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Nation of Strangers: Rebuilding Home in the 21st Century
Dear stranger. Are you home? Do you feel at home? For how much longer?
Across the world the number of refugees and exiles, the dispossessed and displaced, the politically homeless and the economically excluded is growing. In the decade since she left her own home, Ece Temelkuran has been a political Cassandra, warning those convinced it couldn’t happen in their country that fascism is coming.
Now, as oppression spreads and temperatures rise – as we face competing crises and learn, again and again, that no institution is so concrete it can’t turn to dust, and no home is too strong to be destroyed – she has written Nation of Strangers: a series of letters from one stranger to another.
Politically attuned and deeply personal, this extraordinary, heartening correspondence is a gift to treasure in uncertain times. As poetic as it is precise, it is a book for anyone who feels alienated by an ever-more monstrous world. It shows how, as we all become strangers, our home will depend on the strength we find with one another.
Across the world the number of refugees and exiles, the dispossessed and displaced, the politically homeless and the economically excluded is growing. In the decade since she left her own home, Ece Temelkuran has been a political Cassandra, warning those convinced it couldn’t happen in their country that fascism is coming.
Now, as oppression spreads and temperatures rise – as we face competing crises and learn, again and again, that no institution is so concrete it can’t turn to dust, and no home is too strong to be destroyed – she has written Nation of Strangers: a series of letters from one stranger to another.
Politically attuned and deeply personal, this extraordinary, heartening correspondence is a gift to treasure in uncertain times. As poetic as it is precise, it is a book for anyone who feels alienated by an ever-more monstrous world. It shows how, as we all become strangers, our home will depend on the strength we find with one another.
Audible Audio
First published February 12, 2026
About the author
Ece Temelkuran
26 books598 followersEce Temelkuran, Turkish author, was born in 1973. She is a daily columnist of one of the most popular Turkish newspapers for ten years and a prize winning journalist. Her primary concerns that she addresses are the contemporary criticism of popular culture, masques of politics, women issues, and all other deteriorating identities of humanity. She uses various forms of dramatic sentimentalism and black humor together, combined with her postmodern style, creating space for tactful connections to everyday life. She is the author of three experimental literary fiction books written in the form of poem in prose, and a documentary book on hunger strikes. Lately she published two collections of articles from her column. Temelkuran is the pioneering signature of her generation with opposing voice as a young intellectual, and always brave to tell about “never to talk subjects” of Turkey.
She graduated from Faculty of Law, Ankara University in 1995. She started her journalism studies at Cumhuriyet newspaper in 1993. She worked on women’s movement, Southeast Issue in Turkey and also political detainees. Her first book, “All Women Are Confused “ was published in 1993.She was chosen as the “Journalist of the year” by German government and then she made a research on Women movement in Germany in 1993, the same year when she was chosen as the Journalist of the year.
Her research book “My Son, My Daughter, My State-The Mothers Of Detainees- From Homes To Streets.” Was published in 1997. She was awarded by Office of Doctors since she had a research paper “Virginity Test is A Crime” for Cumhuriyet journal.
Her poem- prose books “From the Edge” and “Voice Of The Inside” were published by Everest. She went to Brazil in 2003 and to India in 2004 to observe World Social Forum. She examined the nation movement after the economic Crisis in Argentina. Her books that include newspaper articles Voice Of The Inside and From Outside were published by Everest in 2005. She took the Idea and Democracy Award by the Office of Doctors in Turkey with her book “We Are Having Revolution Here, Senorita!” (Everest, 2006). She was also awarded by Diyarbakır Democratic Platform with her book “What Should I Tell You?”. Ece Temelkuran, who deserved the award of Freedom for Idea by Ayşenur Zorakolu, keeps writing on her column “From The Edge” at Haberturk newspaper and her latest books “The Deep Mountain” (2008) and “Sounds of Bananas” (2010) are published by Everest.
She graduated from Faculty of Law, Ankara University in 1995. She started her journalism studies at Cumhuriyet newspaper in 1993. She worked on women’s movement, Southeast Issue in Turkey and also political detainees. Her first book, “All Women Are Confused “ was published in 1993.She was chosen as the “Journalist of the year” by German government and then she made a research on Women movement in Germany in 1993, the same year when she was chosen as the Journalist of the year.
Her research book “My Son, My Daughter, My State-The Mothers Of Detainees- From Homes To Streets.” Was published in 1997. She was awarded by Office of Doctors since she had a research paper “Virginity Test is A Crime” for Cumhuriyet journal.
Her poem- prose books “From the Edge” and “Voice Of The Inside” were published by Everest. She went to Brazil in 2003 and to India in 2004 to observe World Social Forum. She examined the nation movement after the economic Crisis in Argentina. Her books that include newspaper articles Voice Of The Inside and From Outside were published by Everest in 2005. She took the Idea and Democracy Award by the Office of Doctors in Turkey with her book “We Are Having Revolution Here, Senorita!” (Everest, 2006). She was also awarded by Diyarbakır Democratic Platform with her book “What Should I Tell You?”. Ece Temelkuran, who deserved the award of Freedom for Idea by Ayşenur Zorakolu, keeps writing on her column “From The Edge” at Haberturk newspaper and her latest books “The Deep Mountain” (2008) and “Sounds of Bananas” (2010) are published by Everest.
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February 22, 2026I learned about this book from an article in The Nerve. The following quote from Ece Temelkuran excited me, "She argues that far right political mechanisms work to cut ties between people and communities - and hollow out our faith in humanity. She says the answer is to nurture friendship and connection, and to think of home as other people."
February 25, 2026
Nation of Strangers felt so uncannily relatable that reading it was like finding a long-lost cherished object. The book constructs a shared home for the unhomed - a growing group of people who now constitute, the author argues, a silent majority. There is something liberating in seeing their shared experiences and potential shared imaginaries articulated and placed into the world with such precision and care.
Temelkuran writes about language as both power and responsibility. She knows she is creating something that will live in the world and do things to how readers relate to it. In this book she releases, I think, two beasts.
One creates a conceptual home for the unhomed. It is beautiful, poetic, gentle, almost luminous. It draws on amor mundi, on the stubborn insistence on loving the world (and other people) even as it fractures. It dignifies the stranger. It honours shame without surrendering to it. It frames voice as collective survival not individual vanity.
The other beast is darker. It warns relentlessly, alarmingly, of fascism’s spread, of democratic fragility, of a future in which homelessness (political, moral, literal) becomes the norm. Whether its warnings are empirically warranted, it’s hard to be certain. But its plight is undoubtedly urgent, and a powerful call for solidarity.
Temelkuran has a joyous ability to craft brilliant new perspectives. When she writes, “English seemed to me like a linguistic river where all the unhomed of the world… gathered to drink,” she inverses the defeatist view of English as an oppressive language, replacing it with this beautiful and dignified image of a language that has become a gathering point for collective replenishment.
Her reflections on Enheduanna and Rutilius (the dilemma between self-pity and stoic silence) is one of the most arresting sections of the book. How does the unhomed speak without becoming theatrical? How does one preserve dignity without disappearing into silence? “This is a question of dignity,” she repeats. And it is.
Her line, “It is not the loss of home but the loss of faith in building a new one,” is probably the emotional pinnacle of the book. Exile is survivable, but loss of futurity is crushing.
By the end, the book leaves us with a paradox: we strangers have survived our own apocalypse. We know how to begin anew (something very Arendtian about this). But will we be able to make the world our home once more?
Tender and unsettling at the same time, this is the kind of book that will stay with anyone who has felt unhomed. Whether one finds its warnings necessary or overwhelming may depend on how much fragility one is already carrying. But it is, without doubt, a courageous act of language and a generous opening towards much needed intimate conversations.
