My Dreadful Body

by Egana Djabbarova, Lisa C. Hayden (Translator), Egana Dzhabbarova

A dazzling debut novel about a young woman's vexed coming of age in a traditional Azerbaijani community in Russia, grappling under the weight of Muslim patriarchal norms and a debilitating neurological condition.

The mysterious affliction leaves her unable to control her muscles, plagued by pain and speech disorders, defying diagnosis. Addressing each body part with the scrupulousness of a medical researcher, the narrator explores memories, traditions, and taboos related to her physical self. In the process, a woman once destined for the role of a beautiful marriageable daughter comes to be perceived as damaged goods. With verbal elegance and poetic power, Egana Djabbarova unveils a hidden world in which illness unexpectedly facilitates her liberation.

Genres: Fiction, Russia, Feminism, Literary Fiction, Russian Literature, Disability, Coming Of Age

144 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2023

Reviews

[lark benobi · Rating 5 out of 5]

“The primary event in the life of any young Azerbaijani woman, after all, is her wedding,” the narrator of My Dreadful Body declares on the first page of this gripping, vivid novel. What follows is both a lament and a celebration of how her body both binds her to Azerbaijani tradition, and frees her from it. Djabbarova’s novel effortlessly soars from the most intimate and minute observations of what the narrator feels and observes, as one woman trapped in a body with a mysterious and painful illness, to broad historical and social critique. Lisa Hayden's translation is so smooth, so wonderful. Even the word "dreadful" in the title has a certain perfection in it. Such a feminine word when compared with the English alternatives. From the title onward, it's really something. Every word matters. Every word felt perfect.

[Marcus (Lit_Laugh_Luv) · Rating 5 out of 5]

It's no secret I'm stingy with my five-star ratings, but My Dreadful Body is so deserving of it. Told in eleven chapters, each focused on a particular body part, Djabbarova sheds light on the intersection of beauty standards, the patriarchal culture of Azerbaijan, and life with chronic pain and disability.

This was the first full-length book I've read that centred on Azerbaijani culture, and it was a welcome addition to my library. Our relationship to our body is explored in so many different facets. For our narrator, her skin tone and heritage are a source of lifelong racism and xenophobia in Russia. Her dystonia diagnosis helps validate and label the source of her chronic pain. Her existence as a woman is intrinsically tied to the mistreatment and systemic misogyny she grew up with. Even basic accommodations like mobility devices are frowned upon by her family as it jeopardizes the future they prescribe to her: allow a husband to pick you, get married, and bear his children. The eleven chapters help frame her lived experience with disability and emphasize the different symptoms and consequences of her disease progression.

At the same time, the cultural lens is a welcome perspective because it recontextualizes her disability as a source of power and liberation. No longer can it be perpetually commodified and weaponized against her. Ironically, her disability forces society to finally acknowledge her and not treat her like an invisible entity. The book is both a tribute and a funeral: how do you mourn something that was never allowed to be yours?

Djabbarova explores the body as a connection to the generations that came before us, and sheds light on the very real, intersectional lived experiences of bodies that do not fit societal norms. In a short page count and stunning prose (I underlined half the book), both Egana Djabbarova and Lisa Hayden work together to create a heartfelt and memorable story I devoured.

Thank you to New Vessel Press for the ARC! This is available on Edelweiss with auto-approval, so I highly recommend you pick this up!

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[Richard Derus · Rating 5 out of 5]

On the 2026 Longlist for the National Book Award for Translated Literature. Finalists revealed October 2026.

Rating: 5* of five

The Publisher Says: A dazzling debut novel about a young woman's vexed coming of age in a traditional Azerbaijani community in Russia, grappling under the weight of Muslim patriarchal norms and a debilitating neurological condition.

The mysterious affliction leaves her unable to control her muscles, plagued by pain and speech disorders, defying diagnosis. Addressing each body part with the scrupulousness of a medical researcher, the narrator explores memories, traditions, and taboos related to her physical self. In the process, a woman once destined for the role of a beautiful marriageable daughter comes to be perceived as damaged goods.

With verbal elegance and poetic power, Egana Djabbarova unveils a hidden world in which illness unexpectedly facilitates her liberation.

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

My Review: Poetically laconic, elegantly simple, maximally affecting prose telling a woman's life of contradictions in identity. For a woman in Azeri culture, her body defines her. It is female therefore these are her options, this set of rules apply to her. Then along comes Egana, like the author's name...probably like the author. She yearns not to be defined by her body, and paradoxically freed by having a woman's body defined by a painful, disabling illness called dystonia blends both those realities.

Eleven body parts define the course of this narrative, under 150pp in length, and still eternal. It's Egana coming to terms with patriarchy and its religious, its community, its intimate controls over women. This is a fierce and outraged shout in the face of a god and a culture that insists femaleness has no agency, can only exist in relation, in submission, to masculine needs and wants. Egana doesn't shout her rage, she trumpets her horrible escape from the unkind fate of a life spent in drudgery and servitude...a decidedly mixed blessing, but a blessing she catalogs in careful, intimate detail. This is what makes this read so different from US feminist fiction: It prescribes no path to follow, defines no road not taken or taken by stricture. Egana has no say in her desirable opting-out from Womanhood's duties as prescribed by her culture. It was wished on her by a bodily dysfunction, a painful affliction; but it serves as a space separate from her culture's expectations so is a vantage point from which to observe the power of normative expectation. It is a meditation and an examination, not a prescription for others to follow.

