What do you think?
Rate this book
Huna: A Memoir of Revolution, Prison, and Becoming
FINALIST FOR THE NATIONAL BOOK AWARD
A gripping, deeply moving memoir of survival, education, and resistance by a student protestor–turned–political prisoner in post-revolution Egypt.
“I will never be the same after reading Huna.” —Javier Zamora
“A beautifully written portrait of a radical political awakening.” —Hanif Abdurraqib
“The work of a truly liberated writer.” —Fady Joudah
“The story of political resistance, survival, and liberation in the face of authoritarianism.”—National Book Award Judges’ Citation
One of Publishers Weekly’s 10 Most Anticipated Books of the Year • A Kirkus Reviews Most Anticipated Book
In 2013, seventeen-year-old Abdelrahman ElGendy was a budding student activist in Cairo. Two years after the January 25 revolution, hope for a free Egypt had dissipated; when that summer’s military coup unleashed unprecedented massacres of protesters, Abdelrahman didn’t hesitate—he joined the street movement. His father, fearing for his son’s safety, accompanied him to a mass demonstration. But minutes after they arrived, they were swept up in a brutal police crackdown, and their lives were shattered.
Crushed inside a holding cell, Abdelrahman first heard the words of the Arab world’s most enduring protest song, “Sawfa Nabqa Huna”—We Will Remain Here. He wondered: If no one wanted to remain behind bars, what was the “here” they chose to inhabit?
Abdelrahman would spend the next six years as a political prisoner chasing this Huna, shuffled, alongside his father, from jail cell, to pre-trial detention center, to The Scorpion, Egypt’s most infamous prison complex. As his body broke under the grind of incarceration with no end in sight, he turned to the only refuge left to him: the page. He earned his bachelor’s degree in engineering while imprisoned, read and wrote voraciously, and, through writing, bore witness.
In his remarkable debut, Abdelrahman offers not a promise of hope, but a provocation. When the very things that can save you—tenderness, family, friendship, language—are used against you, how can you find the courage to love? Huna is a reckoning with what it takes—and what it costs—to remain when erased, and of what endures, perhaps more faithfully, beyond hope.
A gripping, deeply moving memoir of survival, education, and resistance by a student protestor–turned–political prisoner in post-revolution Egypt.
“I will never be the same after reading Huna.” —Javier Zamora
“A beautifully written portrait of a radical political awakening.” —Hanif Abdurraqib
“The work of a truly liberated writer.” —Fady Joudah
“The story of political resistance, survival, and liberation in the face of authoritarianism.”—National Book Award Judges’ Citation
One of Publishers Weekly’s 10 Most Anticipated Books of the Year • A Kirkus Reviews Most Anticipated Book
In 2013, seventeen-year-old Abdelrahman ElGendy was a budding student activist in Cairo. Two years after the January 25 revolution, hope for a free Egypt had dissipated; when that summer’s military coup unleashed unprecedented massacres of protesters, Abdelrahman didn’t hesitate—he joined the street movement. His father, fearing for his son’s safety, accompanied him to a mass demonstration. But minutes after they arrived, they were swept up in a brutal police crackdown, and their lives were shattered.
Crushed inside a holding cell, Abdelrahman first heard the words of the Arab world’s most enduring protest song, “Sawfa Nabqa Huna”—We Will Remain Here. He wondered: If no one wanted to remain behind bars, what was the “here” they chose to inhabit?
Abdelrahman would spend the next six years as a political prisoner chasing this Huna, shuffled, alongside his father, from jail cell, to pre-trial detention center, to The Scorpion, Egypt’s most infamous prison complex. As his body broke under the grind of incarceration with no end in sight, he turned to the only refuge left to him: the page. He earned his bachelor’s degree in engineering while imprisoned, read and wrote voraciously, and, through writing, bore witness.
In his remarkable debut, Abdelrahman offers not a promise of hope, but a provocation. When the very things that can save you—tenderness, family, friendship, language—are used against you, how can you find the courage to love? Huna is a reckoning with what it takes—and what it costs—to remain when erased, and of what endures, perhaps more faithfully, beyond hope.
368 pages, Hardcover
Published September 1, 2026
About the author
Abdelrahman ElGendy
2 books42 followersAbdelrahman ElGendy is an author and translator from Cairo. A winner of the Samir Kassir Press Freedom Award, he holds an MFA in Nonfiction Writing from the University of Pittsburgh, and his work appears in publications including The Washington Post, The Nation, The Baffler, and The Los Angeles Review of Books. His poetry and prose translations from Arabic appear in Ploughshares, Poetry Northwest, Literary Hub, Words Without Borders, and elsewhere. ElGendy’s work has received awards or fellowships from the Elizabeth George Foundation, the de Groot Foundation, the Steinbeck Fellowship, Virginia Center for Creative Arts, and the Arab American National Museum, among others. Huna is his debut memoir.