Temelkuran writes about language as both power and responsibility. She knows she is creating something that will live in the world and do things to how readers relate to it. In this book she releases, I think, two beasts.
One creates a conceptual home for the unhomed. It is beautiful, poetic, gentle, almost luminous. It draws on amor mundi, on the stubborn insistence on loving the world (and other people) even as it fractures. It dignifies the stranger. It honours shame without surrendering to it. It frames voice as collective survival not individual vanity.
The other beast is darker. It warns relentlessly, alarmingly, of fascism’s spread, of democratic fragility, of a future in which homelessness (political, moral, literal) becomes the norm. Whether its warnings are empirically warranted, it’s hard to be certain. But its plight is undoubtedly urgent, and a powerful call for solidarity.
Temelkuran has a joyous ability to craft brilliant new perspectives. When she writes, “English seemed to me like a linguistic river where all the unhomed of the world… gathered to drink,” she inverses the defeatist view of English as an oppressive language, replacing it with this beautiful and dignified image of a language that has become a gathering point for collective replenishment.
Her reflections on Enheduanna and Rutilius (the dilemma between self-pity and stoic silence) is one of the most arresting sections of the book. How does the unhomed speak without becoming theatrical? How does one preserve dignity without disappearing into silence? “This is a question of dignity,” she repeats. And it is.
Her line, “It is not the loss of home but the loss of faith in building a new one,” is probably the emotional pinnacle of the book. Exile is survivable, but loss of futurity is crushing.
By the end, the book leaves us with a paradox: we strangers have survived our own apocalypse. We know how to begin anew (something very Arendtian about this). But will we be able to make the world our home once more?
Tender and unsettling at the same time, this is the kind of book that will stay with anyone who has felt unhomed. Whether one finds its warnings necessary or overwhelming may depend on how much fragility one is already carrying. But it is, without doubt, a courageous act of language and a generous opening towards much needed intimate conversations.
March 30, 2026
2026 Women's Prize for Non- fiction shortlist 2/6
A Turkish journalist, exiled because of her criticism of the regime in her homeland, writes of the confluence of facism and ecological disaster through the eyes of the stranger, the displaced, the homeless: who are you? why did you leave? how will you survive here? when will you go home?
Necessary reading for anyone who is succumbing to acceptance of the political landscape we now find ourselves in.
A Turkish journalist, exiled because of her criticism of the regime in her homeland, writes of the confluence of facism and ecological disaster through the eyes of the stranger, the displaced, the homeless: who are you? why did you leave? how will you survive here? when will you go home?
Necessary reading for anyone who is succumbing to acceptance of the political landscape we now find ourselves in.
February 3, 2026
„Ich musste mein Land verlassen, um dem Faschismus zu entkommen, um schreiben, denken, einfach 𝘴𝘦𝘪𝘯 zu können.“
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Ece Temelkuran muss aus Sicherheitsgründen die Türkei, ihr Heimatland, hinter sich lassen, um einer Verhaftung zu entgehen. Von nun an ist sie eine „Heimatlose“, eine Weltbürgerin, ein Teil der «Nation von Fremden», von Menschen, die im Exil leben, die geflüchtet sind.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
In ihrem sehr persönlichen Buch gibt sie Einblicke in ihren Kampf gegen das Alleinsein, das Heimweh und das Gefühl der Orientierungslosigkeit außerhalb ihres Heimatlandes. Wird es jemals wieder einen Ort für sie geben, an dem sie sich zu Hause fühlt? Wie soll das gehen, wenn man nur von einer Aufenthaltserlaubnis zur nächsten leben kann? Ihr Frust und auch ihr Stolz scheint an mehreren Stellen durch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Für mich war es keine einfache Lektüre. Das Buch richtet sich aber in erster Linie auch an andere „Fremde“, die die Autorin in ihren Briefen persönlich adressiert. Ece Temelkuran erzählt sehr schonungslos von den Folgen des Faschismus, will für dieses Thema sensibilisieren und fühlt sich, so wie die meisten von uns auch, oft machtlos in Anbetracht der politischen Krisen der Gegenwart (Beispiel: Tr*mp).
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Ich hatte mir das Buch etwas anders vorgestellt und deswegen ist es wahrscheinlich ein wenig hinter meinen Erwartungen zurückgeblieben. Ich hatte angenommen, dass es noch mehr um die Erfahrungen anderer „Fremder“ geht, wie eine Art Feldstudie.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
„Nation of Strangers“ ist ein sehr wichtiges Buch und ich würde jedem die Lektüre empfehlen, der sich für das Leid Geflüchteter und „entwurzelter“ Menschen interessiert.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
4/5 ⭐️
Toll übersetzt von Michaela Grabinger
Rezensionsexemplar I Vielen Dank @netgalleyde @rowohltverlag 💚
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Ece Temelkuran muss aus Sicherheitsgründen die Türkei, ihr Heimatland, hinter sich lassen, um einer Verhaftung zu entgehen. Von nun an ist sie eine „Heimatlose“, eine Weltbürgerin, ein Teil der «Nation von Fremden», von Menschen, die im Exil leben, die geflüchtet sind.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
In ihrem sehr persönlichen Buch gibt sie Einblicke in ihren Kampf gegen das Alleinsein, das Heimweh und das Gefühl der Orientierungslosigkeit außerhalb ihres Heimatlandes. Wird es jemals wieder einen Ort für sie geben, an dem sie sich zu Hause fühlt? Wie soll das gehen, wenn man nur von einer Aufenthaltserlaubnis zur nächsten leben kann? Ihr Frust und auch ihr Stolz scheint an mehreren Stellen durch.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Für mich war es keine einfache Lektüre. Das Buch richtet sich aber in erster Linie auch an andere „Fremde“, die die Autorin in ihren Briefen persönlich adressiert. Ece Temelkuran erzählt sehr schonungslos von den Folgen des Faschismus, will für dieses Thema sensibilisieren und fühlt sich, so wie die meisten von uns auch, oft machtlos in Anbetracht der politischen Krisen der Gegenwart (Beispiel: Tr*mp).
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Ich hatte mir das Buch etwas anders vorgestellt und deswegen ist es wahrscheinlich ein wenig hinter meinen Erwartungen zurückgeblieben. Ich hatte angenommen, dass es noch mehr um die Erfahrungen anderer „Fremder“ geht, wie eine Art Feldstudie.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
„Nation of Strangers“ ist ein sehr wichtiges Buch und ich würde jedem die Lektüre empfehlen, der sich für das Leid Geflüchteter und „entwurzelter“ Menschen interessiert.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
4/5 ⭐️
Toll übersetzt von Michaela Grabinger
Rezensionsexemplar I Vielen Dank @netgalleyde @rowohltverlag 💚
April 23, 2026
There are moments of exceptional writing in this book, and I can see why it has received some strong reviews. The author captures inner thoughts and emotional states very well, and there are passages that feel genuinely relatable. The “who we are” section in particular, despite its flaws, had the potential to carry the whole book. The premise itself, that we may all become “strangers” or effectively homeless in a broader sense, is interesting and thought-provoking.
But I had real issues with it.
The central use of “homelessness” felt uncomfortable and, at times, intrusive. There are moments where the author reflects on being “homeless” alongside descriptions of stepping off a yacht in Venice or speaking at high-profile conferences. I understand the sense of dislocation she is trying to convey, but the comparison feels misplaced. It risks diluting the reality of homelessness as experienced by those dealing with immediate and severe precarity.
