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The Lebs
A confronting new novel from award winning Sydney Morning Herald Best Young Novelist Michael Mohammed Ahmad.
'Bani Adam thinks he's better than us!' they say over and over until finally I shout back, 'Shut up, I have something to say!'
They all go quiet and wait for me to explain myself, redeem myself, pull my shirt out, rejoin the pack. I hold their anticipation for three seconds, and then, while they're all ablaze, I say out loud, 'I do think I'm better.'
As far as Bani Adam is concerned Punchbowl Boys is the arse end of the earth. Though he's a Leb and they control the school, Bani feels at odds with the other students, who just don't seem to care. He is a romantic in a sea of hypermasculinity.
Bani must come to terms with his place in this hostile, hopeless world, while dreaming of so much more.
'Bani Adam thinks he's better than us!' they say over and over until finally I shout back, 'Shut up, I have something to say!'
They all go quiet and wait for me to explain myself, redeem myself, pull my shirt out, rejoin the pack. I hold their anticipation for three seconds, and then, while they're all ablaze, I say out loud, 'I do think I'm better.'
As far as Bani Adam is concerned Punchbowl Boys is the arse end of the earth. Though he's a Leb and they control the school, Bani feels at odds with the other students, who just don't seem to care. He is a romantic in a sea of hypermasculinity.
Bani must come to terms with his place in this hostile, hopeless world, while dreaming of so much more.
272 pages, Paperback
First published February 27, 2018
65 people are currently reading
1991 people want to read
About the author
Michael Mohammed Ahmad
15 books94 followersMichael Mohammed Ahmad is an Arab-Australian writer, editor and community arts worker. He is the founding director of Sweatshop: Western Sydney Literacy Movement. In 2012, he received the Australia Council Kirk Robson Award in recognition of his outstanding achievements in community cultural development. Mohammed’s debut novel, The Tribe (Giramondo, 2014), won the 2015 Sydney Morning Herald Best Young Novelists of the Year Award. His second novel, The Lebs (Hachette, 2018) received the 2019 NSW Premier’s Multicultural Literary Award and was shortlisted for the 2019 Miles Franklin Award. Mohammed received his Doctorate of Creative Arts from Western Sydney University in 2017.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 156 reviews
July 23, 2019
‘Maybe Leb isn’t something you’re born with; maybe it’s something you earn while you’re in the gutter.’
The Lebs is a difficult book to review – it is tempting to fall back on words like ‘necessary’ and ‘important’ but that makes it sound like a chore to read, when it’s not. This is propulsive, energetic storytelling.
So much of it is specific to a certain time and place; a marginalised (and demonised) demographic; a particular moment of racial tension boiling over in Western Sydney in the early 2000s. But at the book’s heart is a well-executed coming of age story. Bani Adam (literally ‘child of Adam’, in other words: humanity) is a bookish boy, learning who he is and learning to accept himself. This kind of story has been told before many times, in a multitude of ways, and The Lebs takes that classic form and applies to it a perspective not seen before in Australian literature – that of a Muslim Arab-Australian boy at the notorious Punchbowl Boys High School.
The prose is crisp and vigorous, and Bani’s first-person narration, perfectly pitched, never falters in its believability. There are also comedic moments, many of them involving Bani’s botched attempts to sound deep by quoting or paraphrasing his favourite authors (Nabokov, Marquez, Kahlil Gibran).
Some readers will no doubt be put off by the coarseness of the boys’ talk, the brutality of the violence that punctuates their lives and the way all of this is normalised. Boys all over Australia are swimming in the same toxic soup of misogyny, homophobia and aggression, and it is extra-concentrated at all-boys schools. At Punchbowl Boys these kids are also contending with the glare of the media spotlight, with the racial vilification drummed up against them by op-eds and shock jocks.
Many of the boys in The Lebs react by playing up to the stereotypes, but it’s a pose. Bani takes a different path, he’s not like the others, he thinks to himself. He’s an intellectual, a poet and a romantic, he pursues writing and art. But Bani comes to learn a cruel lesson that none of that matters to the prejudice of mainstream Australia.
As this is a fictionalised account of the author’s own experiences growing up, Ahmad doesn’t sugarcoat it or provide a hokey ‘triumph over adversity’ ending. The result is something powerful, unvarnished, truthful, real.
