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Babylon, Albion: A Personal History of Myth and Migration
Whoever said nature is still has not borne witness to the migration of the seasons.
In this lyrical enquiry, Dalia Al-Dujaili considers what it means to belong in your land. She traces the rich heritage of the earth beneath our feet and the wildlife that call it home – from the oak tree and date palm to fairytale creatures, such as dragons, unicorns and the ancient Lamassu. Weaving together Arab and Islamic mythology with the English and Christian pastoral, Al-Dujaili unmasks the communal lush, familiar and, at times, dark places we share.
A love song to Britain, Iraq and the body of earth we hold in common, Babylon, Albion is a compelling re-imagining of what it means to be native.
In this lyrical enquiry, Dalia Al-Dujaili considers what it means to belong in your land. She traces the rich heritage of the earth beneath our feet and the wildlife that call it home – from the oak tree and date palm to fairytale creatures, such as dragons, unicorns and the ancient Lamassu. Weaving together Arab and Islamic mythology with the English and Christian pastoral, Al-Dujaili unmasks the communal lush, familiar and, at times, dark places we share.
A love song to Britain, Iraq and the body of earth we hold in common, Babylon, Albion is a compelling re-imagining of what it means to be native.
- GenresNonfictionMemoirHistory
160 pages, Hardcover
Published May 25, 2025
19 people are currently reading
360 people want to read
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
July 6, 2025
A nourishing reading experience drawing parallels between human migration and the natural world.
As a British-born woman to Iraqi migrant parents, Dalia Al-Dujaili has grown up in Britain (Albion) whilst hearing tales of ancestry and mythology from her parents’ homeland of Iraq (Babylon). She makes beautiful comparisons between the migration of people that has always occurred with the movements of nature: from rivers carrying seeds and carving their way through landscapes, to trees and the safety and nurture that they provide for others.
The writing is really beautiful, often very funny, or stark with its warnings about climate change. It’s deeply personal and the love for her family, her relationship with both Britain and Iraq, and her utmost respect for nature make for a brilliant reading experience.
As a British-born woman to Iraqi migrant parents, Dalia Al-Dujaili has grown up in Britain (Albion) whilst hearing tales of ancestry and mythology from her parents’ homeland of Iraq (Babylon). She makes beautiful comparisons between the migration of people that has always occurred with the movements of nature: from rivers carrying seeds and carving their way through landscapes, to trees and the safety and nurture that they provide for others.
The writing is really beautiful, often very funny, or stark with its warnings about climate change. It’s deeply personal and the love for her family, her relationship with both Britain and Iraq, and her utmost respect for nature make for a brilliant reading experience.
July 10, 2025
A love letter to the cradle of civilisation: Surrey.
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Only realised upon discussion how much I enjoyed the positive neutrality of the author’s reflections on both the past and present. Rather than the more common themes (at least from my readings) in diasporic fiction/non-fiction of romanticising one place and having escaped or wishing to escape the other, it makes me feel very positive about our ability to find connections between old and new, no matter where we are.
Admittedly, this (and overall pleas to positive neutrality) are a privileged view of migration, that cannot always hold true, but I could use the hope right now.
-
Shoutout to the 2013 rubber duck race at Bolton Abbey that I thought I had dreamt up but did in fact happen and was probably awful for local wildlife 🦆
-
Only realised upon discussion how much I enjoyed the positive neutrality of the author’s reflections on both the past and present. Rather than the more common themes (at least from my readings) in diasporic fiction/non-fiction of romanticising one place and having escaped or wishing to escape the other, it makes me feel very positive about our ability to find connections between old and new, no matter where we are.
Admittedly, this (and overall pleas to positive neutrality) are a privileged view of migration, that cannot always hold true, but I could use the hope right now.