There are so many almost moments in this book. You can feel the author reaching toward something important, and at times she gets very close. But then it is undercut. For example, celebrating a three-year residency permit by buying an expensive ballgown may reflect relief or a desire for normality, but when placed alongside accounts of displacement, it feels jarring. The book also draws on conversations with people who are genuinely homeless or displaced, yet their lived experiences, shaped by concerns about safety, food, and basic stability, sit uneasily next to the author’s own framing.
What came through for me is a lack of reflection on that imbalance. The book is very focused on the author’s own experience, but does not fully engage with the privilege that shapes it. There is a broader point here, which came up in discussion at book club (there were no good reviews), about political exile. Many individuals in that position are rightly given platforms in academia, journalism, and public discourse, and their experiences matter. But attempts to draw parallels with those who cannot return “home” in a much more immediate and materially precarious sense can risk flattening very different realities.
For me, that tension is never properly addressed. And because of that, the book ends up feeling frustrating. There is a strong idea at its core, and moments of real insight, but it does not quite grapple with the implications of its own framing.
But I had real issues with it.
The central use of “homelessness” felt uncomfortable and, at times, intrusive. There are moments where the author reflects on being “homeless” alongside descriptions of stepping off a yacht in Venice or speaking at high-profile conferences. I understand the sense of dislocation she is trying to convey, but the comparison feels misplaced. It risks diluting the reality of homelessness as experienced by those dealing with immediate and severe precarity.
There are so many almost moments in this book. You can feel the author reaching toward something important, and at times she gets very close. But then it is undercut. For example, celebrating a three-year residency permit by buying an expensive ballgown may reflect relief or a desire for normality, but when placed alongside accounts of displacement, it feels jarring. The book also draws on conversations with people who are genuinely homeless or displaced, yet their lived experiences, shaped by concerns about safety, food, and basic stability, sit uneasily next to the author’s own framing.
What came through for me is a lack of reflection on that imbalance. The book is very focused on the author’s own experience, but does not fully engage with the privilege that shapes it. There is a broader point here, which came up in discussion at book club (there were no good reviews), about political exile. Many individuals in that position are rightly given platforms in academia, journalism, and public discourse, and their experiences matter. But attempts to draw parallels with those who cannot return “home” in a much more immediate and materially precarious sense can risk flattening very different realities.
For me, that tension is never properly addressed. And because of that, the book ends up feeling frustrating. There is a strong idea at its core, and moments of real insight, but it does not quite grapple with the implications of its own framing.
April 27, 2026
Powerful. Necessary. Wise.
April 26, 2026
The three stars don’t really reflect the quality or the content of the book, but my preferences and taste. I agree with many of Temelkuran‘s points and there are a number of moving scenes, but I never fully clicked with the style. I am sure many will, but for me it seemed over-written and over-intellectualised. I think it also suffered from the comparison with Maria Stepanova‘s The Disappearing Act that tackles some similar themes and that I read roughly at the same time. I loved Stepanova‘s aloof, slightly surreal approach - and perhaps it’s also relevant that her Beast is closer to me than Temelkuran‘s.
March 22, 2026
I really enjoyed this one. It sits with you. There’s something in it about never quite feeling at home, a quiet dislocation I recognise from living in the UK. That sense that we’re all just people trying to belong, trying to make somewhere feel like ours.
The provocations land. Especially around how distraction gets weaponised — the rhetoric pulling us apart, missing the deeper truth of what we actually share. Her critique of Keir Starmer is subtle but sharp, particularly the failure to offer any real opposition to Reform. That phrase “island of strangers” is turns it back on itself.
What’s most striking is what sits underneath it all: the refusal to let capitalism off the hook. She keeps pointing to the root, not just the symptoms. And when she asks us to call it what it is, FASCISM, it doesn’t feel exaggerate. One I’ll keep thinking about.
The provocations land. Especially around how distraction gets weaponised — the rhetoric pulling us apart, missing the deeper truth of what we actually share. Her critique of Keir Starmer is subtle but sharp, particularly the failure to offer any real opposition to Reform. That phrase “island of strangers” is turns it back on itself.
What’s most striking is what sits underneath it all: the refusal to let capitalism off the hook. She keeps pointing to the root, not just the symptoms. And when she asks us to call it what it is, FASCISM, it doesn’t feel exaggerate. One I’ll keep thinking about.
May 12, 2026
4,5⭐
gorgeous poetic musings about home and leaving home threaded by real life experiences of a life after having to leave the first place you called home and surviving that bleeding. I highlighted so many turns of phrases - my personal favourite one is that "hugs are body-shaped homes"
gorgeous poetic musings about home and leaving home threaded by real life experiences of a life after having to leave the first place you called home and surviving that bleeding. I highlighted so many turns of phrases - my personal favourite one is that "hugs are body-shaped homes"
May 7, 2026
Lieve Ece dankjewel!! MUST read voor iedereen die zich niet op zijn/haar/hun plek voelt…dan heb je het probleem niet begrepen! Psst… thuis = andere mensen!!
April 26, 2026
Ik had het al aan 5 mensen aangeraden voordat ik het uit had, dat zegt eigenlijk alles al
April 26, 2026
//4.5 stars//
I suprisingly enjoyed this ALOT. A different perspective with GREAT writing!
Written in letter to the reader who Eve calls “Dear Stranger”, we follow her thoughts and experiences around home, identity and belonging across three years. These questions answer four questions: Who Are You? Why Did You Leave? How Will You Survive Here? When Will You Go Home?”
Her tone is often aggressive and corosive, and her warnings feel both scaremongering and darkly true. But the hurt and isolation she captures about being unhomed is incisively true and beautiful. I enjoyed reading this as it is a slightly different perspective from my own that builds upon things I thing and challenges me with things I don’t. This combined with brilliant writing makes it a very propulsive and mind epanding read.
Her letter to a speaking gig that asked her if she is an anti-semite due to a her support of Palestine is brilliant and captures much of what can feel frustrating about the German left wing.
QUOTES:
“I put my heart in the freezer; I envisioned the organ in the fridge. It was to be dealt with later.”
“I wasn't permitted to be human until my life could be deemed a success. But once you lose your home, success
- like the word later - becomes ambiguous and infinite, always beyond reach. Without a home, you lose your command over time, and your worth becomes a matter of debate, decided either by the settled-down folk in the new land or some imagined, higher moral authority back in the old one.”
“The planet, that ticking bomb, becomes our suicide vest to wear. We know that its loss is incomprehensible for the rest of the world, so we look for appealing ways to convey the truth to them. We have cramps in our cheeks while searching for the right kind of smile with which to tell them that the world is ending.”
“When our basic human values don't match up to the blunt cruelty of the new world order, we become morally homeless. Like rough sleepers do with their belongings in supermarket trolleys, we carry our moral values from one shelter to another, trying to find a temporary home for them during this long night of inhumanity. We build small communities that will protect our hearts. We weave intricate connections with people in order to have an emotional roof over our heads.”
“My eyes scanned all the homeless words of history. written in or translated into English. The irony is that English is a language that, until the sixteenth century, had a dictionary that believed strangers were barbarians and, until the eighteenth century, didn't have a word for homesickness. Yet still, English seemed to me like a linguistic river where all the unhomed of the world, the unbelonging beasts, gathered to drink.
The first thing one discovers while bingeing on dead-men-talking is that a silencing spell has been cast on the strangers like us - those with no prospect of going back home. From the very beginning, all the stories of the road have been told only by the travellers who made it back home - a particularly fearful fact for the eternal strangers who simply have no home to go back to. So, my dear stranger, if we do not make it back home, our voice is stolen. How unjust it is, considering that it is the road and those who dare to be on the road that create the story. Yet, only once you return home do you have proof that you have a story to tell.”
“We know that when misery reaches the limits of absurdity, anger becomes a self-destructive luxury.”