Possibly the most powerful strand in the tight, compact story for my disabled-by-pain self was not related to that shared experience but the equally defining quality of being in a cultural diaspora. A Muslim and an Azeri in Russia, the colonial power that defined her family's country's course in the modern world telling the story of her intimate estrangement from that community was perhaps the least expected source of empathy and pathos in my read of the story. I felt as though I was fully in Egana's life when I realized how alienated from her Othered cultural reality...doubly, triply Othered by religion, sex, and culture.

It's astonishing how deep this experience of identification was as I considered my own alienation from US culture with its youth-worship, its heteronormativity, its serious lack of interest in including the disabled or the chronically ill. It lifted the read into five-star territory because it managed this feat without once telling me how terrible Egana's fate was. I got to experience her life with her, in her words, grounded in her own body...each discussed part of which I also possess. Nothing in Egana's "dreadful" body is unique to femaleness. It is female because she is a woman. It is discussed as a woman's body in relation to every other cultural reality only because she is a woman.

If you can think of a better way to point up the sheer idiocy of misogyny, its illogic and its sadism, I encourage you strongly to write about it. You'll be a bestseller in no time at all.

As My Dreadful Body should be.

[Valentina Vekovishcheva · Rating 5 out of 5]

Автофикшен меня одновременно привлекает и отталкивает: привлекает откровенность, попытка автора понять себя, погружение в историю своей жизни и своей семьи, весь кокон мыслей и смыслов, который неотделим от чисто сюжетного ядра истории. Пугает надрыв, обида, травмирующий опыт, а еще откровенность, которая иногда настолько выходит из привычных рамок, что мне хочется от нее бежать: удельная масса боли, тревожности и страданий бывает для меня неподъемной.

В “Руках…” я нашла идеальный для меня баланс художественности и исповедальности, открытое и в то же время деликатное отношение к самым болезненным воспоминаниям, искренний и прямолинейный тон, который ни разу не перешел в надсадный крик.

Удивительно поэтичное и в то же время горькое название романа отражает структуру всего романа. Если руки - не для письма, то для чего они? Текст дает ответ: чтобы кормить, убирать, качать ребенка, утешать близких. Неужели у каждой части тела тогда есть свое назначение? Для чего волосы, глаза, язык, спина, живот? Какую историю расскажет тело?

И тело расскажет свою историю о девочке из Азербайджана, которая жила и росла в России и чувствовала себя чужой, а потом приезжала в Азербайджан - и чувствовала себя чужой там. А потом вдруг заболела, и ее тело отказалось ей подчиняться, сковывая ее судорогами и болями, и жизнь, и так полная вопросов без ответа, наполнилась новыми.

Тело - летопись рода, истории семьи. Волосы нельзя стричь, потому что в них красота и женственность. Брови нельзя корректировать, потому что не дозволено попрать свою невинность неестественными изменениями. Глаза останутся карими, даже если нестерпимо хочется, чтобы они были такими же голубыми, как у одноклассницы или голливудской дивы. Голос останется тихим и будет звучать покорно, нельзя спорить, кричать, тратить слова понапрасну. Ведь так было всегда - и у мамы, и у бабушек, и у их матерей. Тело хранит традиции. Традиции хранит и отец, который даже у взрослой дочери спрашивает, не обижают ли ее, который пытается ее защитить от всего мира - но не может защитить от самого страшного. А что такого страшного может случиться с девочкой из хорошей семьи?

Болезнь ломает жизнь, ломает тело, ломает ожидания и планы. Она отнимет привычный голос, движения, сон. Отнимет привычную неприкосновенность тела. Отнимет у тела право - и обязанность, и возможность - быть летописью рода, истории семьи. Болезнь разрезает нить, связывающую с историей собственной семьи - или она сама и есть эта нить?

Композиционно роман виртуозен: рассказы о женщинах и мужчинах семьи расположены в тексте будто бы случайно, без какой-то видимой хронологии, нестрого объединенные тематически, озаглавленные частями тела. Но эти будто бы не связанные друг с другом зарисовки составляют четко выверенную конструкцию. Она ведет читателя за руку от вопроса - почему я? - к ответу на этот вопрос. Ответ шокирует, оглушает, но уже как-то буднично: другой ответ неизбежен, и история семьи может очень по-разному запечатлеться на теле. Как бы мы ни хотели строить собственную жизнь самостоятельно, решать все для себя, тело - хотим мы того или нет - приходит из бесконечной вереницы тех, кто был до нас.

Великолепный роман, ювелирно точный, одновременно горький, воодушевляющий и прекрасный.

[Michael Burke · Rating 4 out of 5]

From Damaged Goods to Emancipation

In her debut novel, “My Dreadful Body,” Egana Djabbarova delivers a brief but potent exploration of the female body as the site of cultural and systemic oppression. Translated by Lisa Hayden, this work of less than 150 pages features prose that is as impactful as it is poetic and refined.

The narrative is organized into eleven distinct chapters, each centered on a specific body part, effectively mapping how colonial and patriarchal forces physically dismember or subdivide a woman's experience.

The book’s exploration of identity hinges on 'otherness,' showing how colonial authorities dictate norms for beauty and language. The core paradox emerges through Egana's dystonia: by classifying her as 'damaged goods' within the patriarchal marriage market, the illness ironically becomes a catapult to agency, freeing her to claim her own voice through writing.

Egana’s experience as an Azeri in Russia is shaped by a pervasive colonial influence that renders her an eternal "other," forcing upon her the standards of her oppressors. This systemic prejudice dictates that her brown eyes are 'hideous' while 'everything blue was beautiful,’ and manifests linguistically as Russian, the colonial language, displaces her mother tongue, reducing her to a rus bala ('Russian child') at home in Azerbaijan.

While both her illness and culture attempt to enforce silence—insisting the mouth 'be kept shut'—the novel explodes as a furious shout against misogyny and the 'unbreakable chain of horror' that suffocated her family. Ultimately, Egana’s writing is a powerful blow that shatters this vicious circle and claims a public voice.

Thank you to New Vessel Press and Edelweiss Plus for proving an advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review.

[Rachel · Rating 5 out of 5]

A stunning book that uses an innovative form to explore themes of illness, patriarchy, and freedom.

Djabbarova does so much in so few pages and at no point are the ideas too much, too crammed in, or not given enough room to breathe. Structured in chapters named for body parts, the author uses the framing of the body to describe the symptoms and onset of dystonia, a neurological movement disorder, and the effects on this condition on her various body parts. But she also naturally weaves in the way each of these body parts are used to uphold the patriarchal oppression found in her Azerbaijani diaspora community. Hands that clean, that toil all day to serve ungrateful men; backs that bend and break to do the same, that spasm and ache after years of beatings; mouths that are not meant to be used by women, that are meant to stay closed unless to scold or shush a child; eyes that judge harshly any woman who steps out of line or shows too much leg; eyebrows that signal a woman's marital status, and so on.

The narrator of the novel, for more reasons than one, is unable to conform to the expectations for women in her culture. Unable to sit silent while her mother is beaten, she rails against her father. She speaks up when she is meant to stay silent, plucks eyebrows that are meant to remain untouched. But this breaking of the mold is not always intentional; the illness that descends upon her body, an illness that causes intense cramps, muscle spasms, and contorts her body into uncomfortable positions, also sets her apart. Though it's clear to her that her body will never be the same, her parents turn a blind eye to this, wishfully thinking of her condition as temporary, something that will pass and not hinder her marriage prospects, will not interfere with the destiny of all women in this community: to bear children.

Though the plight of the women in the community Djabbarova describes is not unique, it's still always heartbreaking to be reminded of the ways in which women living under the patriarchy work to uphold their own oppression. To watch mothers who are beaten by their husbands and treated as less than human wait in anticipation and excitement to send their own daughters off to the same fate. One wants to shake them, to shout that their children's fates need not be irrevocably intertwined with the fate of the women who came before her, but of course, it's not that simple.

Powerful in content, symbolic in structure, and rendered in fluid and direct prose by Hayden's wonderful translation.

[Ruben · Rating 4 out of 5]

A short but impactful novella about a woman who doesn't fit the mould and cannot meet the expectations of her traditional Azerbaijani family.

Each chapter focuses on a different body part - from the eyebrows to the belly to the throat - as a way to portray how all parts of a woman's body are expected to behave in accordance with norms, rules and traditions, drawing on stories of the woman's mother and grandmothers.

The body part approach also serves to illustrate how a truly awful disease - dystonia - takes over the author's body, transforming it into something to be hidden from view.

The style is direct and subtle at the same time - very well done.

[Translator Monkey · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was an amazing, striking read. It's difficult for me, as the rather uncultured reader, to recognize what must be a fine line between novel and autobiography - one feels that Djabbarova has injected herself into her narrator's life, but to what depth does that injection reach?

Our narrator is a young woman from an Azerbaijani family within the 'motherland' of Russia - already at a disadvantage by attending school with the Russian 'white' kids where she is mocked for her dark skin, dark hair, and stumbling journey of learning the Russian language, but back in the Azeri community, she is mocked for her curious Russian accent. Her looks and her language, at such a young age, have seemingly betrayed her. As puberty draws near, then strikes, other parts of her body also enter into their own acts of betrayal. The ultimate cruelty arrives when she is struck with a neuromuscular affliction, equally painful, debilitating, and embarrassing.

Djabbarova allows her narrator to break down each body part into separate chapters, and reflects on how each (hair, tongue, legs, etc.) impacts her narrator physically and emotionally, as well as culturally - coming from a traditional Muslim family, her parents' efforts to foster the impression of a marriageable young woman of value came to a grinding halt with the onset of her neurological challenges. One cannot help but sympathize as we are brought closer to her body and deeper in her thoughts.

An excellent added bonus was the brief translator's notes following the novel itself. Lisa C. Hayden has been one of my favorite Russian-English literary translators for some time, and in this book, she breaks down the challenges for her. The standout for me was that the original contained a number of Azeri and Turkish words and phrases are left intact, like shiny but awkward bits of driftwood bobbing down the river of Russian text. Additionally, Hayden discusses some of the trickier parts of the text that required not just linguistic, but cultural dexterity to render the most correct phrasing for the English-language reader - as a translator myself, I can only offer that none of this is easy going. To have an ongoing dialogue with the author for additional context beyond the contents of the book is every translator's dream, and it certainly appears to have paid off here.

I really enjoyed this book, and hope that Jabbarova has already been hard at work producing more, and that Hayden is able to tackle those as well.

[Emmkay · Rating 4.5 out of 5]

The title of each chapter of this (autofictional?) narrative is a body part: Eyebrows, Shoulders, Mouth, Throat, Belly, and so on. Narrator Egana uses the chapter’s theme to build a layered picture of life as a young woman in the Azeri diaspora in Russia, as she experiences the impact of generations of misogyny, difference and discrimination, and her own struggle with a neurological condition that detracts from her cultural value as a marriageable daughter. Beautifully structured, written, and translated (with a great translator’s note by Lisa V. Hayden at the end - I loved reading about how her communication with the author informed her work). It’s a slim book, highly observant but also compassionate towards those we love who still do us harm. In addition, I was interested to read about the lonely challenges of her neurological condition, dystonia. It has been much relieved by surgical insertion of a neurostimulator, but the experience of being dependent on it being charged, and of a physician being able to control your symptoms with the flick of a switch is disturbing. 4.5.

“The most important parts of a woman’s body were her hands: they prepared food, rocked children, did laundry, ironed men’s shirts, sewed clothes, swept, washed the floor, and dusted. A woman’s hands were always supposed to be busy - only a man’s hands were entitled to be carefree. While men’s hands lay idly on a set table, women’s hands carried dishes of food, arranged plates, rolled dough to be cut into squares for khangayal, stuffed grape leaves, served platters of plov, and hemmed wedding dresses. Any woman in our family knew that her hands were not given to her for writing.”

[Buchdoktor · Rating 5 out of 5]

Jegana Dschabbarowas Icherzählerin, die so heißt wie die Autorin, wächst in einer aserbeidschanischen Minderheit in der russischen Diaspora auf. Die muslimische Familie sieht türkische Serien und ist daher dreisprachig. Die Kinder nehmen jedoch bei Familienbesuchen wahr, dass ihnen ihre Muttersprache allmählich entgleitet. Die junge Erzählerin listet anhand von Körperteilen auf, wie weit die Unterdrückung von Frauen und Mädchen in ihr Privatleben greift und zeigt, dass Voraussetzung für diese Unterdrückung ein dichtes Netz aus religiös gerechtfertigter sozialer Kontrolle, Tratsch und Abwertung ist, das größtenteils von Frauen ausgeht. Angefangen mit dem Zustand der Augenbrauen, die den Verheiratungsstatus einer Frau signalisieren, über die Augen, die die Kontrolle ausüben, bis zu den Händen, die keine Minute ruhig zu liegen haben und dazu dienen, Kinderpflege und Hausarbeit als Garanten für weibliches Glück zu überhöhen. In dieser Gesellschaft sind Schönheit und Sittsamkeit von Töchtern ein Vermögensposten auf dem Heiratsmarkt, untrennbar verbunden mit Gewalt und Versklavung. Töchter haben sich jederzeit sittsam zu verhalten, um den Vatersnamen (den sie in der Ehe behalten) reinzuhalten.

Als bei der jungen Jegana eine degenerative neurologische Krankheit (die dem Parkinson-Syndrom ähnelt) diagnostiziert wird, zeigt sich, dass durch Muskelkrämpfe der gesamte Körper betroffen ist – all die Körperteile, die bisher unter der Kontrolle der patriarchalischen Gesellschaft standen, die so ihr kulturelles Überleben in der Fremde sichern will. Jegana erhält nach einer Odyssee zu verschiedenen Ärzten einen Stimulator/Hirnschrittmacher, der die Beschwerden lindert, sie jedoch von Ladegerät und Stromversorgung abhängig macht. Schon vor Ausbruch ihrer Krankheit konnte sie „den Blick nicht senken und den Mund nicht halten“; vorauszusehen war, dass sie gegen die strenge Kontrolle rebellieren würde. Nur wiederwillig realisiert der Clan aus Mutter, Großmutter, Tanten und Cousinen, dass die Krankheit die junge Frau von der vorgezeichneten Rolle befreit. Sie ist frei, zu schreiben, zu sprechen, zu widersprechen und sie hat bei einem Schwimmbadbesuch begriffen, dass böser Tratsch anderer Menschen weibliche Körper nicht für sündig erklären kann. Im letzten Absatz schlägt Jegana Dschabbarowa einen Bogen zum Zusammenhang zwischen männlicher Gewalt (die in der Familie der Icherzählerin seit drei Generationen weitergegeben wird) und Unterdrückung der Frauen. Offenbar hat die aserbeidschanische Parallelgesellschaft sich in Jeganas Fall das eigene Grab gegraben …

Fazit
Ein wichtiger feministischer Text, der auf mich sehr poetisch wirkt, und den ich durch Verknüpfung von Kontrolle über weibliche Körper, Krankheit und Gewalt sehr fordernd fand.

[Pinar · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ist es ein klassischer Roman? Nicht wirklich.
Ist es eine autofiktionale Geschichte und bin ich von solchen Erzählungen inzwischen übersättigt? Ja, schon.
Ist meine Bewertung rein subjektiv und konzentriert sie sich auf die inhaltliche Wirkung des Textes, nicht auf formale Aspekte? Absolut.

Dieses Buch hat mich vor allem deshalb so getroffen, weil ich unzählige Parallelen zur Generation meiner Mutter und Großeltern entdeckt habe. Es erzählt von Erfahrungen, die mir vertraut vorkamen, auch wenn sie nie so offen ausgesprochen wurden.

Wird dieses Buch allen gefallen und kann ich es unvoreingenommen empfehlen? Vermutlich nicht.
Aber das ändert nichts an meiner Bewertung: Es hat mich tief bewegt, weil es den Frauen in meiner Familie (und vielleicht auch vielen anderen) eine Stimme gegeben hat.

[nicole · Rating 4 out of 5]

i think this has the potential to be a new feminist classic tbh; it's structured so precisely and i've never read anything quite like it. each chapter interrogates a part of our narrator's body as she deals with a mysterious chronic illness that alienates her from her heritage, but at the same time, this illness also frees her from the patriarchal trappings she struggles to conform to. defies genre trappings- is it essay, autofiction, memoir? but that makes sense in its own way- our narrator herself defies the roles placed on her in her life, both consciously and unconsciously. her writing breaks the cycles of shame and silence simply by existing as it does. brilliant, important stuff in here.

[SusanneH · Rating 5 out of 5]

Großartig!
Zu diesem Buch hätte ich von mir aus wohl nicht gegriffen.
Meine Tochter hat es zu Weihnachten bekommen und war begeistert.
Ich kann mich der 5 Sterne Bewertung nur anschließen.
Die einzelnen Kapitel sind nach Körperteilen benannt und entlang ihnen zieht sich wie ein roter Faden die Unterdrückung von Frauen.
"Für eine Frau gehört es sich nicht zu sprechen, für eine Frau gehört es sich nicht zu widersprechen, eine Frau darf nie vergessen, dass sie Objekt, nicht Subjekt eines Satzes ist, doch das Wichtigste, das uns seine Fäuste lehrten, war zu schweigen, unsere Hoffnungen und Träume für uns zu behalten, unsere schrecklichen Geheimnisse niemals jemandem anzuvertrauen." 

[ritareadthat · Rating 5 out of 5]

Have you ever felt betrayed by your body? I'm going to be honest today—not that I'm not honest every time that I write, because I am—but today I'm finding it hard to write about this book. Not at all because I didn't like it; no, I loved it, actually. I'm finding it difficult because my body is betraying me today—most specifically my brain—by telling me I'm irritable and uninspired and that I am unable to string words together into a semblance of something cohesive and by flashing like a beacon inside my brain, a really big fat blank space where normally all of my fantastic ideas/word sequences come from.

And whew—I really can't think of a thing to say right now other than this mindless drivel that I'm spewing at you.

And I don't think that's fair to the author of this really superb book. But I also think it's important to be honest and admit when you are struggling. So like what happens to me oftentimes now, I feel torn in two. But I'm writing this because I want to work through it, and if it doesn't make much sense—well, at least you know why.

Words are not within my grasp. And yet I'm writing this. So yes, some words are within my grasp, but inspiring ideas and phrases and adjectives are just beyond grasp. (See, look, I just wrote "grasp" 3 times closely together, and normally I wouldn't do that! But I'm leaving it.) So bear with me. I'm in a good mood, don't get me wrong, so it's not really a mood thing; I think it's more a brain fog thing, and that definitely plays more into the deceptiveness of a body found in betrayal-land.

My Dreadful Body by Egana Djabbarova (translated from the Russian by Lisa C. Hayden) is an insightful coming-of-age book that places in the spotlight the point in time where disability and cultural tradition meet—and clash.

The main character, Egana, grows up in a very traditional Azerbaijani community in Russia. She understands what it means to be an outsider who never really fits in. But then one day her body starts to have a mind of its own. Before she knows it, she is grappling with the stigma of disability as well as the expectations placed on her by her traditional parents to marry. The author goes on to examine the patriarchy and the Azerbaijani culture through the lens of Egana's disability, each body part representing an aspect of the life she has come of age in.

I feel that I'm not doing this book justice here. It is wickedly brilliant. My favorite thing about this book was how each chapter was sectioned, with each one discussing a body part (eyebrows, eyes, hair, mouth, shoulders, hands, tongue, back, legs, throat, and belly). In each chapter Egana discloses how each of these body parts is affected by her disability, but ALSO, and this was the really enlightening part, how each body part is associated with her cultural and familial traditions. (I just used "each" way too much; I'm sorry.)

This is really a magnificent portrayal of the Azerbaijani traditions, and the structure of the novel was one such that I actually felt educated about a new culture when I was finished reading it. It was notably insightful.

I didn't know what I was expecting before I started reading this, but it wasn't this, and I'm very happy that my non-expectations were challenged and shattered. I enjoyed all aspects of this book, and some really hefty and pertinent themes were addressed: feminism, colonialism, patriarchy, heritage/culture, and illness/disability/ableism.

So if anything comes out of this incoherent rambling, please—forget the ramblings, but remember the book. It's on par with other excellent books that I have read recently, and if you suffer from chronic illness or disability and want some insight on how someone manages that with the expectations of family and society, then this is definitely one you should read.

I think this was the hardest review I've ever written because of my lack of brain function right now. But I did it. I'm clapping for myself. 👏🏻

Many thanks to New Vessel for the ARC!




4/5/26 Initial Thoughts: Magnificent. Truly. This book is packed with so much it kind of makes your head spin to think about all of the societal issues it addresses - illness and disability, the patriarchy and colonialism, feminism, heritage and culture. And I'm tired and I know there's more.

[ReemK10 (Paper Pills) · Rating 5 out of 5]

There is a very special group of readers from #booktwitter who have moved on to #Bluesky who LOVE to read Lisa C. Hayden translations!!!! We also follow Yelena and Olga of Punctured Lines who introduce us to any new book coming out. We are always grateful to them for their recommendations! This time we got to read Egana Djabbarova for the first time, and I have to say Egana Djabbarova gave us quite the story! It hits a heavy punch. I don't want to spoil anything but you're left with so many emotions that you have to contend with. 😬

Lisa has been longlisted for a translator's award: Longlist for the 2026 National Book Award for Translated Literature - National Book Foundation, and we're extremely thrilled and excited for her!!!

#MyDreadfulBody is a good read!

Our reels:

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https://www.instagram.com/reel/DdU2KV...

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DdcWcx...

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https://www.instagram.com/reel/DdjrC3...

[Mustafa Rushan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Rusiyada Azərbaycanlı yazıçıların ədəbiyyat sahəsində özlərinə yer tapması sevindirici haldır.
Kitab adı ilə diqqətimi çəkmişdi. Üstəlik həmyerlimizdi. Rəylər də çox yüksəkdi.
Şairin nəsrini oxumaq mənə bir başqa zövq verir. O dəqiqə Ocean Vuong yadıma düşür. Amma bizim Yeganəmizin də qələmi itidir... Tək sözlə ifadə edəcək olsam, çox qəşəngdir.

Mətn bir süjet xətt üstündən axmır. Avtofikşndır. Avtobioqrafikdir....
Baş obraz iki əsarətdədir... Bədəni xəstəlik əsarətində...
Ruhu ictimai, maental, miqrantların məruz qaldığı əsarətdə...
Bariz feminist əsərdir... Mətni bədən üzvləri üzərindən oxuyursuz.
Hər üzv üzərindən yazıçı ailəsinə, kimliyə, qadınlığına, xəstəliyinə, aidiyyətə dair o qədər qəşəng nüanslar tapıb yazıb ki, o qədər zərif metaforalar var ki... nə yalan deyim, bəzi cümlələr ox olub sancılırdı... əhsən...
İlk başlıq "qaşlar"dır... qaşlar haqqında nə yazmaq olar, qaşlar insanın keçmişinə, indiyə, gələcəyə dair nə deyə bilər?... Yazıçı bunu ustalıqla bacarıb.
İlin ilk günləridir və gözlədiyim kimi, onu bu gözəlliklə başladım...
Necə də başqalarına oxutmaq istəyirəm, bir bilsəniz...
İkinci romanı da bu il işıq üzü görüb, bu il onu da qaçırmaq istəmirəm...

[Elizabeth Tuttle · Rating 4 out of 5]

This is a brilliant reflection on the relationship between health, technology, gender, culture, family, and freedom.

Each vignette focuses on how a specific body part mediates the character's relationship to her dystonia/dysarthria. Djabbarova navigates the fine line between cultural sensitivity and political complexity, rooting this feminine Azerbaijan diaspora experience within the broader landscape of colonialism.

If you're looking for a short, beautifully written critique of patriarchy, this is it.

[Marc · Rating 4 out of 5]

A young Azerbaijani girl and her family find themselves living in a small town in Russia. What follows is a book of alienation and displacement told by a magnetic voice using the body as a central lens. But this is no ordinary body. In addition to the strict, conservative patriarchal pressures and expectations placed upon it (from beauty standards to dress codes and behavioral restrictions/norms), our protagonist's body is in revolt against itself (chronic medical conditions that impact everything from bodily control to loss of voice). Djabbarova explores familial dynamics, gender roles, and cultural/national tensions through this failed and failing body, while main character (and author) find strength and expression through writing and language. Not so much a book of plot and story arc as a path towards finding voice and living with all the complications the body presents, but told in such flowing and dynamic prose in this translation by Lisa C. Hayden. (It seems somehow tragic and fitting that Djabbarova was forced to flee Russia for her own safety after the publication of this novel due to a combination of activism, sexuality, and criticism of the war with Ukraine.)

"I wanted to finally break the vicious circle of retribution and open our shut mouths so I could shout about my own existence and the existences of mothers, grandmothers, sisters, and girlfriends. We’d been clutching each other by the throat, in a death grip of fear, for too long—but what if someone sees, but what is someone finds out, but what will people say, but what will your relatives think, but what will your father do when he finds out—and an unbreakable chain of horror had held us by the throat for years, suffocating us, just as dystonia had suffocated me.

[Bella Azam · Rating 4 out of 5]

I cant remember if I have reviewed this book or i completely forgot to log in when I started reading this, think its about late April and finished it early May? So here I am with the late review

My dreadful body written originally in Russian by Egana Djabbarova and well translated by Lisa C. Hayden opens each chapters with body parts and their association to the main character's personal affiliations to them through culture, religion and historical context. In this autobiographical novel of a young woman, born to Azerbaijani family in Russia where their connection and roots to their culture tied back to generational trauma & wounds. Where the bodies of women born in this family has no claims to their body parts as the freedom to them were being restricted by culture & religion. Its a very hard read but also eye opening.

The way the author crafted the story through each body parts from tongue that speaks, mouths where words spilling out, eyes, ear, hairs, leg, hands of women that do chores etc and more, it doesnt shy away from opening up on the misogyny in the family, of the violence outbursts and domestic abuse perpetrated by the males in the family, the suffocations that came from it when you dont have the power to control your own body. In the midst of all of these, our narrator is suffering from a disability where a debilitating illness taken over her body due to generalized dystonia, her body is out of her own control, muscles spasms and pain shot throughout her body until she needs an electrical stimulation box embedded in her body controlled the movements back to normal. A remote control that now control her own body.The lyrical proses beautifully translated by Lisa, poetically capture the suffocating quietness women have to go through in this generational wounds. As a muslim myself, there is religion aspects in this book that I understand as someone that carried out my faith and i can relate to it but everyone have their own perpsectives and ways to their faith so who am I to comment further on this

This is a great book, some of the things that happened here can be hard to read for how enraged the actions can be but such a good novel.

Thank you New Vessels press and Edelweiss for the review copy

[nastasia · Rating 5 out of 5]

совершенно случайно в поисках какую книгу взять на прочтение дальше открыла эту повесть и не смогла оторваться, пока не дочитала до конца.
авторка филигранно переплетает опыт своего взросления и историю болезни, с судьбами женщин своей семьи. написано настолько чувственно и поэтично, а местами безумно болезненно, что каждое слово бьет в самое сердце. хочется цитировать буквально весь текст.
однозначно рекомендую к прочтению!

«Отрицая свое тело, я отрицала вместе с ним пласт исторического и культурного наследия, не принимая собственную конечность, я не признавала вечной связи своего тела с телами других женщин.»

[Iris L · Rating 5 out of 5]

De mis libros favoritos del año. Que forma de escribir y amasarlo todo en esta novela autobiográfica que nos habla de la enfermedad y como el cuerpo se posiciona como territorio y como este es moldeado por la cultura, la familia y la memoria.

Al principio todo parecía que iban a ser ensayos cortos (varios) pero conforme leía pude entender ver esta historia cargada de traumas generacionales que en momentos resonaban muy cerca, en especial en el estereotipo constante y conservador que nos define como mujeres.

[Jessica · Rating 5 out of 5]

I had no idea what to expect when I started this, but I can tell you it was NOT what I expected.

When I finished this book, I was mad, I was angry, I was FURIOUS even, and then just…sad. Sad for our fictional character, sad for all the women who are born into oppressed religious or cultural beliefs, sad for all of those who don’t have a choice to what their body does to them.

Each chapter of this book is weaves in cultural, religious, familial, and body autonomy themes and messages that are so heavy that at times I felt it difficult to keep reading. the writing itself was beautiful – and the note from the translator at the end put the bow on top to wrap this up in the most eloquent way.

Last year I read a book, and immediately upon finishing it I hated it. I hated it so much because it made me so angry and sad to the point where I was telling people DON’T READ THIS AWFUL BOOK IT WILL DESTROY YOU. And the more and more I sat with it, the more and more I began to love it, for it conveyed such emotions within me that were uncomfortable yet beautiful and made me think about things in a different way.

I say this because this is EXACTLY what “My Dreadful Body” did to me – it made me angry, it made me sad, and I hated it for that because who likes feeling those ways? This is a true testament to the writing of a brilliant author and translator, and needless to say I ordered a copy of this book directly from the publisher less than an hour after I finished it.

[himbeerbuch · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ausgehend von verschiedenen Körperteilen erzählt die Ich-Erzählerin über ihr Aufwachsen in der aserbaidschanischen Minderheit in Russland. Ein Leben zwischen einer Gesellschaft mit kolonialer Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, die rassistisch und diskriminierend ist, und einer traditionell eingestellten muslimischen Familie, die sich in ihre Community zurückzieht. Die Autorin ist queer, feministisch aktiv und lebt inzwischen in Deutschland, weil sie denunziert wurde und Todesdrohungen erhielt.

Anfangs war ich ein wenig enttäuscht. Dschabbarowa wird u.a. mit Oxana Wassjakina verglichen, deren Stil ich aber als eigener, vielleicht auch sperriger, empfinde. Dschabbarowa schreibt direkter und folgt durch die Aufteilung der Kapitel in die „Körperteile“ einer klaren Struktur, die es mir aber manchmal schwer gemacht hat, mich der Erzählerin emotional zu nähern. Ich hätte gerne noch viel mehr über sie erfahren.

Andererseits verfolgt das Buch auch ein klares Ziel: Die Ich-Erzählerin erschließt anhand der verschiedenen Körperteile, welchen Einfluss struktureller Rassismus, Ableismus und dem patriarchalen System sowohl in Russland, als auch in der aserbaidschanischen Diaspora, auf sie selbst hat – wie sie, ihr Körper, immer wieder fremdbestimmt wird und welche Spuren sich von anderen Frauen, ihrer Familie, der Gesellschaft, in/an ihm finden lassen. Es ist teilweise brutal zu lesen, gleichzeitig beinhaltet der Text aber auch kraftvolles Potenzial. Die Behinderung führte dazu, dass die Erzählerin Rollenerwartungen nicht mehr entspricht, was dazu führt, dass sie sich selbst extrem reflektiert wahrnimmt und sich so emanzipatorisch mit ihrem Körper und Körperlichkeit beschäftigt.

Über Ungleichheit und strukturellen Rassismus in Russland wird weder innerhalb des Landes, noch von außerhalb viel geredet. Umso dankbarer bin ich, dass es ein solches gesellschaftskritisches Buch, dass genau das thematisiert, ins Deutsche übersetzt wurde. Ein großes Lob geht dabei an die Übersetzerin Maria Rajer, die dieses Buch auf eigene Initiative hin mit Hilfe eines Stipendiums übersetzt hat. Rajers Backlist ist neben den Übersetzungen von Wassjakina übrigens auch beeindruckend; ich werde sie in Zukunft definitiv auf dem Schirm haben.

[Jukebook_juliet · Rating 4 out of 5]

4/5 🌟

[tyler]

потрясающая. очень красиво написана, много телесности, понравилось, что каждая глава освещает отдельную часть тела и показывает, какое значение она имеет в жизни писательницы и ее культуры. естественно, культурный пласт и точка зрения, которую можно получить только читая такой автофикшн.

я знала, что моя подруга из азербайджанской диаспоры очень смелая, потому что делает то, что она хочет: работает, сама себя обеспечивает, одевается в ту одежду, которая ЕЙ нравится, не скрывает фотографии в инстаграм, свободно высказывает свое мнение. но после прочтения этой книги стала восхищаться её мужеством и выбором бунтовать еще сильнее

[Лайма · Rating 4 out of 5]

господи, неужели мне понравилось у No Kidding Press что-то, кроме Одри Лорд, аллилуйя 😭

в целом очень впечатлила оригинальная структура текста, связывающая телесность авторки с историей еë предков, и текучее медитативное повествование. сцена с подачей блюд (обсуждение сплетен) и многие другие написаны дико красиво и попали в самое сердце

"Писать было сложнее, а потому интереснее, писать означало разрывать кожу, вырывать куски собственного тела без всякого обезболивающего, чтобы населить ими чужое воображение".

[Jai · Rating 3 out of 5]

Interesting concept, it’s probably better in Russian

[Misty · Rating 4 out of 5]

Der Titel dieses Buches lässt bereits vermuten, dass es sich um ein kritisch-feministisches Werk handelt. Aber es kann noch soviel mehr! Mit poetischer Wucht beschwört die Autorin berührende oder bedrückende Kindheitsszenen, macht dank der nicht chronologischen Erzählweise so richtig neugierig welcher Textteil eigentlich zu welcher Zeit passt und verfolgt ein erfrischendes Kapitel-Konzept. So ist jedes davon einer Körperregion zugeordnet, die Figur wird dadurch Körperstück für Körperstück zu einem verständlichen Ganzen. Das Debüt der Autorin ist eine innovative, kritische Auseinandersetzung mit dem weiblichen Körper und mischt dabei biographische Erinnerungen mit poetischer Reflexion. Empfehlung!

[Anton Alexandrov · Rating 5 out of 5]

I don't often read fiction literature but as far as feminist fiction goes this was great.

[Aglaja · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ein Buch, das unter die Haut geht und den Leser in doppelter Hinsicht bereichert: Man erfährt viel über aserbaidschanische Traditionen, aber auch was es heißt, mit Schmerzen zu leben.

Das Kranksein bewirkt, ein besonderes Bewusstsein für den Körper zu entwickeln. Das verwendet die Autorin als Folie und benennt jedes Kapitel nach einem Körperteil, der ihr als Ausgangspunkt dient, einen Aspekt aus ihrem Leben zu erzählen.

Toll!