-
Shoutout to the 2013 rubber duck race at Bolton Abbey that I thought I had dreamt up but did in fact happen and was probably awful for local wildlife 🦆
July 1, 2025
Obsessed 🧚
June 11, 2025
Dalia captured the identity crisis of being Arab and living in the diaspora perfectly. I loved the connection of nature and migration and what it means to belong in a land. A must read!!
June 12, 2025
Sublime… a profound manifestation of lived experiences, resulting in a lyrical assemblage I couldn’t put down. Really excited to see what the Author shares with us next!
December 31, 2025
cok cok cok etkileyici bi yazim, ozellikle surekli politik ya sosyolojik bi yerden goc ogrenmis biri olarak siir gibi bi dil gormek gercekten iyi geliyor bana bile bir okuyucu olarak ama cok romantize edilince de sahiciligini yitiriyor, bu kisi ingilterede dogmus ailesi irakli, boyle dili sey gibi, all lives matter gibi bi hissi var, tamam ingiltere ve irak'in birbirini anlayabilecekleri bir kulturu olabilir de konumuz hic o ortaklik degil ki, o baglamda kalbimi acamadim bu kitaba
June 16, 2025
‘We do not inherently belong to something, we create belonging.’
This is my favourite line from Babylon, Albion, and perhaps the one that I feel captures the spirit of Dalia’s exploration/message best.
The book is an important insight into identity, belonging, (Iraqi) diaspora, and ecology. Dalia examines her Iraqi heritage and British birth (and heritage), with a blend of criticism and appreciation that, in the case of Britishness, presented things that were familiar to me in a new and prettier light; and shone a light on other things that I did not know, or know the full extent of.
The book feels appreciative. Without overlooking the other very important qualities of it, I feel that that is one of its more unique ones, and one that might be a tool as we move forward with this conversation(s). Balancing the themes of this book could not have been easy, especially without digressing; but Dalia does it well, and with measured sobriety.
My favourite chapter was ‘Common ground’ and Dalia’s inspection into what makes something ‘invasive’. But throughout the book, Dalia bridges an interesting and important connection between racism, migration, British colonialism and imperialism, racism, the fashioning of borders as part of this ruling and the fashioning of borders in our own country with private land ownership—and nature, which acts as the important link between it all.
I hope Dalia continues this line of thought in the future. This book felt like an important beginning in many ways. There were points where I felt like saying ‘Keep going! Talk your shit!’ But I know that that would’ve strayed from the book’s central theme and accessibility, which I found its most impressive feat. It’s a perfect introduction into ‘ecological thought’, whilst simultaneously being so much more than just that. The importance of this accessibility can not be overstated: aside from the existential and moral importance for people to adopt more environmentally friendly habits and views, much of the literature (that I’ve at least read) on ecological thought has been complex and quite academic. That has its own important place, but we also need works that bridge that gap. Dalia does that brilliantly, I think. And that is without me even mentioning the racial, social, geographic and economic factors that exist in ecological discourse and which Dalia also bridges. I am reminded of a section which I particularly resonated with, and which I think is extremely relevant here:
'As a child in the countryside, my peers knew the names of many trees and flowers, while I - raised by parents whose native tongue is not English - simply knew these things as trees and flowers and could only identify them by their colour or the way they smelt. Even whilst writing this book, I have had to look up trees such as the birch, elder, hawthorn and (let me Google another) ash.
I may not carry much knowledge about many trees or plants or birds, but I do carry a wisdom of them. I know that the short tree with the slender trunk in my garden with the spiky-edged leaves will turn completely red in late September. I know that it will start to drop its helicopter-shaped seeds which we will play with, throwing them in the air and watching their translucent wings spin on the air toward the ground like tiny angels. I do not know the name of the small bird that sits on my table outside the museum I'm visiting in early spring but I know that he travels in a pack because he and his friends compete for the crumbs of my blueberry muffin. I know that he has a fluffy coat of mousy brown feathers and beady eyes, a big round belly and a curious head that jerks and turns every few seconds, trying to take in the big world around him.'