“We laugh.Not a real laughter, that one, but an ache of laughter. A signpost at the void where there is supposed to be a language and a single self not split in two: one for the strangers, one for the others. A place-holder, perhaps, until we know who we are.”
“M: What does hope mean to you?
E: I don't believe in hope, but in determination, having faith and doing what you can to survive when there is no hope.
M: Nice answer.
E: Well, I wrote a book about it. Ha!
M: Is hope a good thing or a bad thing?
E: Sometimes it is bad. People wait too long for hope to appear. They are using the word to stop and wait, whereas they can do a lot to survive and for humanity to survive.”
“Everyone lives the life for which they can afford the price.
Remember when, in the very beginning, I said having to start everything from scratch was a more affordable price for me compared to being paralysed with fear back home? And I paid it only when the fear became unbearable.” ⭐️
“Walking towards the east, the many memorials of Berlin's dark past begin to pop up. This city lives in a unique time zone, where past, present and future tenses collapse into one another, like an accordion being stretched and then compressed. The many whys of the past intertwine seamlessly as I walk around with my own questions.”
“There will be no explicit agreement needed, but gradually, people will avoid that one word that is deemed 'problematic'. It is the word genocide in Germany today; in other countries, it will be other words.
The gap left behind by that one lost word will soon be filled with harmless words kindly suggested by the power-approved words, such as war, even though the other side is primarily civilians. 'Let's not call it a genocide but "atrocities"? Eventually, it will become impossible to join the public conversation without uttering only those approved words. They will operate
-as signal flares to show that you are not using the criminalised word. This is how fascism works. It not only silences people but also forces them to speak in a certain way.”
“But if you ask me what kind of home I search for, I cannot think of anything other than my legacy.
When I say legacy, I mean the experience of having lived this life. That is the only home I can think of.” ⭐️
“I responded with a Turkish saying: "The wolf survives the winter but never forgets the black frost?
But then, 1 am not sure. Perhaps spring means forgetting, and so does survival - a set of complex choices about what to remember.”
“The stranger becomes disinterested in those who have not endured a similar test of survival. This solitude can be shared only by those whose bodies, like litmus paper, have been dipped in the acid of survival and been irreversibly and fundamentally changed by it.”
“The loss of home is irreversible. No return journey tomorrow can reach a place of yesterday. Once you leave, 'back at home' is over.”
“'So what do we do now?'
'So much. So much!' I told her.
She tentatively asked, 'So there is hope, you say?'
'Forget about hope, I replied. 'There is me, and there is you. That's it. This is our new home now, you and me and all the others like us. That's what we'll have to work with.'” ⭐️
“Yet they will still, in their hearts, carry that old story of home, where the road means nothing until you arrive back at the old home. This is all because, since the Odyssey was written, only the return has given meaning to the journey. The road is deemed pointless unless it circles back home. Odysseus was a floating stranger, a nobody unless recognised back home. His story was told only in hindsight after he made it back to Ithaca, his island. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been a record, all would have been left in the dark, the obscure universe of strangers. And the gravity of the story endured as the cities stood still. But now, as the cities, physical or virtual, are coming down ...”
“It is the loss of faith in the home, in the self and in others. That is total darkness, the ultimate shade of black. There, the stranger can still do everything that imitates life - eating, working, having sex, ageing, laughing, drinking, planning things for next summer - yet without the essential joy of life.”
“We know that home is, in fact, other people. Fear unhomes the human. Love accommodates.”
I suprisingly enjoyed this ALOT. A different perspective with GREAT writing!
Written in letter to the reader who Eve calls “Dear Stranger”, we follow her thoughts and experiences around home, identity and belonging across three years. These questions answer four questions: Who Are You? Why Did You Leave? How Will You Survive Here? When Will You Go Home?”
Her tone is often aggressive and corosive, and her warnings feel both scaremongering and darkly true. But the hurt and isolation she captures about being unhomed is incisively true and beautiful. I enjoyed reading this as it is a slightly different perspective from my own that builds upon things I thing and challenges me with things I don’t. This combined with brilliant writing makes it a very propulsive and mind epanding read.
Her letter to a speaking gig that asked her if she is an anti-semite due to a her support of Palestine is brilliant and captures much of what can feel frustrating about the German left wing.
QUOTES:
“I put my heart in the freezer; I envisioned the organ in the fridge. It was to be dealt with later.”
“I wasn't permitted to be human until my life could be deemed a success. But once you lose your home, success
- like the word later - becomes ambiguous and infinite, always beyond reach. Without a home, you lose your command over time, and your worth becomes a matter of debate, decided either by the settled-down folk in the new land or some imagined, higher moral authority back in the old one.”
“The planet, that ticking bomb, becomes our suicide vest to wear. We know that its loss is incomprehensible for the rest of the world, so we look for appealing ways to convey the truth to them. We have cramps in our cheeks while searching for the right kind of smile with which to tell them that the world is ending.”
“When our basic human values don't match up to the blunt cruelty of the new world order, we become morally homeless. Like rough sleepers do with their belongings in supermarket trolleys, we carry our moral values from one shelter to another, trying to find a temporary home for them during this long night of inhumanity. We build small communities that will protect our hearts. We weave intricate connections with people in order to have an emotional roof over our heads.”
“My eyes scanned all the homeless words of history. written in or translated into English. The irony is that English is a language that, until the sixteenth century, had a dictionary that believed strangers were barbarians and, until the eighteenth century, didn't have a word for homesickness. Yet still, English seemed to me like a linguistic river where all the unhomed of the world, the unbelonging beasts, gathered to drink.
The first thing one discovers while bingeing on dead-men-talking is that a silencing spell has been cast on the strangers like us - those with no prospect of going back home. From the very beginning, all the stories of the road have been told only by the travellers who made it back home - a particularly fearful fact for the eternal strangers who simply have no home to go back to. So, my dear stranger, if we do not make it back home, our voice is stolen. How unjust it is, considering that it is the road and those who dare to be on the road that create the story. Yet, only once you return home do you have proof that you have a story to tell.”
“We know that when misery reaches the limits of absurdity, anger becomes a self-destructive luxury.”
“We laugh.Not a real laughter, that one, but an ache of laughter. A signpost at the void where there is supposed to be a language and a single self not split in two: one for the strangers, one for the others. A place-holder, perhaps, until we know who we are.”
“M: What does hope mean to you?
E: I don't believe in hope, but in determination, having faith and doing what you can to survive when there is no hope.
M: Nice answer.
E: Well, I wrote a book about it. Ha!
M: Is hope a good thing or a bad thing?
E: Sometimes it is bad. People wait too long for hope to appear. They are using the word to stop and wait, whereas they can do a lot to survive and for humanity to survive.”
“Everyone lives the life for which they can afford the price.
Remember when, in the very beginning, I said having to start everything from scratch was a more affordable price for me compared to being paralysed with fear back home? And I paid it only when the fear became unbearable.” ⭐️
“Walking towards the east, the many memorials of Berlin's dark past begin to pop up. This city lives in a unique time zone, where past, present and future tenses collapse into one another, like an accordion being stretched and then compressed. The many whys of the past intertwine seamlessly as I walk around with my own questions.”
“There will be no explicit agreement needed, but gradually, people will avoid that one word that is deemed 'problematic'. It is the word genocide in Germany today; in other countries, it will be other words.
The gap left behind by that one lost word will soon be filled with harmless words kindly suggested by the power-approved words, such as war, even though the other side is primarily civilians. 'Let's not call it a genocide but "atrocities"? Eventually, it will become impossible to join the public conversation without uttering only those approved words. They will operate
-as signal flares to show that you are not using the criminalised word. This is how fascism works. It not only silences people but also forces them to speak in a certain way.”