The Lebs is a difficult book to review – it is tempting to fall back on words like ‘necessary’ and ‘important’ but that makes it sound like a chore to read, when it’s not. This is propulsive, energetic storytelling.
So much of it is specific to a certain time and place; a marginalised (and demonised) demographic; a particular moment of racial tension boiling over in Western Sydney in the early 2000s. But at the book’s heart is a well-executed coming of age story. Bani Adam (literally ‘child of Adam’, in other words: humanity) is a bookish boy, learning who he is and learning to accept himself. This kind of story has been told before many times, in a multitude of ways, and The Lebs takes that classic form and applies to it a perspective not seen before in Australian literature – that of a Muslim Arab-Australian boy at the notorious Punchbowl Boys High School.
The prose is crisp and vigorous, and Bani’s first-person narration, perfectly pitched, never falters in its believability. There are also comedic moments, many of them involving Bani’s botched attempts to sound deep by quoting or paraphrasing his favourite authors (Nabokov, Marquez, Kahlil Gibran).
Some readers will no doubt be put off by the coarseness of the boys’ talk, the brutality of the violence that punctuates their lives and the way all of this is normalised. Boys all over Australia are swimming in the same toxic soup of misogyny, homophobia and aggression, and it is extra-concentrated at all-boys schools. At Punchbowl Boys these kids are also contending with the glare of the media spotlight, with the racial vilification drummed up against them by op-eds and shock jocks.
Many of the boys in The Lebs react by playing up to the stereotypes, but it’s a pose. Bani takes a different path, he’s not like the others, he thinks to himself. He’s an intellectual, a poet and a romantic, he pursues writing and art. But Bani comes to learn a cruel lesson that none of that matters to the prejudice of mainstream Australia.
As this is a fictionalised account of the author’s own experiences growing up, Ahmad doesn’t sugarcoat it or provide a hokey ‘triumph over adversity’ ending. The result is something powerful, unvarnished, truthful, real.
May 24, 2019
You know things are less than ideal at a school when the new principal expels over half of the students when he is appointed. Not only this, he builds a nine foot fence topped with barbed wire and cameras around the perimeter, creating only one way in, and out. PunchBowl Boys High is situated in the western suburbs of Sydney. Is it a school or a prison? Are the walls meant to keep the students in or out? In school Bani, the protagonist, is a typical schoolboy on the surface, one of the better ones, however outside of school he is, as he refers to himself, a “Sand Nigger”. Constantly hassled by the police, hated and feared by the neighbourhood, looking just like the infamous gang rapist Bilal Skaf, who adorns the front page of the local newspaper every day. Bani is Lebanese or as the title of the novel suggests a “Leb”, and just like 41 of the 45 students in his class, a Muslim.
On the surface, this novel is about Bani. His life, his desires, his questions. He does not feel as if he fits in with his friends, a minority within a minority. He seems to hate his heritage and feels superior to his classmates. As you get deeper into the novel you realise that it is really about minority cultures, xenophobia and racism. Cultures that exist together and yet are radically different in religion and belief. This book was very confronting for me. Looking at Australia, through Bani’s eyes was jarring. The way that Bani and his friends saw “aussies”. Here in Australia we like to think that we live in a friendly, harmonious, multi-cultural society, and for most of us, we do. However, when you see the world through the eyes of one of the minorities, you start to see the problems that exist below the surface of the ideal. The pockets of racism, the cultural and religious clashes that almost seem inevitable. With this novel it is the Lebanese community that live in the western suburbs of Sydney, but it could be one of many. Often it is our xenophobia, our fear of these different cultures, these different religions, that are at the heart of the problem. I firmly believe in multi-culturalism and tolerance, and firmly believe that we can achieve a harmonious society. It is, however, as again this book has shown me, a problem that will not be solved quickly or easily. Tolerance, from all sides would be a good start. A book with a powerful message. 4 Stars.