(This is my first time reviewing anything—I don’t even give things ratings usually—so please take it as a rough and roundabout way of saying that I think you should read this book.)
This is my favourite line from Babylon, Albion, and perhaps the one that I feel captures the spirit of Dalia’s exploration/message best.
The book is an important insight into identity, belonging, (Iraqi) diaspora, and ecology. Dalia examines her Iraqi heritage and British birth (and heritage), with a blend of criticism and appreciation that, in the case of Britishness, presented things that were familiar to me in a new and prettier light; and shone a light on other things that I did not know, or know the full extent of.
The book feels appreciative. Without overlooking the other very important qualities of it, I feel that that is one of its more unique ones, and one that might be a tool as we move forward with this conversation(s). Balancing the themes of this book could not have been easy, especially without digressing; but Dalia does it well, and with measured sobriety.
My favourite chapter was ‘Common ground’ and Dalia’s inspection into what makes something ‘invasive’. But throughout the book, Dalia bridges an interesting and important connection between racism, migration, British colonialism and imperialism, racism, the fashioning of borders as part of this ruling and the fashioning of borders in our own country with private land ownership—and nature, which acts as the important link between it all.
I hope Dalia continues this line of thought in the future. This book felt like an important beginning in many ways. There were points where I felt like saying ‘Keep going! Talk your shit!’ But I know that that would’ve strayed from the book’s central theme and accessibility, which I found its most impressive feat. It’s a perfect introduction into ‘ecological thought’, whilst simultaneously being so much more than just that. The importance of this accessibility can not be overstated: aside from the existential and moral importance for people to adopt more environmentally friendly habits and views, much of the literature (that I’ve at least read) on ecological thought has been complex and quite academic. That has its own important place, but we also need works that bridge that gap. Dalia does that brilliantly, I think. And that is without me even mentioning the racial, social, geographic and economic factors that exist in ecological discourse and which Dalia also bridges. I am reminded of a section which I particularly resonated with, and which I think is extremely relevant here:
'As a child in the countryside, my peers knew the names of many trees and flowers, while I - raised by parents whose native tongue is not English - simply knew these things as trees and flowers and could only identify them by their colour or the way they smelt. Even whilst writing this book, I have had to look up trees such as the birch, elder, hawthorn and (let me Google another) ash.
I may not carry much knowledge about many trees or plants or birds, but I do carry a wisdom of them. I know that the short tree with the slender trunk in my garden with the spiky-edged leaves will turn completely red in late September. I know that it will start to drop its helicopter-shaped seeds which we will play with, throwing them in the air and watching their translucent wings spin on the air toward the ground like tiny angels. I do not know the name of the small bird that sits on my table outside the museum I'm visiting in early spring but I know that he travels in a pack because he and his friends compete for the crumbs of my blueberry muffin. I know that he has a fluffy coat of mousy brown feathers and beady eyes, a big round belly and a curious head that jerks and turns every few seconds, trying to take in the big world around him.'
(This is my first time reviewing anything—I don’t even give things ratings usually—so please take it as a rough and roundabout way of saying that I think you should read this book.)
August 10, 2025
Book Review: Babylon, Albion: A Personal History of Myth and Migration
Rating: 4.7/5
Dalia Al-Dujaili’s Babylon, Albion is a lyrical, genre-defying meditation on belonging that stitches together the mythologies of Iraq and Britain with the thread of personal memory. Blending nature writing, cultural history, and memoir, Al-Dujaili crafts a tapestry as lush as the marshes she describes and as sharp as the pebbles of Brighton Beach.
Strengths & Emotional Resonance
Al-Dujaili’s prose is a revelation—fluid as converging rivers (her metaphor for the Tigris, Euphrates, and Nile within her) yet precise in its excavation of identity. Her juxtaposition of Islamic and Christian mythologies—date palms and oak trees, Iraqi marshes and Loch Ness—feels both daring and organic, challenging colonial binaries of native and foreign. The chapter on Brighton Beach, where she recalls her mother’s 99p Flake ice cream, is particularly poignant; it distills migration’s paradoxes into a single sensory moment, blending nostalgia with displacement.