“But if you ask me what kind of home I search for, I cannot think of anything other than my legacy.
When I say legacy, I mean the experience of having lived this life. That is the only home I can think of.” ⭐️
“I responded with a Turkish saying: "The wolf survives the winter but never forgets the black frost?
But then, 1 am not sure. Perhaps spring means forgetting, and so does survival - a set of complex choices about what to remember.”
“The stranger becomes disinterested in those who have not endured a similar test of survival. This solitude can be shared only by those whose bodies, like litmus paper, have been dipped in the acid of survival and been irreversibly and fundamentally changed by it.”
“The loss of home is irreversible. No return journey tomorrow can reach a place of yesterday. Once you leave, 'back at home' is over.”
“'So what do we do now?'
'So much. So much!' I told her.
She tentatively asked, 'So there is hope, you say?'
'Forget about hope, I replied. 'There is me, and there is you. That's it. This is our new home now, you and me and all the others like us. That's what we'll have to work with.'” ⭐️
“Yet they will still, in their hearts, carry that old story of home, where the road means nothing until you arrive back at the old home. This is all because, since the Odyssey was written, only the return has given meaning to the journey. The road is deemed pointless unless it circles back home. Odysseus was a floating stranger, a nobody unless recognised back home. His story was told only in hindsight after he made it back to Ithaca, his island. Otherwise, there wouldn't have been a record, all would have been left in the dark, the obscure universe of strangers. And the gravity of the story endured as the cities stood still. But now, as the cities, physical or virtual, are coming down ...”
“It is the loss of faith in the home, in the self and in others. That is total darkness, the ultimate shade of black. There, the stranger can still do everything that imitates life - eating, working, having sex, ageing, laughing, drinking, planning things for next summer - yet without the essential joy of life.”
“We know that home is, in fact, other people. Fear unhomes the human. Love accommodates.”
March 19, 2026
‘Nation of Strangers is perhaps the most urgent and necessary book of our times, for our times. To read it is “to stiffen the sinews.”’
- Michael Morpugo
When Sir Keir Starmer used the term ‘island of strangers’ in 2025, he was rightfully criticised and castigated for the unhelpful ‘othering’ and distancing from other human beings in need of a home. Deep down, below the political shock headlines and nuance, perhaps he was more right than even he could have dreamed- that being a ‘Nation of Strangers’ and acknowledging our similarities and shared humanity may be the only way to rebuild the home, which all of us are in danger of losing.
Ece Temelkuran’s usage of ‘Nation of Strangers’ goes far in accepting that around the world today, people are not ‘exiles’, seeking some cloak of political ‘rightness’ and ‘justness’, but nor are they ‘migrants’ with all the attendant legal and political connotations. They are ‘displaced’ in the truest sense of the word- displaced not just geographically, but also temporally- they exist outside time metaphorically- waiting for residency status, waiting for visas, simply just waiting in a ‘permanent temporality’ as Temelkuran describes.
They are simply people seeking a home. We are simply people seeking a home.
Temelkuran suggests that there has been a withdrawing by some people, as a survival mechanism- one which protects and shields them from newly ‘elected’ fascist leaders; politicians who drive a wedge between ‘us’ and ‘them’ simply for election purposes and those who wish to hide from an increasingly uncaring world. ‘Or perhaps the radical immorality of a leader is suddenly normalised even by our friends. A tear opens deep down in our sense of belonging. The tear eventually articulated as an aching sentence: ‘I don’t recognise this place; this is not my country anymore.’ We miss our country while still living in it.’
Some of my American friends are embarrassed and shamed by the current leadership of their country and this shame shakes their sense of identity. Some of my British friends are also similarly embarrassed and shamed by the emboldened far right voices in this country who advocate sharply against migration and create dehumanised monsters of those seeking a home to turn welcome into fear. And they are emboldened by the sudden silence of the majority, who recognise that for the grace of God, anyone can be ‘homeless’, whether this is a loss of identity and value, or a loss of accommodation.
‘That is why many, too many of us, decide every day to turn ourselves into unfeeling creatures so that we can function as survival automatons. These times are orphaning all that is humane. An uncaring world is in the making, and it will unhome humans like you and me.’
A Nomad Century
Gaia Vince writes about the large numbers of migrants that the 21st century will be driven to, owing to the unchecked climate crisis in ‘A Noam Century’. As Temelkuran also notes, ‘Scientists report that by 2050, 1.5 billion people will have to leave their homes, and by 2070, 3 billion people will have become refugees.’ Unless we begin to open our hearts again into the understanding that we once had, of our shared humanity, we are in danger of losing all joy and happiness. ‘Some of us sit down and calculate when the rising sea or another wildfire will swallow up or land to make us homeless. We watch the water or the flames creeping further every year, centimetre by centimetre. The planet, that ticking bomb, becomes our suicide vest to wear.’
Temelkuran repeatedly urges throughout the book that this journey which we are on, is an inward journey, rather than an external journey to the many Ithacas of our identities and lives. From the very beginning, all the stories of the road have been told only by the travellers who made it back home…if we do not make it back home, our voice is stolen.’ Another journey lies ahead of us- a journey of rebuilding a community of strangers.
‘As much as it is about you and me, this is a journey towards the unhomed heart of humanity.’
She argues that, ‘Home, I believe, is the closet word to all of our hearts. And the idea of building a new home together, I hoped would recharge you- and me- with the joy of life.’
Temelkuran structures her writing both chronologically and focused on the somewhat charged questions of ‘Who are you? Why did you leave? How will you survive here? When will you go home?’. We are meant to recognise these questions- ones which give definite answers- are only supposed to be asked of those who are ‘other’ and challenge us to answer them ourselves. In our lives, we may be far from ‘home’, a place and a time of safety and innocence.
‘We are all losing home in some way or another. We are all becoming homeless. We are all being unhomed. Unhomed…’
Temelkuran inverts Sartre’s quotation, ‘Hell is other people’ in ‘No Exit’, where our self- image and worth is decided by the perceptions of others, turning us into objects, rather than the verbs that we are. Temelkuran emphatically and conclusively states, ‘We know that home is, in fact, other people.’
Home has always been an idea of creation, of ‘building a home, building a nest and then leaving the nest. We can belong again, we can belong together, we can make it back home and sing out our voices confidently into the joyous skies. We no longer need to fear that home might no longer recognise us.
Home is waiting for us.
- Michael Morpugo
When Sir Keir Starmer used the term ‘island of strangers’ in 2025, he was rightfully criticised and castigated for the unhelpful ‘othering’ and distancing from other human beings in need of a home. Deep down, below the political shock headlines and nuance, perhaps he was more right than even he could have dreamed- that being a ‘Nation of Strangers’ and acknowledging our similarities and shared humanity may be the only way to rebuild the home, which all of us are in danger of losing.
Ece Temelkuran’s usage of ‘Nation of Strangers’ goes far in accepting that around the world today, people are not ‘exiles’, seeking some cloak of political ‘rightness’ and ‘justness’, but nor are they ‘migrants’ with all the attendant legal and political connotations. They are ‘displaced’ in the truest sense of the word- displaced not just geographically, but also temporally- they exist outside time metaphorically- waiting for residency status, waiting for visas, simply just waiting in a ‘permanent temporality’ as Temelkuran describes.
They are simply people seeking a home. We are simply people seeking a home.
Temelkuran suggests that there has been a withdrawing by some people, as a survival mechanism- one which protects and shields them from newly ‘elected’ fascist leaders; politicians who drive a wedge between ‘us’ and ‘them’ simply for election purposes and those who wish to hide from an increasingly uncaring world. ‘Or perhaps the radical immorality of a leader is suddenly normalised even by our friends. A tear opens deep down in our sense of belonging. The tear eventually articulated as an aching sentence: ‘I don’t recognise this place; this is not my country anymore.’ We miss our country while still living in it.’
Some of my American friends are embarrassed and shamed by the current leadership of their country and this shame shakes their sense of identity. Some of my British friends are also similarly embarrassed and shamed by the emboldened far right voices in this country who advocate sharply against migration and create dehumanised monsters of those seeking a home to turn welcome into fear. And they are emboldened by the sudden silence of the majority, who recognise that for the grace of God, anyone can be ‘homeless’, whether this is a loss of identity and value, or a loss of accommodation.
‘That is why many, too many of us, decide every day to turn ourselves into unfeeling creatures so that we can function as survival automatons. These times are orphaning all that is humane. An uncaring world is in the making, and it will unhome humans like you and me.’
A Nomad Century
Gaia Vince writes about the large numbers of migrants that the 21st century will be driven to, owing to the unchecked climate crisis in ‘A Noam Century’. As Temelkuran also notes, ‘Scientists report that by 2050, 1.5 billion people will have to leave their homes, and by 2070, 3 billion people will have become refugees.’ Unless we begin to open our hearts again into the understanding that we once had, of our shared humanity, we are in danger of losing all joy and happiness. ‘Some of us sit down and calculate when the rising sea or another wildfire will swallow up or land to make us homeless. We watch the water or the flames creeping further every year, centimetre by centimetre. The planet, that ticking bomb, becomes our suicide vest to wear.’
Temelkuran repeatedly urges throughout the book that this journey which we are on, is an inward journey, rather than an external journey to the many Ithacas of our identities and lives. From the very beginning, all the stories of the road have been told only by the travellers who made it back home…if we do not make it back home, our voice is stolen.’ Another journey lies ahead of us- a journey of rebuilding a community of strangers.
‘As much as it is about you and me, this is a journey towards the unhomed heart of humanity.’
She argues that, ‘Home, I believe, is the closet word to all of our hearts. And the idea of building a new home together, I hoped would recharge you- and me- with the joy of life.’
Temelkuran structures her writing both chronologically and focused on the somewhat charged questions of ‘Who are you? Why did you leave? How will you survive here? When will you go home?’. We are meant to recognise these questions- ones which give definite answers- are only supposed to be asked of those who are ‘other’ and challenge us to answer them ourselves. In our lives, we may be far from ‘home’, a place and a time of safety and innocence.
‘We are all losing home in some way or another. We are all becoming homeless. We are all being unhomed. Unhomed…’
Temelkuran inverts Sartre’s quotation, ‘Hell is other people’ in ‘No Exit’, where our self- image and worth is decided by the perceptions of others, turning us into objects, rather than the verbs that we are. Temelkuran emphatically and conclusively states, ‘We know that home is, in fact, other people.’
Home has always been an idea of creation, of ‘building a home, building a nest and then leaving the nest. We can belong again, we can belong together, we can make it back home and sing out our voices confidently into the joyous skies. We no longer need to fear that home might no longer recognise us.
Home is waiting for us.
Review of advance copy
Sprache, Selbstverständlichkeiten, soziale Rollen - im Exil fehlt nicht nur Heimat, sondern das Gefüge, in dem Handeln Sinn hat. Man ist da, aber nicht mehr richtig verortet. Die meisten Menschen gehen unfreiwillig ins Exil, ihnen bleibt keine andere Wahl, da Leib und Leben und Freiheit bedroht werden. Genauso erging es Ece Temelkuran.
Die Journalistin, die sowohl für Print Medien als auch fürs türkische Fernsehen gearbeitet hat, sieht sich 2016 gezwungen, ihre Heimat zu verlassen. Die Gefahr nach dem Putsch verhaftet zu werden, ist real. Sie zieht nach Zagreb, weil sie glaubt, dass am Rande von Europas ihr Blick echter und unverstellter ist. Doch ein Fellowship verschlägt sie erst nach Hamburg und später nach Berlin.
Hier beginnt sie, ihre Situation in Worte zu fassen und gleichzeitig andere Menschen die auf der Suche nach einem neuen zu Hause sind, in den Fokus ihres Schreibens zu setzen. Dies tut sie, indem sie Szenerien unter ein Brennglas legt. Auf Ämtern, in Cafés, in den Innenstädten.
Sie beobachtet genau und obwohl sie der deutschen Sprache nicht mächtig ist, erlaubt sie sich Analysen unserer Entwicklung als Einwanderungsland die oft pieksen, weil sie recht hat und uns vorführt, wie wenig wir das Große Ganze oft mitdenken. Als sie zum Beispiel die Demonstrationen gegen den Faschismus im Winter 2024 beschreibt, stellt sie fest, dass die, die unter dem Faschismus am meisten leiden werden auf diesen kaum anzutreffen sind. Man hat sie nicht mitgedacht und aus seiner privilegierten Position heraus gehandelt. Ich geh da nicht immer mit und habe das auch sehr anders empfunden, kann aber ihre Position akzeptieren.
Am wichtigsten aber ist die Auseinandersetzung mit der Heimat. Mit Fragen wie „Warum bist du gegangen? Wie wirst du überleben? Wann wirst du zurückkehren?“ hangeln wir uns an ihrer Geschichte entlang. Die Gedanken dazu mäandern hin und her, werden von Historie und politischer Gegenwart durchzogen und wagen Vision, die nicht immer positiv stimmen.
Konsequent benennt sie Faschismus, schon zu einer Zeit, wo wir ihn vielleicht nicht sehen (wollten), wobei auch beim Letzten in unserem Land angekommen sein wird, dass er sich beginnt zu etablieren.
Stilistisch hat sie sich für die Briefform entschieden. Sie richtet das Wort an „Fremde“ womit mal wir gemeint sind, mal Gleichgesinnte.
Ein philosophischer Spaziergang auf der Suche nach Heimat, der unmöglich scheint, nicht immer zugänglich, aber offensichtlich klug und sehr persönlich konzipiert. Ein Buch, das Zeit und Muße braucht und uns vielleicht sogar abverlangt, uns noch viel kritischer zu betrachten. Wenn es einen zu diesen Themen zieht und man sich reinfallen lässt, dann ist es eine sehr große Bereicherung.
Die Journalistin, die sowohl für Print Medien als auch fürs türkische Fernsehen gearbeitet hat, sieht sich 2016 gezwungen, ihre Heimat zu verlassen. Die Gefahr nach dem Putsch verhaftet zu werden, ist real. Sie zieht nach Zagreb, weil sie glaubt, dass am Rande von Europas ihr Blick echter und unverstellter ist. Doch ein Fellowship verschlägt sie erst nach Hamburg und später nach Berlin.
Hier beginnt sie, ihre Situation in Worte zu fassen und gleichzeitig andere Menschen die auf der Suche nach einem neuen zu Hause sind, in den Fokus ihres Schreibens zu setzen. Dies tut sie, indem sie Szenerien unter ein Brennglas legt. Auf Ämtern, in Cafés, in den Innenstädten.
Sie beobachtet genau und obwohl sie der deutschen Sprache nicht mächtig ist, erlaubt sie sich Analysen unserer Entwicklung als Einwanderungsland die oft pieksen, weil sie recht hat und uns vorführt, wie wenig wir das Große Ganze oft mitdenken. Als sie zum Beispiel die Demonstrationen gegen den Faschismus im Winter 2024 beschreibt, stellt sie fest, dass die, die unter dem Faschismus am meisten leiden werden auf diesen kaum anzutreffen sind. Man hat sie nicht mitgedacht und aus seiner privilegierten Position heraus gehandelt. Ich geh da nicht immer mit und habe das auch sehr anders empfunden, kann aber ihre Position akzeptieren.
Am wichtigsten aber ist die Auseinandersetzung mit der Heimat. Mit Fragen wie „Warum bist du gegangen? Wie wirst du überleben? Wann wirst du zurückkehren?“ hangeln wir uns an ihrer Geschichte entlang. Die Gedanken dazu mäandern hin und her, werden von Historie und politischer Gegenwart durchzogen und wagen Vision, die nicht immer positiv stimmen.
Konsequent benennt sie Faschismus, schon zu einer Zeit, wo wir ihn vielleicht nicht sehen (wollten), wobei auch beim Letzten in unserem Land angekommen sein wird, dass er sich beginnt zu etablieren.
Stilistisch hat sie sich für die Briefform entschieden. Sie richtet das Wort an „Fremde“ womit mal wir gemeint sind, mal Gleichgesinnte.
Ein philosophischer Spaziergang auf der Suche nach Heimat, der unmöglich scheint, nicht immer zugänglich, aber offensichtlich klug und sehr persönlich konzipiert. Ein Buch, das Zeit und Muße braucht und uns vielleicht sogar abverlangt, uns noch viel kritischer zu betrachten. Wenn es einen zu diesen Themen zieht und man sich reinfallen lässt, dann ist es eine sehr große Bereicherung.
March 12, 2026
“This is one of the tools of new fascism, to hypnotise you into a mental catatonia induced by fear of its daily bombardment of outlandish acts, you become so absorbed in their shocking actions resembling a grotesque spectacle that you forget what you can do. They create the illusion that they are the majority, so you gradually lose faith in your fellow humans, you become too possessed to even begin thinking how you can resist, so the trick is, don’t stare too long into an endless black hole, turn your face to the light as weak as the glimmer may be.”
This morning over my coffee, I watched a news story of an elderly couple at a park in Yorkshire, abuse a nurse of Filipina origin who had asked them to put their dog on a lead when it had run up to a small child. The unhinged abuse, and the hatred in their gritted teeth, was truly chilling, as were the comments, probably mostly from bots, justifying their actions. How have we got to this stage? What I should be focusing on, probably, is the fact that they have pleaded guilty in court and are awaiting sentencing. We should be turning these headlines around, “Don’t talk about them so much, let’s talk about us”.
I think reading this over the past few days, has been a hopeful experience. The author is reaching out to others out there who are untethered by current world events. “When our basic human values don’t match up to the blunt cruelty of the new world order, we become morally homeless.” Temelkuran calls on the silent majority to not lose hope and to not be drowned out. It’s broadly on the theme of Michelle Obama’s idea of When they go low, we go high , but she adds her experience as a political exile, and talks about the realities of losing your home, your base, the place where you should be accepted.
I listened to most of this as an audio, read by the author and her voice is truly charismatic. I felt I could feel her physically rolling her eyes at the tedium of having to describe anything to do with bureaucracy, and residence permits for instance. I almost felt like I was there in the queue with her, trying to reach out to people around. As someone who has moved around a fair amount, I very much enjoyed the way she talked about the impact of frequent moves “new cities are like frustrating toys, once I work out how they work, they will be taken away”.
A reminder for anyone feeling drowned out by the ‘no publicity is bad publicity’ campaign of the far right, for people for who strong and wrong, is not a better outcome. You are not alone.
This morning over my coffee, I watched a news story of an elderly couple at a park in Yorkshire, abuse a nurse of Filipina origin who had asked them to put their dog on a lead when it had run up to a small child. The unhinged abuse, and the hatred in their gritted teeth, was truly chilling, as were the comments, probably mostly from bots, justifying their actions. How have we got to this stage? What I should be focusing on, probably, is the fact that they have pleaded guilty in court and are awaiting sentencing. We should be turning these headlines around, “Don’t talk about them so much, let’s talk about us”.
I think reading this over the past few days, has been a hopeful experience. The author is reaching out to others out there who are untethered by current world events. “When our basic human values don’t match up to the blunt cruelty of the new world order, we become morally homeless.” Temelkuran calls on the silent majority to not lose hope and to not be drowned out. It’s broadly on the theme of Michelle Obama’s idea of When they go low, we go high , but she adds her experience as a political exile, and talks about the realities of losing your home, your base, the place where you should be accepted.
I listened to most of this as an audio, read by the author and her voice is truly charismatic. I felt I could feel her physically rolling her eyes at the tedium of having to describe anything to do with bureaucracy, and residence permits for instance. I almost felt like I was there in the queue with her, trying to reach out to people around. As someone who has moved around a fair amount, I very much enjoyed the way she talked about the impact of frequent moves “new cities are like frustrating toys, once I work out how they work, they will be taken away”.
A reminder for anyone feeling drowned out by the ‘no publicity is bad publicity’ campaign of the far right, for people for who strong and wrong, is not a better outcome. You are not alone.
May 6, 2026
Being an immigrant, even one with such inherent privilege that I am so lucky to have, is a long, stressful, and often isolating journey.
You’re far from everything you knew and loved. Often away from family, friends, and familiarity. Even now, after ten and a half years in Canada, I still catch myself calling both places home. Home and home.
Reading a journey where not only is someone processing the familiar pain of leaving their past behind, navigating foreign places, and new languages, they are also mourning the inability to return, brings a whole new understanding to the refugee experience. Add to that being gripped with guilt, fear for those left behind, and the exhaustion of tolling the warning bells of fascism.
‘Nation of Strangers: Rebuilding home in the 21st Century’ by Ece Temelkuran is an intimate look into the life of a Turkish political exile as she writes of finding belonging as she establishes a new place in the world. Ece writes in a poetic, letter format to a fellow ‘Stranger’, processing thoughts and feelings of her past, present, and future, and documents her interactions with other Strangers; artists, refugees, the homeless, and home-seeking.
If you are interested in political writing, deeply personal experiences, and looking for a greater understanding of the current political climate, I recommend adding this to your tbr.
Thanks as always to Simon Schuster Canada for the review copy.
You’re far from everything you knew and loved. Often away from family, friends, and familiarity. Even now, after ten and a half years in Canada, I still catch myself calling both places home. Home and home.
Reading a journey where not only is someone processing the familiar pain of leaving their past behind, navigating foreign places, and new languages, they are also mourning the inability to return, brings a whole new understanding to the refugee experience. Add to that being gripped with guilt, fear for those left behind, and the exhaustion of tolling the warning bells of fascism.
‘Nation of Strangers: Rebuilding home in the 21st Century’ by Ece Temelkuran is an intimate look into the life of a Turkish political exile as she writes of finding belonging as she establishes a new place in the world. Ece writes in a poetic, letter format to a fellow ‘Stranger’, processing thoughts and feelings of her past, present, and future, and documents her interactions with other Strangers; artists, refugees, the homeless, and home-seeking.
If you are interested in political writing, deeply personal experiences, and looking for a greater understanding of the current political climate, I recommend adding this to your tbr.
Thanks as always to Simon Schuster Canada for the review copy.
March 24, 2026
It took Ece 3 years to write this book, and me a month to finish listening from her own voice, accompanied with kilos of sweet potatoes being peeled (that's how I cope with my strong emotions), multiple make-up redos (how I struggle with tears) and many hours of peaceful computer games (to ease down the realities of life). Since she stopped writing novels, I always wanted her to go back to literature in the sense of a more Ece kinda approach to life. This book, completely defeated all my arguments on this, and took its place at top 3 of my Ece shelf, if not my overall library.