You can find Abdelrahman at www.abdelrahmanelgendy.com and on Instagram @abdelrahman_elgendy95
You can find Abdelrahman at www.abdelrahmanelgendy.com and on Instagram @abdelrahman_elgendy95
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 45 reviews
September 22, 2026
Stunning. Absolutely stunning. Believe the hype. Give Abdulrahman ElGendy all the awards. Tareq Baconi’s endorsement quote perfectly encapsulates how I feel right now after turning the last page. I’ll be thinking of this memoir for a long time.
September 3, 2026
“I bore a multitude of names: terrorist, destabilizer, enemy of the state, threat to national security. Also: habibi, the ripe apple of an eye, the soul of a soul, the softest spot in the heart of a lettuce “ one of the most beautiful written memoirs I have read 😭
Read
August 17, 2026(I do not rate memoirs.)
This memoir is utterly heartbreaking and incredibly compelling. ElGendy writes beautifully and draws the reader into his experience in a remarkably visceral way. He puts into perspective, the precarious nature of so much of life and so many areas of the world, which should make people in the western world incredibly grateful for the rights that we have. I also became infuriated when ElGendy described his hurried departure from the United States because of the absolute bigotry and ridiculousness of the current administration. I wholeheartedly recommend this memoir.
This memoir is utterly heartbreaking and incredibly compelling. ElGendy writes beautifully and draws the reader into his experience in a remarkably visceral way. He puts into perspective, the precarious nature of so much of life and so many areas of the world, which should make people in the western world incredibly grateful for the rights that we have. I also became infuriated when ElGendy described his hurried departure from the United States because of the absolute bigotry and ridiculousness of the current administration. I wholeheartedly recommend this memoir.
September 27, 2026
Wow. An incredibly powerful memoir, deeply moving. Abdelrahman ElGendy and his father were arrested at a protest against Egypt’s oppressive military regime. Only seventeen years old, ElGendy was sentenced to prison along with hundreds of other protestors.
He spent the next six years as a political prisoner, subjected to police brutality, transfers to various prisons with cruel and poor conditions, corruption, and more. But he also encountered brotherhood, solidarity, resilience, and hope, and he used his time to not only get his engineering degree but more importantly to become an activist writer, smuggling his words out to the world.
The writing in this memoir is phenomenal, raw and genuine and vulnerable. There were so many moments that brought me to tears, and many more made me gasp with anger. His forthright words about Egypt and its government but also about America, where he moves afterward, and its imperial power, are essential reading.
It felt like an honor to get to read this memoir.
He spent the next six years as a political prisoner, subjected to police brutality, transfers to various prisons with cruel and poor conditions, corruption, and more. But he also encountered brotherhood, solidarity, resilience, and hope, and he used his time to not only get his engineering degree but more importantly to become an activist writer, smuggling his words out to the world.
The writing in this memoir is phenomenal, raw and genuine and vulnerable. There were so many moments that brought me to tears, and many more made me gasp with anger. His forthright words about Egypt and its government but also about America, where he moves afterward, and its imperial power, are essential reading.
It felt like an honor to get to read this memoir.
September 8, 2026
A book that would make you laugh while crying and rethinking your entire existnece. Incredibly well-written. A master piece!
I don't think I would ever get over this book, I don't want to. I know it doesn't really change a thing, but I am sorry to all those political prisoners back at home...
"Perhaps there was no light at the end of the tunnel. And in its own twisted way, this hopelessness, like prison itself, liberated."....
I don't think I would ever get over this book, I don't want to. I know it doesn't really change a thing, but I am sorry to all those political prisoners back at home...
"Perhaps there was no light at the end of the tunnel. And in its own twisted way, this hopelessness, like prison itself, liberated."....
September 7, 2026
Both intensely specific, and broadly human-- a prison memoir about a boy's incarceration and coming of age; and also, a story about national and global mechanisms of power and injustice.
October 23, 2026
Words cannot begin to describe how good this book is, how astounding, how every single line and moment falls into place, and how unbelievable an achievement this work is. We are lucky to live in a world where we get to have this.
September 14, 2026
I'm in awe of this memoir. ElGendy's writing is so vividly lush and poetic which provides such a stark contrast to the violence of his story. For me, the book's title, "Huna", beautifully captures the the density of ElGendy's story as he reflects on his time growing up in an environment he should not have been in. The explorations surrounding survival through relationships, conviction, and humanity were so powerful.
This book tackles political incarceration and violence and what it not only can do to an individual, but to a whole family and community.
This book tackles political incarceration and violence and what it not only can do to an individual, but to a whole family and community.
September 17, 2026
Devastating, beautiful book 💛 The most powerful I have read this year. Thank you, Gendy.
September 27, 2026
A gripping, horrifying memoir of “survival, education . . . resistance” and hope.