As a reader, I was struck by her ability to weave scholarly references (from Arab poets to English pastoralists) into intimate vignettes. Her critique of static notions of nature—Whoever said nature is still has not borne witness to the migration of the seasons—resonates deeply in an era of climate crisis and border politics. The book’s urgency lies in its refusal to romanticize either homeland, instead honoring their complexities.
Constructive Criticism
At 160 pages, the book’s brevity occasionally leaves threads underdeveloped. A deeper exploration of Islamic ecological traditions (e.g., himā protected zones) could have enriched her argument about shared land stewardship. Additionally, while her lyrical style is immersive, some transitions between myth and memoir feel abrupt, risking disorientation for readers unfamiliar with Mesopotamian lore.
How I would describe this book:
- A masterpiece of migratory storytelling—where myth and memory flow like converging rivers.
- Al-Dujaili doesn’t just write about land; she makes it breathe, bleed, and belong.
- An antidote to nativist narratives—proof that roots can be both deep and divergent.
Personalized Remarks & Gratitude
Reading Babylon, Albion felt like walking a borderless map, where every sentence unearthed a new layer of my own hybrid identity. Al-Dujaili’s voice is a compass for anyone who’s ever felt an ancient land inside them. Thank you to Edelweiss and Saqi Books for the advance copy; this is a work that will ripple through discussions of belonging for years to come.
Final Verdict: 4.7/5 — A luminous, necessary reimagining of home and heritage. Pre-order it, then read it slowly, like savoring a 99p Flake by the shore.
Rating: 4.7/5
Dalia Al-Dujaili’s Babylon, Albion is a lyrical, genre-defying meditation on belonging that stitches together the mythologies of Iraq and Britain with the thread of personal memory. Blending nature writing, cultural history, and memoir, Al-Dujaili crafts a tapestry as lush as the marshes she describes and as sharp as the pebbles of Brighton Beach.
Strengths & Emotional Resonance
Al-Dujaili’s prose is a revelation—fluid as converging rivers (her metaphor for the Tigris, Euphrates, and Nile within her) yet precise in its excavation of identity. Her juxtaposition of Islamic and Christian mythologies—date palms and oak trees, Iraqi marshes and Loch Ness—feels both daring and organic, challenging colonial binaries of native and foreign. The chapter on Brighton Beach, where she recalls her mother’s 99p Flake ice cream, is particularly poignant; it distills migration’s paradoxes into a single sensory moment, blending nostalgia with displacement.
As a reader, I was struck by her ability to weave scholarly references (from Arab poets to English pastoralists) into intimate vignettes. Her critique of static notions of nature—Whoever said nature is still has not borne witness to the migration of the seasons—resonates deeply in an era of climate crisis and border politics. The book’s urgency lies in its refusal to romanticize either homeland, instead honoring their complexities.
Constructive Criticism
At 160 pages, the book’s brevity occasionally leaves threads underdeveloped. A deeper exploration of Islamic ecological traditions (e.g., himā protected zones) could have enriched her argument about shared land stewardship. Additionally, while her lyrical style is immersive, some transitions between myth and memoir feel abrupt, risking disorientation for readers unfamiliar with Mesopotamian lore.
How I would describe this book:
- A masterpiece of migratory storytelling—where myth and memory flow like converging rivers.
- Al-Dujaili doesn’t just write about land; she makes it breathe, bleed, and belong.
- An antidote to nativist narratives—proof that roots can be both deep and divergent.
Personalized Remarks & Gratitude
Reading Babylon, Albion felt like walking a borderless map, where every sentence unearthed a new layer of my own hybrid identity. Al-Dujaili’s voice is a compass for anyone who’s ever felt an ancient land inside them. Thank you to Edelweiss and Saqi Books for the advance copy; this is a work that will ripple through discussions of belonging for years to come.
