In this seductive, provocative debut, two gay Afghan men—cast out of their respective countries of birth by circumstances beyond their control—collide in Istanbul, a city that will test their willingness to sacrifice everything for the ones they love.
When Delbar—a hapless twenty-something with dreams of becoming a drag queen—is spectacularly outed, he flees the insular immigrant-dense suburbs of Washington, DC to seek refuge with his sympathetic aunt in Istanbul. There, he discovers a vibrant community of dissidents, sex workers, activists, poets, and heretics. Among them are Leif and his boyfriend, Mansur, with whom Delbar quickly develops a blazing fascination.
But Mansur also nurses a wounded heart, having left his own family, and his first love, behind in Iran. This time, Mansur’s learned not to dream bigger than his own survival. He’ll keep a low profile, work hard to send money back, and remain faithful to Leif—at least until his refugee status is granted.
When riot police descend on attendees of the annual Istanbul Pride march, Mansur and Delbar are thrust into dangerous proximity. With the country surging into authoritarianism, each person must ask what constitutes a life well-lived, and how high is the price of freedom?
Told through the alternating viewpoints of Delbar and Mansur, Bobuq Sayed’s debut is a story of borders and boundaries transgressed, and a deeply engrossing exploration of what it means to make a home at the margins of society. At once an immigrant family saga, a thwarted love story, and a searing portrait of politics made intimately personal, No God but Us is an ambitious introduction to a bold new voice.
Bobuq Sayed is an Afghan cultural worker. They are the author of A Brief History of Australian Terror, a chapbook forthcoming from Common Room Editions in 2024, and the co-editor of Nothing to Hide: Voices From Trans and Gender Diverse Australia(Allen and Unwin).
I’ve never read anything like No God but Us, and there will never be anything quite like it, either. It’s a remarkable book—glittery, shimmering, astonishing.
Two Afghan protagonists, both forced to find new lives for themselves after being outed in excruciating ways, end up in each other’s orbit. Delbar, who dreams of becoming a drag queen and Mansur, who wants to be loved as hard as he has so often loved others. In Istanbul, the two meet when they find refuge in a queer community—activists, artists, poets, all weaving in and out of a company called PeaceMeals, which is run by Mansur’s partner, Leif.
Their connection is immediate, even if the ability to act upon it is not. Absolutely blistering to behold.
In every queer novel that I pick up, what I am hoping to find is the real grittiness of life. That is what the reader lucky enough to read this will find. A story wrapped around love, refuge, immigration and, above all, queerness. It is as lovely as the cover that binds it.
(Thank you to the publisher for an early copy in exchange for a review!)
there is a swathe of queer lit nowadays thats all sparkle and no substance. this book, im happy to say, is not like that. bobuq sayed proves that u can be poetic while still grounded and even have a plot, u guys. i found mansur's story a bit more compelling than delbar's. but i also liked how the book was, like, here are two people who are technically from the same culture, but one grew up in the states and has the passport while the other went through the 'authentic' afghan refugee experience. and how vastly different their thinking, woes and circumstances were. and how stable life is such an illusory thing that most people can afford until they day they can't, and there is nothing they can do about that. good book.
I had to sit with this one for a while - Oh my God, this was one mind blowing piece of material that I read. It resonated partly because my neighbourly familiarity with the culture, but also discovering new things about things.
How do I even go about describing this debut of a novel. In a story where faith, identity, sexuality, politics, and survival or all come together crashing head on with each other. Set in Turkey, against a backdrop of political tensions and struggle to be self, freely, with our protagonists displaced and their backgrounds of being Afghan, there has not been a better time than now for this piece of literature.
This is the story of Mansur and Delbar. Divided by their own journeys, but with the common thread of their cultures, the story deals with how they crossed each other’s parts and how each of them deals with their own struggle. Flicking between the POV of both characters, it was interesting to see how both viewed their own circumstances as well as each other’s and how it compared to their own. The back-and-forth timeline could get a bit confusing, with the writer keeps meshing all the worlds together.
Different things come together, from politics to identity, to self realisation, as the story progresses. Different characters and their journeys to are not placed without any reason. Familial relationships and acceptance, identities, sexuality, faith, and survival all come together sometimes in different proportions and sometimes altogether.
The story is obviously not without sass and humour, to elevate arts. Sayed’s prose is beautiful and masterful, without being forcefully flowery. Their command over characters who are wholly fleshed out, and not likeable sometimes, as well as the politics is the result of their acute observations. And it shows.
As much as one get the white and black person pov, set-in-western-world-queer-stories, it is sooo good and refreshing to see brown rep queer story like this one. And it is not just tokenism to be so, but is just is. And while doing so it is rooted in reality with complex issues and messy people fighting the fight within as much as outside, but does not discount the queer icons that are far different from the western gaze ( i saw that Madhuri reference mentioned). It is much more lived in and it shows.