In August 2013, Egyptian security and military forces launched a violent crackdown to clear two protest camps that had been in place since the January 25, 2011, revolution that ousted Hasni Mubarak . Known as the Rabba Massacre, protestors condemning this were rounded up and imprisoned on that August day. One of these was seventeen year old Abdelrahman ElGendy and his father as they stopped to watch the protest. What followed were six years of abuse, torture and inhumane living conditions- though there was the one bright spot that allowed Abdelrahman to complete his undergraduate degree in engineering while in prison, as well as tutoring others and writing.
Abdelrahman chronicles how the police who pulled his father and himself from their car conveniently lost his ID showing he was a minor leading to his unjust imprisonment. From there follows a recounting of what this imprisonment meant. To understand that one needs to consider the book’s title, Huna, which comes from the words of “the Arab world’s most enduring protest song: Sawfa Nabqa Huna - We Will Remain Here. The author on hearing it wondered what “here” meant. As he searched for his “huna,” he endured demeaning hearings and quasi trials and eventually arrived at The Scorpion, Egypt’s “most infamous prison complex.” One moment that stood out for me was when he was being asked to snitch on his fellow prisoners and point out Muslim Brotherhood member in order to stay with his father, Adbdelrahman refuses and had to endure a separation he couldn’t explain to his father when they were separated. The grind of imprisonment broke him and he lost hope - who wouldn’t at the physical and mental mind games his jailers played with him.
I listened to the book read by the author. There is a lot of Arabic spoken through the book - which can be confusing but I went with the flow of the story (so some readers may prefer to read the book). This is not a book of lyrical or poetic writing either. Rather it’s raw, forceful, forthright - language designed to make you feel, sense and connect with the injustice. It’s also a suspenseful story as you hope for the author’s release
I gave this book five stars because it’s so real, so truthful, so haunting and so unjust. As much as I wish I didn’t come across these kinds of stories, I know they are so important in our world today. We must not lose the truth but hope in the telling we can gather momentum to create a better world.
Highly recommend.
In August 2013, Egyptian security and military forces launched a violent crackdown to clear two protest camps that had been in place since the January 25, 2011, revolution that ousted Hasni Mubarak . Known as the Rabba Massacre, protestors condemning this were rounded up and imprisoned on that August day. One of these was seventeen year old Abdelrahman ElGendy and his father as they stopped to watch the protest. What followed were six years of abuse, torture and inhumane living conditions- though there was the one bright spot that allowed Abdelrahman to complete his undergraduate degree in engineering while in prison, as well as tutoring others and writing.
Abdelrahman chronicles how the police who pulled his father and himself from their car conveniently lost his ID showing he was a minor leading to his unjust imprisonment. From there follows a recounting of what this imprisonment meant. To understand that one needs to consider the book’s title, Huna, which comes from the words of “the Arab world’s most enduring protest song: Sawfa Nabqa Huna - We Will Remain Here. The author on hearing it wondered what “here” meant. As he searched for his “huna,” he endured demeaning hearings and quasi trials and eventually arrived at The Scorpion, Egypt’s “most infamous prison complex.” One moment that stood out for me was when he was being asked to snitch on his fellow prisoners and point out Muslim Brotherhood member in order to stay with his father, Adbdelrahman refuses and had to endure a separation he couldn’t explain to his father when they were separated. The grind of imprisonment broke him and he lost hope - who wouldn’t at the physical and mental mind games his jailers played with him.
I listened to the book read by the author. There is a lot of Arabic spoken through the book - which can be confusing but I went with the flow of the story (so some readers may prefer to read the book). This is not a book of lyrical or poetic writing either. Rather it’s raw, forceful, forthright - language designed to make you feel, sense and connect with the injustice. It’s also a suspenseful story as you hope for the author’s release
I gave this book five stars because it’s so real, so truthful, so haunting and so unjust. As much as I wish I didn’t come across these kinds of stories, I know they are so important in our world today. We must not lose the truth but hope in the telling we can gather momentum to create a better world.
Highly recommend.
October 27, 2026
no words yet, just grief and admiration
September 10, 2026
Thank you to Hogarth and NetGalley for the free e-ARC in exchange for an honest review
Abdelrahman ElGendy was on the cusp of eighteen when, one day in 2013, he asked his father to drive by a political protest on their way to visit his grandmother. A simple and spontaneous decision to stick his hand out the car window to film the protest with his phone led to both father and son’s lives being upended forever.
In HUNA, his memoir and debut, the monstrously talented ElGendy takes readers deep into the bowels of the Egyptian political prison system and a soul that desperately tries to fight to live during all those lost years of his youth.
Come for the fiery premise, stay for the phenomenal writing. I know that he (deservedly so) has an MFA in Nonfiction Writing, but I still declare that some people are simply born with poetry running through every vein in their body, and ElGendy is one of those. His way with words takes us right alongside him every step of the way.
With him, we are shattered by the confusing maelstrom of violence that Egyptian’s authoritarian government uses to sweep himself and others into prison. We, too, learn the unofficial hierarchies of the prison operating system, when to speak with cream and when with thunder to survive.
With him, we cringe at the disgusting and claustrophobic conditions of one prison after another, 60-plus men crammed into a cell so small that only half of them can sleep (sitting, not lying down) at any given time, while the remaining half stand on one leg to leave enough floor space for the sleepers. We, too, learn never to become too attached to belongings that could be confiscated at any time; to befriend cobwebs; and to not bat an eye as we cram our entire arm down the pipe of the cell “toilet” in a desperate bid to hide a contraband phone.
ElGendy’s writing is memorable not only because he is artistic, but because he is willing to be completely vulnerable for us. As HUNA progresses, the crisp details of prison life and treatment fade as he struggles to hold on to ever-smaller parts of himself. ElGendy writes of losing his eyes, his hands, his ears, his sense of smell, and more to the sense of utter despair that is political incarceration. If reading ElGendy’s account of how he slowly but steadily fell apart in prison doesn’t inspire a rage in you at the fact that anyone, anywhere in the world should experience anything like this—especially in this century—I don’t know what will. And as he rightly mentions at the end: "free Palestine, where all roads lead" .
I do wish I had gotten a bit more historical context about Egyptian’s political situation, but I also respect that that is not this memoir’s responsibility, and that is something I will seek out myself. HUNA is devastating, in the way that the writings of Adania Shibli, Hanif Abdurraqib, and Kaveh Akbar are. A must-read if any of this sounds like writing that you’re moved by.
Abdelrahman ElGendy was on the cusp of eighteen when, one day in 2013, he asked his father to drive by a political protest on their way to visit his grandmother. A simple and spontaneous decision to stick his hand out the car window to film the protest with his phone led to both father and son’s lives being upended forever.
In HUNA, his memoir and debut, the monstrously talented ElGendy takes readers deep into the bowels of the Egyptian political prison system and a soul that desperately tries to fight to live during all those lost years of his youth.
Come for the fiery premise, stay for the phenomenal writing. I know that he (deservedly so) has an MFA in Nonfiction Writing, but I still declare that some people are simply born with poetry running through every vein in their body, and ElGendy is one of those. His way with words takes us right alongside him every step of the way.
With him, we are shattered by the confusing maelstrom of violence that Egyptian’s authoritarian government uses to sweep himself and others into prison. We, too, learn the unofficial hierarchies of the prison operating system, when to speak with cream and when with thunder to survive.
With him, we cringe at the disgusting and claustrophobic conditions of one prison after another, 60-plus men crammed into a cell so small that only half of them can sleep (sitting, not lying down) at any given time, while the remaining half stand on one leg to leave enough floor space for the sleepers. We, too, learn never to become too attached to belongings that could be confiscated at any time; to befriend cobwebs; and to not bat an eye as we cram our entire arm down the pipe of the cell “toilet” in a desperate bid to hide a contraband phone.
ElGendy’s writing is memorable not only because he is artistic, but because he is willing to be completely vulnerable for us. As HUNA progresses, the crisp details of prison life and treatment fade as he struggles to hold on to ever-smaller parts of himself. ElGendy writes of losing his eyes, his hands, his ears, his sense of smell, and more to the sense of utter despair that is political incarceration. If reading ElGendy’s account of how he slowly but steadily fell apart in prison doesn’t inspire a rage in you at the fact that anyone, anywhere in the world should experience anything like this—especially in this century—I don’t know what will. And as he rightly mentions at the end: "free Palestine, where all roads lead" .
I do wish I had gotten a bit more historical context about Egyptian’s political situation, but I also respect that that is not this memoir’s responsibility, and that is something I will seek out myself. HUNA is devastating, in the way that the writings of Adania Shibli, Hanif Abdurraqib, and Kaveh Akbar are. A must-read if any of this sounds like writing that you’re moved by.
July 8, 2026
Thank you to NetGalley and Random House for providing me with an ARC of this book. All opinions are my own.
A breathtaking memoir written by a former political prisoner in Egypt, “Huna” is so much more than just that. An elegy to the human experience, a love song to those who hope against hope for a better world, a declaration that injustice and inhumanity will not have the final world.
I have no words for how achingly beautiful and devastating this book is. Thank you Abdelrahman for sharing this piece of yourself with the world. I am honoured to have read it and I hope it will be held and carried by others with as much tenderness as it was created with.
A breathtaking memoir written by a former political prisoner in Egypt, “Huna” is so much more than just that. An elegy to the human experience, a love song to those who hope against hope for a better world, a declaration that injustice and inhumanity will not have the final world.
I have no words for how achingly beautiful and devastating this book is. Thank you Abdelrahman for sharing this piece of yourself with the world. I am honoured to have read it and I hope it will be held and carried by others with as much tenderness as it was created with.
October 19, 2026
some books end when you turn the last page. others keep unfolding long after, finding their way into thoughts you didn’t know you were having. Huna was the latter for me.
reading it in brazil, in the midst of elections, made the book’s reflections on empire, imprisonment, and freedom feel particularly immediate. the american empire casts a long shadow over both latin america and the middle east, and the histories of these places are connected in ways that make it impossible to think of their struggles in isolation. palestine runs through these reflections as a reminder of how deeply our histories, and our fights for freedom, are intertwined.
but what moved me most about Huna was its refusal to separate the political from the intimate. the personal is not merely an illustration of something larger; it is where power, violence, love, and freedom become tangible. relationships with family, friendships forged under extraordinary circumstances, and the difficult work of making sense of oneself all become part of the same broader question: what does it mean to remain human in a world that so often tries to deny us that possibility?
there is a particular kind of power in the way gendy writes about himself. not the power of certainty, or of having overcome every contradiction, but of allowing those contradictions to exist on the page. there is no need to emerge from the story as an uncomplicated hero, no obligation to make every feeling coherent or every experience redemptive. the willingness to be seen in one’s unfinishedness feels, in itself, like a refusal.
i found myself thinking about vulnerability as a political question. we so often imagine strength as the ability to withstand, to endure, to remain untouched. but what if there is another kind of strength in refusing to become untouchable? in remaining open to tenderness, to grief, to the people who change us, even when doing so makes us vulnerable to pain? what if the capacity to feel deeply, to acknowledge our dependence on one another, is not an obstacle to revolution but one of its conditions?
i finished Huna feeling grateful for a book that does not ask us to choose between political conviction and emotional complexity, between collective struggle and the fragile, deeply personal lives through which it unfolds. it reminded me that the world we hope to build is inseparable from the humanity we choose to preserve in ourselves and in one another.
some books give you answers. others leave you with better questions, and a slightly different way of looking at the world. Huna did the latter.
a beautiful, moving book about the difficult work of being human, and about why that work matters. the melody will sweeten.
reading it in brazil, in the midst of elections, made the book’s reflections on empire, imprisonment, and freedom feel particularly immediate. the american empire casts a long shadow over both latin america and the middle east, and the histories of these places are connected in ways that make it impossible to think of their struggles in isolation. palestine runs through these reflections as a reminder of how deeply our histories, and our fights for freedom, are intertwined.
but what moved me most about Huna was its refusal to separate the political from the intimate. the personal is not merely an illustration of something larger; it is where power, violence, love, and freedom become tangible. relationships with family, friendships forged under extraordinary circumstances, and the difficult work of making sense of oneself all become part of the same broader question: what does it mean to remain human in a world that so often tries to deny us that possibility?
there is a particular kind of power in the way gendy writes about himself. not the power of certainty, or of having overcome every contradiction, but of allowing those contradictions to exist on the page. there is no need to emerge from the story as an uncomplicated hero, no obligation to make every feeling coherent or every experience redemptive. the willingness to be seen in one’s unfinishedness feels, in itself, like a refusal.
i found myself thinking about vulnerability as a political question. we so often imagine strength as the ability to withstand, to endure, to remain untouched. but what if there is another kind of strength in refusing to become untouchable? in remaining open to tenderness, to grief, to the people who change us, even when doing so makes us vulnerable to pain? what if the capacity to feel deeply, to acknowledge our dependence on one another, is not an obstacle to revolution but one of its conditions?
i finished Huna feeling grateful for a book that does not ask us to choose between political conviction and emotional complexity, between collective struggle and the fragile, deeply personal lives through which it unfolds. it reminded me that the world we hope to build is inseparable from the humanity we choose to preserve in ourselves and in one another.
some books give you answers. others leave you with better questions, and a slightly different way of looking at the world. Huna did the latter.
a beautiful, moving book about the difficult work of being human, and about why that work matters. the melody will sweeten.
October 20, 2026
In 2013, Abdelrahman ElGendy was seventeen-years-old when he was arrested at a political protest. His father, who fearing for his son’s safety decided to accompany and drive him, was also arrested. This memoir is a heartbreaking account of the physical and psychological suffering ElGendy endured as a political prisoner for six years.
The details of his experience are horrific and devastating. And while that fact alone should urge you to read this book (because we should all be aware of what governments can and will do to any of us who resist and demand democracy), it is not what makes this book as powerful as it is.
ElGendy does not provide us with a history lesson of Egypt or an in-depth explanation of the Arab Spring or a scathing analysis of the depths of U.S. imperialism. Instead, the politics and history are a backdrop to the existential questions he asks and explores about himself. As he grapples with the new limitations of his physical existence, he witnesses the slow erasure of a self; of a teen who loved basketball, watched Hannah Montana, and had crushes; and of a son who loves his father with a “lettuce heart” but cannot look at him without shame.
I was entranced with ElGendy’s writing from the first page. I was so moved by his opening pages, I immediately handed it to my husband for him to read. I knew this book was going to be special. I was right.
ElGendy’s writing is poetic and clear. His choice of using Arabic, often times untranslated, I thought, were both brilliant and beautiful. For ElGendy, writing was survival. His notes in prison (written in Arabic) that were smuggled out were lifelines for him. Knowing that, seeing the Arabic words that I’m sure are often times untranslatable, to me, represented his journey and himself on the pages. Even though I don’t understand Arabic, I understood its purpose and significance for the author, and the role that it played. I’ve never wanted to learn a new language more than while reading this.
So often we associate prison and incarceration with a hardness that seems non-negotiable, a state of being that is certain and absolute. However in HUNA, ElGendy provides an alternative, a softer story, one about love and vulnerability. It moved in deeply. This book is easily one of the best books I’ve read all year and it is a story that should be read by everyone. It is absolutely deserving of being National Book Awards finalist for nonfiction and my favorite to win.
Thank you the publisher for the review copy. All opinions are my own.
The details of his experience are horrific and devastating. And while that fact alone should urge you to read this book (because we should all be aware of what governments can and will do to any of us who resist and demand democracy), it is not what makes this book as powerful as it is.
ElGendy does not provide us with a history lesson of Egypt or an in-depth explanation of the Arab Spring or a scathing analysis of the depths of U.S. imperialism. Instead, the politics and history are a backdrop to the existential questions he asks and explores about himself. As he grapples with the new limitations of his physical existence, he witnesses the slow erasure of a self; of a teen who loved basketball, watched Hannah Montana, and had crushes; and of a son who loves his father with a “lettuce heart” but cannot look at him without shame.
I was entranced with ElGendy’s writing from the first page. I was so moved by his opening pages, I immediately handed it to my husband for him to read. I knew this book was going to be special. I was right.
ElGendy’s writing is poetic and clear. His choice of using Arabic, often times untranslated, I thought, were both brilliant and beautiful. For ElGendy, writing was survival. His notes in prison (written in Arabic) that were smuggled out were lifelines for him. Knowing that, seeing the Arabic words that I’m sure are often times untranslatable, to me, represented his journey and himself on the pages. Even though I don’t understand Arabic, I understood its purpose and significance for the author, and the role that it played. I’ve never wanted to learn a new language more than while reading this.
So often we associate prison and incarceration with a hardness that seems non-negotiable, a state of being that is certain and absolute. However in HUNA, ElGendy provides an alternative, a softer story, one about love and vulnerability. It moved in deeply. This book is easily one of the best books I’ve read all year and it is a story that should be read by everyone. It is absolutely deserving of being National Book Awards finalist for nonfiction and my favorite to win.
Thank you the publisher for the review copy. All opinions are my own.
September 26, 2026
I have a lot to say about the love and anger and reflection and creativity this memoir offers, but for prospective readers I kind of just want to leave it at: this is a stunning, stunning book, and you should read it immediately.
November 8, 2026
Beautifully written, haunting and hopeful. I’d recommend for everyone. For me, this made me think about both the facets of humanity- what makes us human and how do we keep that- and imperialism and fascism and how we can fight it here (in the US) and abroad.
I love Gendy’s writing and connecting to him through this memoir. I am so excited for whatever else he does or writes.
I love Gendy’s writing and connecting to him through this memoir. I am so excited for whatever else he does or writes.
September 27, 2026
Essential reading. Absolutely haunting. I taught in Egypt in 2012-2014. Abdelrahman could have been one of my students. Devastating to read in light of all the hope of the Arab-Spring, and also as an American knowing our government has essentially endorsed Sisi's system of terror (and our government under Obama, can't blame Trump for this one). This would be a great text for a high school history class trying to understand authoritarianism. Will definitely use excerpts of this in mine this year.
October 27, 2026
Truly one of the most talented writers of our generation. I consistently read political memoirs and this one is definitely my favorite. It's not Gendy's inhumane treatment in Egypt's prison system that drastically differs from the political torture and repression that other revolutionaries face, but rather his writing style that distinguishes the novel and forces the reader to sit right there with him.
Whenever Gendy talks about his baba in prison, I see my baba there too. When Gendy says he regrets protesting that day to avoid his sentence, I question my political regrets.
When Gendy debates his own resiliency, I see my family in Gaza.
Gendy's novel is by no means unique because of his experience. Instead, it is the blatant reality of a revolutionary. "Huna" is the life we all choose when we decide to be on the right side of history.
One day all 60,000 political prisoners from the Arab Spring will see the freedom they deserve. Their work will not go in vain. The struggle continues.
Whenever Gendy talks about his baba in prison, I see my baba there too. When Gendy says he regrets protesting that day to avoid his sentence, I question my political regrets.
When Gendy debates his own resiliency, I see my family in Gaza.
Gendy's novel is by no means unique because of his experience. Instead, it is the blatant reality of a revolutionary. "Huna" is the life we all choose when we decide to be on the right side of history.
One day all 60,000 political prisoners from the Arab Spring will see the freedom they deserve. Their work will not go in vain. The struggle continues.
October 27, 2026
Great. Abdelrahman El Gendy’s memoir is well written, fabulously and painfully littered with allusions built on the glimpses of life outside while he was locked up. The poetry and love that are pumped through an unimaginably difficult and unjust system only bring the reader in heart and soul to the grief of the lives unlived at the whim of corruption and unchecked power.
October 19, 2026
An absolutely stunning memoir. Some of the best descriptions and language I’ve ever read about the impact of imprisonment on the human psyche and the social effects on society from both inside and outside. Add to that a great breakdown of the political forces and history of modern Egypt, written by man who clearly loves his country but can no longer safely live there. I am not an Arabic speaker, but I imagine this book is even more impactful if you are - words written in Arabic are not always translated and section breaks are indicated with lines from the Palestinian protest song Sawfa Nabqa Huna, both the title’s inspiration and an important theme throughout his imprisonment.
October 14, 2026
A sobering, chilling and enlightening account of what happens when an idealistic 17-year old in Cairo records a protest from the supposedly protective cocoon of his father’s car. Both are detained, arrested and imprisoned with no recourse to due process. Losing the bright future ahead of him - he had been awarded a university scholarship -Young ElGendy dispassionately recounts his time in the prison system and how his quick wits and street smarts helped him survive. As well, his incessant remorse for entangling his father in his stubbornness to witness the protests on that fateful day. So much life lost in the numerous years he spent behind bars, but at the same time much was gained through the relationships forged at prison and the forever changed trajectory of his deep relationship with his father. Sobering and deeply revealing, this memoir is definitely worth the read - a solid 4 stars. Many thanks to the author, publisher, and NetGalley for the opportunity to read and review this book.
September 13, 2026
“We will stay here .. so the pain ceases
We will live here .. the melody will sweeten
My homeland, my homeland .. home of pride
My homeland, my homeland, my self.
“Let’s all stand together .. With remedy and pen
We are all merciful on those who suffer sickness
Let’s continue to walk towards higher aims
And be a truly better nation among nations”
These are some of the lyrics from the song, “Sawfa Nabqa Huna,” written in 2005 in Libya as a protest song against Muhammar Gadaffi. It was heard again in Egypt during the 2013. And it is being sung again today by Palestinians. The title of this book, Huna, means “home,” and in Abdelrahman ElGendy’s extraordinary memoir, home means many things: your family, your country, the semblance of home that is formed by prisoners incarcerated together, and, most compellingly, the home you must find within yourself no mater the circumstances.
ElGendy was arrested in 2013 at the age of 17 during a protest. Because his father was driving, they arrested him too. His father was released after 3 years, but Abdelrahman was held for over six years. During those years he lived with the deprivation and cruelty one would expect in such a situation (his first request after being freed was to use the bathroom alone), but cruelty, while omnipresent, is not the focus of this memoir. Using beautiful, almost poetic language, ElGendy talks eloquently of his love for family, friends in and outside of prison, and the emotional transformation that he experienced.
ElGendy does not dwell on politics, although he does have some harsh but honest thoughts about the United States and its role in the world. Even so, I believe that this book should be required reading for anyone who wishes to better understand the turmoil that is now spreading across the globe. We don’t often hear this intimate detail from an Arabic Muslim point of view. Although ElGendy is Egyptian, he is very conversant with American popular culture and many times quotes Taylor Swift or a line from Harry Potter. He also intersperses Arabic words in the narrative - sometimes translating them, sometimes not. And he writes. He writes and writes, and the writing becomes so important to him that even though he earns a degree in mechanical engineering while in prison, he goes back to school to study nonfiction writing. It’s hard to express what an important voice I think he is. Abdelrahman ElGendy is a person whose words are important for us all to hear.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Hogarth/Random House for allowing me to read this book. All opinions are my own.
We will live here .. the melody will sweeten
My homeland, my homeland .. home of pride
My homeland, my homeland, my self.
“Let’s all stand together .. With remedy and pen
We are all merciful on those who suffer sickness
Let’s continue to walk towards higher aims
And be a truly better nation among nations”
These are some of the lyrics from the song, “Sawfa Nabqa Huna,” written in 2005 in Libya as a protest song against Muhammar Gadaffi. It was heard again in Egypt during the 2013. And it is being sung again today by Palestinians. The title of this book, Huna, means “home,” and in Abdelrahman ElGendy’s extraordinary memoir, home means many things: your family, your country, the semblance of home that is formed by prisoners incarcerated together, and, most compellingly, the home you must find within yourself no mater the circumstances.
ElGendy was arrested in 2013 at the age of 17 during a protest. Because his father was driving, they arrested him too. His father was released after 3 years, but Abdelrahman was held for over six years. During those years he lived with the deprivation and cruelty one would expect in such a situation (his first request after being freed was to use the bathroom alone), but cruelty, while omnipresent, is not the focus of this memoir. Using beautiful, almost poetic language, ElGendy talks eloquently of his love for family, friends in and outside of prison, and the emotional transformation that he experienced.