Final Verdict: 4.7/5 — A luminous, necessary reimagining of home and heritage. Pre-order it, then read it slowly, like savoring a 99p Flake by the shore.
January 15, 2026
‘Folklore and its historic associations can also be regressive, rather than progressive. Such as the legend of St George who slaughtered a dragon, became the patron saint of England and gave himself to England’s white and red flag. Though St George was half Palestinian and born in modern-day Turkey and in fact never set foot in England, the flag makes an appearance at any right-wing protest, often used by fringe groups with a ‘go back to where you came from’ mentality. (…).
When our national symbols and founding stories are based on imported myths, it calls into question what our understanding of ‘national’ means and confuses our belief systems about who, or what, belongs where.’
‘The divvying up of land for private use or exploitation is nothing new. From the British Mandate of Iraq to partition in India and Pakistan, or closer to home, with the English sectioning of Ireland, we see the ideology that interrupts our relationship with land. The majority of those who own vast acres of land in the United Kingdom – sometimes big enough to contain properties, woodlands, lakes and paths – have direct links to colonial projects around the world, from the East India Company to weapons manufacturers and army training bases. The borders which those in power imagine and impose for their own benefits do not end in the Global South, but are imposed at home too, on British soil to separate commoner from gentry.’
‘The changing climate and landscapes of today, fuelled by the ongoing extraction of resources from the land, has caused a mass-refugee exodus among the animal kingdom. In 2022, of 4.000 land mammals studied, half were on the move, such as the endangered Persian leopard of Iraqi Kurdistan and Britain’s foxes and hedgehogs. Many of the species who are unable to migrate may perish in the not-too-distant future, if they are unable to adept. The deconstruction of ideas around native and invasive species coupled with the movement of animals towards more promising climates begs us to ask what the difference is between a refugee species and an invasive one. If native species can and should move as they require, then what ideas about indigeneity are we trying to preserve?’
When our national symbols and founding stories are based on imported myths, it calls into question what our understanding of ‘national’ means and confuses our belief systems about who, or what, belongs where.’
‘The divvying up of land for private use or exploitation is nothing new. From the British Mandate of Iraq to partition in India and Pakistan, or closer to home, with the English sectioning of Ireland, we see the ideology that interrupts our relationship with land. The majority of those who own vast acres of land in the United Kingdom – sometimes big enough to contain properties, woodlands, lakes and paths – have direct links to colonial projects around the world, from the East India Company to weapons manufacturers and army training bases. The borders which those in power imagine and impose for their own benefits do not end in the Global South, but are imposed at home too, on British soil to separate commoner from gentry.’
‘The changing climate and landscapes of today, fuelled by the ongoing extraction of resources from the land, has caused a mass-refugee exodus among the animal kingdom. In 2022, of 4.000 land mammals studied, half were on the move, such as the endangered Persian leopard of Iraqi Kurdistan and Britain’s foxes and hedgehogs. Many of the species who are unable to migrate may perish in the not-too-distant future, if they are unable to adept. The deconstruction of ideas around native and invasive species coupled with the movement of animals towards more promising climates begs us to ask what the difference is between a refugee species and an invasive one. If native species can and should move as they require, then what ideas about indigeneity are we trying to preserve?’
November 3, 2025
More like 3.5 stars, but I found it very interesting and mostly engaging throughout. Al-Dujaili writes beautifully of her personal geographies, the descriptions are stunning, and you always learn a little bit. It's only a bit all over the place, which may make it harder for some readers to enjoy, but so is her family history, spread across many places, so that does make sense to me. I liked it!
July 16, 2025
Absolutely stunning. Transportive and poetic.
September 24, 2025
Like having a conversation with a friend - a beautiful blend of interests, life story, hopes and fears
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews