In Muharraq, on an island that requires bridges to be part of the world, Sayf has built a life that a marriage that is honest if not easy, a garage that was his father's before it was his, and a faith practiced without performance. He is thirty-one years old and fixes engines for a living.
Then his cousin calls from Salt, Jordan, barely able to speak, and the life Sayf has built begins to measure itself against everything outside it.
Hussain has been watching the men who killed their uncle Khalid. Eight months. Khalid stood in a street and named what had been done, in front of witnesses, with nothing protecting him except that he was right. They shot him for it. The witnesses went home. The men walked. And before Khalid, there was Rami. And after Khalid, there is a boy in Zarqa, twenty-two years old, whose story travels faster than his name.
Sayf goes to Jordan for a wedding. He comes back carrying something else.
One year. Two countries. A lane in Salt at two in the morning. What a person protects by becoming something they cannot fully name, and what they lose in the protecting.
Jannat watches her husband return from Salt smaller each time. She asks for one true thing. She does not ask for everything. Hussain was right about almost everything and did not survive being right. Mahmood said very little and missed nothing, and came when nobody asked him to. Sayf's father, sixty-two, Palestinian, built a garage from a rented bay and raised four children on an island, and watches what his eldest is becoming and says come back whole.
Sayf is not recruited. Not manipulated. He thinks carefully, refuses when refusal is called for, makes choices he can stand on. The novel is interested in that specific a man who is right, who acts on being right, and who discovers that rightness and survival are two different things.
It is also a love story. Sayf and Jannat's marriage is the spine of the book, tested by absence and silence and the exhaustion of a woman who loves someone she cannot follow. Their last conversation before he goes out into the morning is not dramatic. It is precise.
This is a novel that does not console. The people inside it loved each other badly and fiercely. They made choices that felt, at the time, like the only choices available.
The mask outlived the man who wore it. Make of that what you will.
‘Masks’ follows Sayf as he moves between the streets Bahrain and Jordan in pursuit of justice for a wrongful killing, a journey that gradually pulls him into crime, gang-related conflicts, and the personal consequences that follow. Along the way, we see how this mission affects every aspect of his life from his family to his marriage, and ultimately, his sense of self.
The strongest aspect of this novel for me was the writing. It was eloquent, reflective, and filled with thought-provoking passages that encouraged me to pause and consider the ideas being explored. I also appreciated the central symbolism of the mask itself. Beyond anonymity, the mask represents the courage to stand up for what is right, even when doing so comes at a personal cost. It speaks to the pursuit of justice in the face of systems that fail to correct their own wrongs, making it one of the book’s most compelling themes.
While the plot wasn’t entirely my personal taste, I can appreciate what it set out to do. At times, I found some character interactions and actions repetitive, which made parts of the narrative feel familiar as the story progressed. However, the distinct cast of characters, accessible writing style, and strong thematic core kept me engaged throughout.
Overall, this was a fast and easy read that I finished in just a few days. While it may resonate more strongly with readers who enjoy crime-driven and sullen stories, I think it’s worth giving a chance, particularly for its writing and its message about justice, conviction, and personal responsibility. As a work by a local author, it’s also one I’m proud to have read and supported.
When confronted with injustice, people respond in profoundly different ways, each choice reflecting their values, circumstances, and capacity for action. Some turn away, others face it recklessly, while some move towards it deliberately, carefully considerate, and full aware of what it might cost.
Masks — a story of a man, a family, living grief each in his own way. The story takes place between the coastal humidity of Muharraq, Bahrain, and the yellow limestone hills of Salt, Jordan. Where three cousins face a dark shade of injustice in their hometown, when no one is brave enough to act. Each of them dealing with the grief of losing someone dear. Knowing what their braveness would cost them.
A debut literary novel I've had the opportunity to read and got absorbed by the dark mystery of it. A new genre for me to explore, and this novel had its way towards my thoughts. I was captivated initially by the eloquent and reflective writing, then the pace of the events was steady and engaging that I finished the book in just two days.
Tragedy that injustice persists because collective action remains fragmented, but hope that somewhere, someone will always choose to fight back. Knowing this is a work of fiction doesn't prevent me from hoping for a happy ending. Yet, the story holds a heavier weight, the weight of turning a blind eye to the wrongdoing, against the weight of acting when no one else would.
From the very first pages, I felt completely transported. The setting was so vividly written that I could genuinely picture myself there, meeting these people and experiencing everything alongside them.
Hussain was such a beautifully crafted character. There was so much care and insight in the way he was written that I’d like to think every Hussain in the world would be proud of this representation.
Sayf’s internal struggle? Chef’s kiss. His journey felt honest, frustrating at times (in the best way), and incredibly rewarding to watch unfold.
But my heart belongs to Jannat. Darling, Jannat. She is easily my favourite. I love a strong female lead, but what I love even more is seeing the different ways authors choose to define strength. Jannat wasn’t just “strong” in the conventional sense—she was resilient, compassionate, vulnerable when she needed to be, and unwavering in the things that mattered. She felt wonderfully human.
This was one of those books that reminded me why I love reading. It immersed me in its world, made me care deeply about its characters, and left me thinking about them long after I’d finished.
I didn't know exactly what to expect when I stared reading the book, you could say I went in clueless and I love that, because I was able to experience the book, feel it. I was in the flat, the garage, the salt, I was everywhere in the book. I did question some decisions made by the characters, thinking to myself will things have changed? The decisions made by the characters were justified to them that was what they needed to do and they did because it was greater than them, what they fought for was beyond them just them, it was justice in their own light. As a reader I had hoped things would feel lighter, less heavy for the characters, especially Sayf, he would get to carry less burden and enjoy the present, what he had but sometimes some burdens must be carried. Overall I enjoyed reading this book and hope to read more of the authors work in the future.