In a powerful debut, Bobuq Sayed reveals how forces of rejection from state and family meet the alchemy of attraction, desire and belonging. NO GOD BUT US not only expands American literature, but also Muslim, gay male, and migration writing, A new kind of novel, with vast geographies of nation and heart.
thanking past kim for picking this up on a whim to drag me by its metaphorical nails out of my reading ravine
she's poignant, sexy, and unapologetically unfiltered.
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“A hundred empires have come and tried to fix Afghanistan. A hundred false gods. The Mughals and the British and the Soviets and the Taliban and the Americans. No one will fix our country but us.”
“You think you know your own child, but you are always in pursuit of them, forever one step behind, shuffling an old shoe on a new foot, acting on knowledge recently expired.”
I really wanted to like this more than I did. I think a lot of it was interesting and it was a worthy debut, but there was a lot that didn’t work for me either. I especially think that the alternating character (and timeline) chapters caused a lack of cohesion.
Timelines were a little confusing and the ending was deeply unsatisfying. Bummer because this could have been truly excellent. The intersection of queerness and immigration is a story that needs to be told more.
This novel provides a new and important perspective, that of queerness intersected by forced migration. The way it shows how the uncertainty of migration status impacts the lives of many people and how being who you are could put you in this position is addressed in a powerful way. I think having to Afghan protagonists and what it implies being queer for this culture, brings a perspective not often seen in queer literature and media. The timelines were a bit confusing for moments (even though each chapter is dated) and I feel that for moments there were too many chaotic scenes happening and too many secondary characters. But overall it is a great debut novel.
Such an amazing book, I wish I could experience it again for the first time. Beautiful, flawed, complex cast of characters who stay with you after the story ends. Thought provoking reflection of culture and identity. Captures the unique struggle faced by LGBTQ+ refugees without betraying their autonomy and resilience or reducing them to those in need of saving. The writing is poetic, so many gorgeous quotes. Absolutely loved it
what a book!! a love letter to istanbul and all the refugees in it - so so beautiful and moving and thought provoking. I would have preferred an additional Delbar chapter in the end just so things could be wrapped more clearly but this was still so outstanding. made me almost book a ticket to istanbul. it captured the spirit of the city so totally I am shocked such a clever book which also weirdly captured the spirit of berlin so completely too (iykyk). everyone should read right NOW
very solid debut and a novel that made me feel seen for many reasons. however, I do find some of it underdeveloped, specifically delbar as an entire character (his gender identity being glaringly glossed over). I also feel like plot events happen at a dizzying pace without enough time spent on the characters internal thoughts/reactions to it. but the prose is generally very lovely, and mansur is really a wonderfully realized character. can’t wait to read more from this author.
just pre-ordered - I heard the author read an excerpt of this at an event in gowanus. The prose was stunning, the character voices were strong, AND it made me laugh! v excited for this debut
I listened to this beautifully written and so convincingly narrated book on Audible.
It’s one of a kind story about refugees, Afghans, queer, uprooted, people living between the cracks of society, rebels, conservatives, sexual explorers, sexually exploited, wounded, healing, struggling, hopeful, different, global… so very global people living lives that resonate with the lives of any other human being, yet lack something so many take for granted. Privilege.
At its core it’s a story about what it means to lack the fundamental privileges granted to the many lucky ones through the lottery of citizenship and ancestry.
It’s about how it’s possible to still live a fulfilling and meaningful life, but also what it ultimately means to never be anything else than a second rate citizen.
Never be the one, who’s automatically entitled or has an assumed right. Is assumed to be right. Always at danger.
It’s also an amazingly powerful portrayal of flourishing queer identities in a place that surprisingly seems to be more tolerant or permissive than what I would have expected.
Türkiye (as it’s spelled today) grants our two protagonists much more freedom for self expression than either got in their previous lives in America and Iran. It offers a whirlpool of cultural and human influences mixing in and out of each other.
In some ways, I felt teleported back to Orham Pamuk’s Istanbul, magical and lyrical. Mix of old and new. West and East.
But it’s definitely not Pamuk. While he’s deftly metaphysical, Sayed is unapologetically grounded in the corporeal physicality of things real.
The book is dense with reality. Beautiful reality. Hurtful reality. Ugly reality. Sweaty reality. Dicks in every hole reality. Unsentimental reality. Reality than doesn’t waits for you or anyone else.
At times I almost screamed with joy when listening to the powerful and original prose. But I also felt despair or detachment. It’s not a uniformly generous book, even though the language keeps giving. It portrays a sliver of reality I’ve never met before. It’s transformative but at times also quite depressing.
I wasn’t enamored with the ending… but ultimately it’s pretty fitting to the core principles the narrative is following.
Can’t recommend it enough if you’re a reader who reads in order to truly expand your horizons.
If you desire a satisfying ending, or hope to be enthralled by an ever-growing poetic plot a-la Pamuk, then it’s probably not for you.