I cannot summarize or explain the content any better than the title itself as a member of the nation of strangers for 20 years - nearly doubling Ece's misery (I am sure she will hate this word but well...) as well as starting to experience this way sooner than her at my mid 20s. Probably after having the published book in my hands, I will have many lines to share and add my uncalled commentary. But until then, all I can say is read with caution and enough time to contemplate about life, preferably not while driving if you happen to listen.
I cannot summarize or explain the content any better than the title itself as a member of the nation of strangers for 20 years - nearly doubling Ece's misery (I am sure she will hate this word but well...) as well as starting to experience this way sooner than her at my mid 20s. Probably after having the published book in my hands, I will have many lines to share and add my uncalled commentary. But until then, all I can say is read with caution and enough time to contemplate about life, preferably not while driving if you happen to listen.
April 30, 2026
I can’t say I enjoyed reading this book given the topic that is a reality in the current world. The author is in exile due to her political writings regarding her own country, Turkey.
I have not read the author’s other books. I think after this I’m gonna check them out.
This book explores on homelessness and state of a person in exile. I guess the emotional depth in this book was beautifully crafted. The writing was immaculate.
The theme of the book is something that I rarely read on. It took me some time to process this book. I guess this is an important book given the current climate of whatever this reality is called.
Overall, a recommended read. It’s a book that I might come back to sometime later once I’m probably a bit more wiser.
I have not read the author’s other books. I think after this I’m gonna check them out.
This book explores on homelessness and state of a person in exile. I guess the emotional depth in this book was beautifully crafted. The writing was immaculate.
The theme of the book is something that I rarely read on. It took me some time to process this book. I guess this is an important book given the current climate of whatever this reality is called.
Overall, a recommended read. It’s a book that I might come back to sometime later once I’m probably a bit more wiser.
April 9, 2026
Full review
During the current state of the world where everything felt like too much, Ece Temelkuran's Nations of Strangers gave me the word I had been looking for: stranger. That is exactly how I have been feeling: out of place and like I no longer recognize the world around me.
Temelkuran, a Turkish journalist who was forced out of her own country for speaking against the government, writes about displacement with the kind of honesty that only comes from lived experience. The book is written as letters to strangers and it sits in that space where the world is falling apart.
During the current state of the world where everything felt like too much, Ece Temelkuran's Nations of Strangers gave me the word I had been looking for: stranger. That is exactly how I have been feeling: out of place and like I no longer recognize the world around me.
Temelkuran, a Turkish journalist who was forced out of her own country for speaking against the government, writes about displacement with the kind of honesty that only comes from lived experience. The book is written as letters to strangers and it sits in that space where the world is falling apart.
March 3, 2026
This is such a timely book. This isn't a political review so I won't express my own personal opinions on the topics she mentions, but I do think it's a book that is so important for everyone to read. We see so many stories on the news about legal and illegal immigration but sadly they almost become a number and we forget they are real people. And in this book Ece has given us such an honest tale of her own plight and it makes you really connect with her story human-to-human. It's not the easiest book to read given t he topics but it's worth it. I would have liked it to be a bit longer because I enjoyed what was there so wanted more. Ece is Turkish and so I assume (but please contact me if I'm wrong) that English is not her first language, and yet her grasp of language in this book, she's used it to pull at the heartstrings, to anger you, and impart wisdom, is so good.
March 29, 2026
"Wenn es keinen anderen Ort mehr gibt, an dem man sich vor der Realität des Lebens verkriechen kann, wird Heimat aus Menschen bestehen, die einen halten, obwohl ihre Hände schon voll sind." S. 173
"Denn letztlich überleben wir nur, wenn wir denen, die wir in Zukunft sein werden, gemeinsam lächelnd entgegensehen." S. 209
Ich habe, glaube ich, zum ersten Mal verstanden "... dass die verlassene Heimat zwar unerreichbar ist, weil sie sich auch für die, die zurückkehren, zu sehr verändert hat, dass aber neue Heimaten mit ganz unerwarteten Augenblicken der Ruhe entstehen können." S. 216
"Denn letztlich überleben wir nur, wenn wir denen, die wir in Zukunft sein werden, gemeinsam lächelnd entgegensehen." S. 209
Ich habe, glaube ich, zum ersten Mal verstanden "... dass die verlassene Heimat zwar unerreichbar ist, weil sie sich auch für die, die zurückkehren, zu sehr verändert hat, dass aber neue Heimaten mit ganz unerwarteten Augenblicken der Ruhe entstehen können." S. 216
April 30, 2026
This is an amazing book. Notions of what is home when you can’t go back to it, and have we, who are horrified at the rise of fascism, the extremes of neoliberalism, and the degrading of any moral stance or humanity in the face of the Palestinian genocide, will be a nation of strangers, unable to recognise home. I have never highlighted so many passages on a book before, but it all seemed so important and relevant. If I could give this book six stars, I would.
Shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Non-Fiction.
Shortlisted for the Women’s Prize for Non-Fiction.
May 7, 2026
If you fear the rise of fascism or the impact of climate change, if you care about the human race and the preservation of its very humanity, please read this book. Not only is the content simultaneously terrifying and fascinating, but it is, crucially for full personal engagement, eloquently presented in the imaginative format of a series of letters addressed to you, the reader.
Such an inspired piece writing on a topic of worldwide relevance would surely be a worthy winner of the Women's Prize for Non-Fiction.
Such an inspired piece writing on a topic of worldwide relevance would surely be a worthy winner of the Women's Prize for Non-Fiction.
April 20, 2026
Ece Temelkuran schreibt seit Jahren gegen den aufkommenden Faschismus in der Welt. In diesem Art Tagebuch in Briefen adressiert an alle Fremden dieser Welt zeigt sie sehr ehrlich wie schmerzlich und ambivalent der Verlust von Heimat ist und wie wir -die wir alle Fremde sind oder uns und anderen fremd werden - eine neue Heimat - nämlich eine der Menschen nicht der Orte finden können. Klug und Spannend.
May 7, 2026
Library book, chosen as it was shortlisted for the women's prize for non fiction 2026.
I feel I have to give this book at least 3 stars because of what it stands for- it's an anti fascist love letter to those forced to leave their home. But I hated the structure of letters to the reader- it didn't work for me at all and I found the writers philosophical tangents bewildering at times.
I feel I have to give this book at least 3 stars because of what it stands for- it's an anti fascist love letter to those forced to leave their home. But I hated the structure of letters to the reader- it didn't work for me at all and I found the writers philosophical tangents bewildering at times.
April 17, 2026
Quite literally saved my life as I realized I am not alone. “Permanent temporariness”.
Political critique aside (political critique is genuine and heartfelt), I want to reread the Odyssey, and Cavafy after this.
Political critique aside (political critique is genuine and heartfelt), I want to reread the Odyssey, and Cavafy after this.
May 7, 2026
Went to see her speak in Bath with Mum and Dad. A moving and interesting ‘in conversation’ talk, which made me think a lot about different people who’ve lost their home in different ways, including V&R and family. Enjoyed the book less than I thought I would.
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March 12, 2026Turkey. Exile. Fascism. The Odyssey. Connection. Epistolary.
Women’s Prize nominee, 2026.
Read UK Canongate hardback edition.
Women’s Prize nominee, 2026.
Read UK Canongate hardback edition.
March 29, 2026
for a good part of this book I didn't think it was relevant to me. then as the polarisation of the world came into play I realised it affects us all.
April 6, 2026
I discovered this book as it was on the longlist (now shortlisted) for the women’s prize for non-fiction 2026. I found this a really fascinating and timely book and I loved the framing of refugees/strangers as a kind of silent majority that could potentially be a united movement. I found some of the middle a bit repetitive and so it dragged a little but other than that I thought it was fantastic. Definitely highly recommend reading.
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