ElGendy does not dwell on politics, although he does have some harsh but honest thoughts about the United States and its role in the world. Even so, I believe that this book should be required reading for anyone who wishes to better understand the turmoil that is now spreading across the globe. We don’t often hear this intimate detail from an Arabic Muslim point of view. Although ElGendy is Egyptian, he is very conversant with American popular culture and many times quotes Taylor Swift or a line from Harry Potter. He also intersperses Arabic words in the narrative - sometimes translating them, sometimes not. And he writes. He writes and writes, and the writing becomes so important to him that even though he earns a degree in mechanical engineering while in prison, he goes back to school to study nonfiction writing. It’s hard to express what an important voice I think he is. Abdelrahman ElGendy is a person whose words are important for us all to hear.
Many thanks to NetGalley and Hogarth/Random House for allowing me to read this book. All opinions are my own.
September 6, 2026
5 stars
Wow, this was a very powerful read and it will likely stay with me for a long time. I had this book on my radar after someone on instagram did a post about upcoming books. When I went to the bookstore last week I saw the physical book and got it.
This book is the author’s story of when he was 17 years old and how he was picked up by the policy and arrested along with his dad for filming a protest. What he thought was going to be just an overnight stay turns into 6 years in prison and this book details what happened during that time and the brutal treatment he and his dad endure. Despite the pretty grim conditions he was able to finish his engineering degree and teach others Arabic and other topics.
I was completely unfamiliar with the political situation in Egypt and this book offered a glimpse on that. There is a lot of corruption and of course the US has a hand in keeping the current regimen in power.
I highly recommend a physical copy or the ebook because this book had several Arabic words I was unfamiliar with it and I was able to google them.
Wow, this was a very powerful read and it will likely stay with me for a long time. I had this book on my radar after someone on instagram did a post about upcoming books. When I went to the bookstore last week I saw the physical book and got it.
This book is the author’s story of when he was 17 years old and how he was picked up by the policy and arrested along with his dad for filming a protest. What he thought was going to be just an overnight stay turns into 6 years in prison and this book details what happened during that time and the brutal treatment he and his dad endure. Despite the pretty grim conditions he was able to finish his engineering degree and teach others Arabic and other topics.
I was completely unfamiliar with the political situation in Egypt and this book offered a glimpse on that. There is a lot of corruption and of course the US has a hand in keeping the current regimen in power.
I highly recommend a physical copy or the ebook because this book had several Arabic words I was unfamiliar with it and I was able to google them.
Read
November 7, 2026Not sure how to rate this one, I am like between meh & a 4.
Because these people are the same generation as me, listening to this book & recalling Ayman Moussa brought back university’s days.
Basically this book felt like reliving the trauma of how my generation lost hope, lost themselves.
Then what! I am not sure. I really don't know how to rate it.
Because these people are the same generation as me, listening to this book & recalling Ayman Moussa brought back university’s days.
Basically this book felt like reliving the trauma of how my generation lost hope, lost themselves.
Then what! I am not sure. I really don't know how to rate it.
October 9, 2026
Gripping , heart wrenching
I could not stop reading till the end.
I saved all of the books he read to keep him alive so I could read them later, maybe they would touch me also ?
Themes of identity , family , and what home means.
Highly recommended!
I could not stop reading till the end.
I saved all of the books he read to keep him alive so I could read them later, maybe they would touch me also ?
Themes of identity , family , and what home means.
Highly recommended!
October 10, 2026
I have searched in vain for the words to describe my visceral reaction to this memoir. The mental images I am left with will both haunt and inspire me.
November 4, 2026
Stunning.
October 31, 2026
This book is just so well written. The headline story of the author’s time in prison is obviously compelling and heartbreakingly written, but the last 30 pages or so juxtaposing the so-called freedom of American life outside of prison to his time as a political prisoner will really stay with me.
October 21, 2026
“There’s a song called One More Light by Linkin Park that goes like this: ‘Who cares if one more light goes out in a sky of a million stars. It flickers, it flickers . . . ‘. This is how I see myself—one star in a vast pitch black sky embroidered with millions and millions of other stars, all suffering, all struggling. So, who would notice if I, a single lonely star, flicker and die. Who would really care?”
There are 60,000 political prisoners incarcerated in Egyptian prisons. For more than six years, from the age of 17, Abdelrhaman ElGendy was one of them. This is the story of that experience. Any story about imprisonment and its dehumanizing existence is tough and this book is no exception. I used to believe this kind of thing didn’t happen in our country but now I know it absolutely does. This is a moving memoir about the cost of standing up for what you believe.
There are 60,000 political prisoners incarcerated in Egyptian prisons. For more than six years, from the age of 17, Abdelrhaman ElGendy was one of them. This is the story of that experience. Any story about imprisonment and its dehumanizing existence is tough and this book is no exception. I used to believe this kind of thing didn’t happen in our country but now I know it absolutely does. This is a moving memoir about the cost of standing up for what you believe.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 45 reviews