Don’t expect that you’ll be transported somewhere wonderful. The train will leave you at the platform, without anything resembling catharsis.
this reads like a mash-up between khaled hosseini and joyland (2022). there’s nuance, obviously, as joyland is palestinian and this book is much more queer than hosseini’s works, but the feelings evoked in these works all feel connected.
on the one hand, this book was fantastic. in terms of writing style and tone and characters and prose, it’s a knock-out. incredible world-building that makes you feel like you’re in it and you’re feeling it and you are right there with the characters.
on the other hand, i feel like it didn’t quite stick the landing plotwise. i see where the author was trying to go, but i felt like it could have been much longer and much more…intimate? for all the mess that happens (and it’s a lot!!!!!), somehow it felt like everything concluded much too cleanly. there was no big emotional climax, it felt like it was building and building and then we stepped right over it. i get a more vague conclusion, i get the no-happy-endings tragedy thing, but i guess i just wanted this to lean more into itself by the end. so much of this book is loud and in your face, and then when i wanted it to be SCREAMING AT ME it just kind of fizzled out into nothing.
i like the subtleties of the closing chapter, how we do get some closure in a roundabout way, but man i wish things had been explored differently in that last quarter of the story. and i wish delbar had a little more closure than he got too. although again, maybe that’s the point.
okay i unfortunately left this too long after finishing and now cannot be as specific in my review. what has stuck with me the most in the intervening weeks is the characters. i can't stop thinking about them! everyone from mansur to delbar to anahita to yosra and beyond felt alive and complex and well-developed and i had real affection for so many of them by the end. we spend the most time with our narrators, delbar and mansur. they are both queer afghans living in türkiye, but with vastly different experiences and circumstances and worldviews. there's so much that connects them and so many essential ways in which they fail to understand each other. this divergence allows for nuanced explorations of identity, privilege, and diaspora, and a novel that is overtly political without tipping into corniness or didacticism. it's always refreshing to read something that actively contradicts the delusion that the united states was a utopian force for good pre-trump.
on the whole, a compelling, beautifully written debut! can't wait to explore more of bobuq sayed's work!
This story had many aspects of my favorite novels. Exploring queerness, culture and historical storytelling, and a riveting plot.
The plot surrounds two queer characters that are vastly different which made my expectations spin when I understood early on that this was not a romance..
This story talks about refugees, asylum, political tensions but under the queer lens and elevating their experiences.
I came to find the dual perspectives imperative to the story and reveals so much about western queer identity.
I was surprised by how fleshed out the side characters felt. I had no problem forgetting about them but rather constantly thought how they interacted with the main characters.
The dynamics were riveting and I would definitely love to read from this author again.
#love and a comp rec would be my Tender Matador by Pedro Lemebel
No Gods but Us tells the stories of two gay Afghan men, Delbar and Mansur, who have been outed and shunned from their respective homes, albeit in different ways. They are both forced to relocate to Istanbul, hoping to find relative safety and community. Amid a cast of diverse characters, all with their own individual stories and struggles, Delbar and Mansur navigate uncertainty, queerphobia, and complicated love.
While grappling with their separate predicaments, they meet at PeaceMeals, a weekly dinner organized for queer refugees. Despite developing an instant attraction to one another, their distinct circumstances and future plans complicate the possibility of connection.
This book reminded me of another incredible five-star read, Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi. Both dual POV books deal with heavy themes, heart-wrenching drama, and characters that you cannot help but become emotionally invested in. If you enjoyed that or anything that Gyasi has written, you will like this! No Gods but Us would also be great for folks wanting an emotional read with dysfunctional families, overcoming generational trauma, pertinent social issues, and the search for a true sense of belonging. I highly recommend this book and can see it become a popular read in the genre. I am shocked that this is Sayed's debut and look forward to whatever they write next.
“Who was there to answer to?” This is the question posed by one of two narrators in Bobuq Sayed’s novel No God But Us (Ultimo, 2026). It is a question also suggested by the novel’s humanist title and Sayed’s dedication “to the transgressors of borders”. In their first full-length fiction, Sayed dreams of a world where the borders are, if not erased, at least made more permeable, and we are no longer answerable to the enforcers of those arbitrary lines.
This book was high on my TBR and after being able snag a digital copy on Libby right after its release I quickly read it in two sittings. This will be a book I think about for a long time and likely in my top books of the year.
A nuanced book brimming with the queer voices of refugees and asylum-seekers, as well as those shunned. With beautiful prose and intense exploration of power dynamics within families and relationships and friends, I was drawn by this book — however, I was not satisfied by the end. Where was Delbar’s closing chapter? It felt a little rushed, I think.
It was eye-opening to receive and understand the perspective of queer refugees and the disparities faced throughout their journeys. Overall, it was a solid book. There are some beautiful sections while in other parts of the book I'm lost and I struggled to follow the story.
“You don't ask permission to belong to your home. [...] Delbarem, a hundred empires have come and tried to fix Afghanistan. A hundred false gods. The Mughals and the British and the Soviets and the Taliban and the Americans. No one will fix our country but us.”