed, in order to reinforce his privilege."

Now I just really want to read it again.

[Kim Lockhart · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was surprised at how thoughtful this narrative turned out to be. At first, I expected the story of a Lebanese Lesbian doctor on the island of Lesbos to be unserious, but I was wrong. This solid view, as the title suggests, represents the perspective of the ones being viewed, looking back at those who are far removed from their plight.

There will be a reckoning soon, for the failure of all governments to address the moral and practical logistics of refugee resettlement. With Climate Change, we can expect unprecedented surges in migration, on top of already high numbers of persons fleeing war, rampant crime, violence, repressive regimes, etc.

The author writes in a style which mimics natural memory: a mix of places, timelines, and short vignettes. The protagonists are themselves all outsiders in one way or another, adding a reflective layer to the story of shared experience.

[Old Man JP · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is my second book by Rabih Alameddine and both have been exceptional. In both books he wrote incredible protagonists. Probably, one of my all time favorites was, Aaliya, in Unnecessary Woman and in this book he wrote a close second, Mina. Mina is one of the most interesting characters I've read in a book. She is a physician who is a trans woman in a long term lesbian relationship, married to her wife Francine. Mina has been called by another physician, also a trans woman but in a heterosexual relationship, to come to Lesbos, the place she is from and had left thirty years before, to assist in caring for Syrian refugees who have escaped from the war. With these characters, Alameddine was then able to weave a fascinating book. Another interesting aspect of the book is Alameddine including himself into the story, referring to himself as you. Rabih Alameddine is definitely a writer I will be reading more of.

[Cherise Wolas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Engaging, unsettling, irreverent, and often funny, which one does not expect in a novel about the refugee crisis. Sent up are the disaster tourists, volunteers taking selfies with the refugees, the journalists with their self-regard. There are elements of autobiography as well - in what we learn about the unnamed writer who has been unable to write his own book on the refugee crisis, who arrives in Lesbos and holes up in his hotel room unable to face what he is seeing. The viewpoint belongs to Dr. Mina Simpson, a Lebanese-born American surgeon and trans woman in her 50s who lives with her wife in Chicago. It has been decades since she's been back to the Middle East since leaving home for Harvard, since her family cut ties to her, except, eventually, for her favorite brother, the delighful and sweet Mazan. When Mina's friend, Emma, a trans nurse who works for a Swedish NGO calls and says her medical expertise would be helpful at the Moira refugee camp, Mina goes. The novel interweaves Mina's story, her telling of the unnamed writer's story, and those of the refugees, who are given their own voices, their stories told plainly, complexly, and without sentimentality.

[Luke · Rating 4 out of 5]

4.5/5

Insanity is the insistence on meaning.

This work is a heartbeat away from getting five stars from me. That heartbeat is part of what I am trying to puzzle through through writing this review. It's certainly easy to pick out the positives: a masterfully queer holism, an achingly relevant plotline, the fact that, if you zero in on the English portions of the script covering my edition's front cover, you can just pick out 'no borders, no nations' written over and over and over again. It wasn't as if this was in any way a comfortable read, but to read it was a comfort, in that it was taking 21st century realities and transforming them into literature without hiding behind convoluted emptiness or playing up oppressive grotesqueries as so many pieces tend to do these days. The tongue-in-cheek advice said to the authorial self-insert may have something to do with it (I'll leave it to you to discover what exactly this 'voyeur within a voyeur within a voyeur' metatextual tool consists of), as while there was much unknown for me to gratefully sink my brain in as small reprieve from my home country's cultural hegemony, there was no real moment where I felt myself drowned and raised back from the dead. Still, this was a wildly more successful read than my six-years-ago introduction to this author could've made me assume, and I'm glad that, upon reading the summary, my soul seized the lapels of my brain and didn't let go till I had the book in my hands.

We live in an age where to be born on certain sides of certain borders is a criminal sentence. Born in the wrong zip code, born in the wrong country turned fascist in reaction to disaster capitalism, born in the wrong body in the land of the free so long as you contort yourself along the shifting sands of the 'male' and the 'female', the never feel and the all feel. To read literature written in English is to view the world from one of those Powers that Be that have shaped these colonial garrotings in one way or another for the last half a millennium, so to get even the half measure of any and all of these is to discover a grain in the desert of a grain of sand. And then, to find a tale that doesn't offer any easy answers, but feels real and honest and sick to death of certain bodies/cultures/languages only being allowed to exist if they're deemed 'marketable' enough by those who deem it their god-given right to market others. It's not the cut and dried revolution sold to many a teen reader, or the post-apocalypse sold to many a disillusioned middle-ager, or even the status quo titillation that keeps seniors too scared to venture beyond their Occidental-stronghold of a sidewalk-less neighborhood just in case they run into someone who isn't white. Instead, it's the tale of a handful of people crossing certain borders and finding love on the other side of them, but also learning to recognize that, the fact that they were not punished for their efforts doesn't mean that they should have been forced to do so in the first place, whether through fleeing civil war or escaping bigotry or inhabiting other forms of, lucky enough to move into survival, unlucky enough to perish if stopped. It's a tale of community that is stronger for its differences, but only after doing the hard work of earning one another's trust in the constantly evolving fashion of a true partnership, not just slapping the band aid of a religious (aka convert or starve) organization or a marginalized bilingual or some other non-equitable form of 'diversity' onto the platform and putting a fresh one on whenever the old one burns out. If this were your conventional tale, some all consuming disaster would throw the efforts of all the characters out the window, and suddenly everyone would revert to the first-world sanctioned practices of worshipping at the altars of capitalism/Moloch because, after all, throwing the less fortunate under the bus in the most legal/cost-effective manner will always be the only way of 'getting ahead.' As it is not, I'm rather surprised the average rating is as high it is. Then again, the kind of reader likely to read this may just be as tired of all the previously described as I am. Perhaps they, too, seek signs of a better tomorrow, where money is a quaint nonentity and you are judged not on how well you don't rock the boat at your stage of the pyramid, but how willing you are to communicate and then help; in other words, put the person before the profit, something my country would rather destroy itself than do.

I've spending chunks of my time today perusing various social medias and blocking fearmongers who would be terrorists if there was any way they could lazily get away with it. Their main weapon of choice? The conflation between certain character traits and being a predator, sometimes of the larceny or power-grabbing kind but more often than not zeroing in the sexual in reference to some sacrosanct of the week, which in a neo-puritan homeland like mine will always be a molotov thrown on a gas leak. In terms of the sacrosanct, we have the virginal WASP woman, the (white) children, and in this book, we have the 2015-2016 mass sexual assaults of women in Germany. To this day, folks are arguing in the Wikipedia talk section about whether the article for the incident needs to be more or less specific in regards to the projected non-white ethnicities of the attackers, and all I can think about is how this wielding of racialized hysteria will forever play out so long as economics is predicated on white men 'saving' white women from Black/brown men. As for the rest of us, I think about unions, mutual aid groups, global communities, and what it would mean to truly work for the freedom of all, rather than the individual freedom to possibly attain the state of being able to acquire anything one wants for a price. Perhaps then we wouldn't be so prone to be divided and conquered by the inevitable consequences of the world being sold to the highest bidder. Perhaps then we could have life alongside of death in all their natural resolutions and beautiful transformations, instead of constant shock and awe that alienates folks from their needs and leaves them ripe to be preyed upon by the panopticon. Perhaps, then, we would notice when we were being sunken into hatred, and have the communal means to turn towards the light instead.

I lost everything a long time ago, and I will outlive them all.

I don't think I ever really figured out where that final star ended up going. May need to read more Alameddine to discover that.