On the surface, this novel is about Bani. His life, his desires, his questions. He does not feel as if he fits in with his friends, a minority within a minority. He seems to hate his heritage and feels superior to his classmates. As you get deeper into the novel you realise that it is really about minority cultures, xenophobia and racism. Cultures that exist together and yet are radically different in religion and belief. This book was very confronting for me. Looking at Australia, through Bani’s eyes was jarring. The way that Bani and his friends saw “aussies”. Here in Australia we like to think that we live in a friendly, harmonious, multi-cultural society, and for most of us, we do. However, when you see the world through the eyes of one of the minorities, you start to see the problems that exist below the surface of the ideal. The pockets of racism, the cultural and religious clashes that almost seem inevitable. With this novel it is the Lebanese community that live in the western suburbs of Sydney, but it could be one of many. Often it is our xenophobia, our fear of these different cultures, these different religions, that are at the heart of the problem. I firmly believe in multi-culturalism and tolerance, and firmly believe that we can achieve a harmonious society. It is, however, as again this book has shown me, a problem that will not be solved quickly or easily. Tolerance, from all sides would be a good start. A book with a powerful message. 4 Stars.
November 3, 2019
The Lebs is a confronting, demanding, yet compulsively readable novel. It's a very real story of a marginalised community, which is focused on a tense, conflict riddled moment in Sydney in the early 2000s. Ahmad is both honest and authentic in the way he constructs this narrative, the culture of toxic masculinity that is presented is raw and unrelenting. But at its heart, The Lebs is a story about identity. In it, Ahmad considers in particular, how we are shaped by our cultural identity, what it means when that culture identity operates in opposition to others, and what happens when the expectations and by extension opportunities of your culture, are at odds with what you want for yourself, or who you feel you are. Although in some moments, its changes of direction felt a bit disconnected, ultimately I thought this was an excellent read.
September 5, 2018
This made me squirm in my chair, and laugh out loud. As a Leb from Punchbowl of the same generation, I was irritated by MMA's exposure of (and the harshness with which he dealt with) Leb vulnerabilities, traumas, and weaknesses (not to mention his erasure of leb women), yet exhilarated by the style with which he brings them all to life and the context in which he places them. He brilliantly recreates Punchbowl's tongue by fusing references to the Prophet Muhammed, Malcolm X, Khalil Gibran, 2pac, and Jean-Claude Van Damme, and just when his inevitable readers might be feeling smug, critically jabs white institutions and white violence in a way that brings issues of race to the fore. I'll be thinking about the book for a while.
December 4, 2023
This story is set in the western suburbs of Sydney, a hopeless and brutal social, cultural, and educational wasteland, where successive groups of immigrants hate one another and try desperately to hang on to their cultural identity as a means of survival in the face of indifference and contempt from their hosts, the ‘Aussies’. The main character is Bani Adam, of Lebanese extraction (the ‘Lebs’ are one of the main migrant groups in southwestern Sydney), who tries to make something of himself but runs up against all the problems of a prejudiced and basically unfair system.
This book bears witness to the nonsensical migration policies in Australia, where migrant workers are simply economic pawns and where little effort is made properly to integrate migrant families. Instead of judiciously settling them in established communities, they end up in these socioeconomically disadvantaged ghettos, which exist not only in Sydney, but all the state capital cities in Australia.
This is a book that makes you think, although the narrative does not hang together very well, especially towards the end.
This book bears witness to the nonsensical migration policies in Australia, where migrant workers are simply economic pawns and where little effort is made properly to integrate migrant families. Instead of judiciously settling them in established communities, they end up in these socioeconomically disadvantaged ghettos, which exist not only in Sydney, but all the state capital cities in Australia.
This is a book that makes you think, although the narrative does not hang together very well, especially towards the end.
July 25, 2019
In this way my spirit is broken and reconstructed, elevated to a point so high that my efforts turn to weakness. Reading means I care too much. Pulling out an exercise book means I care too much. To stop walking means I care too much. There are no bullies at Punchbowl boys. The school captain, Jamal, screams out in assembly like it is Thug life " What kind of sad f*** is bothered to pick on some other sad f*** ? We are beyond this. We are the children of the desert.
Shortlisted for the 2019 Miles Franklin Award, this is a confrontational book about growing up “Leb” in Australia. I don’t think there is another author I have come across that is writing this frankly about these issues and in such a punchy style. This book will be offensive to some, I felt uncomfortable about plenty of things in here, not least the portrayal of women. Yet as tempted as I was to look away ( and I almost did DNF this book early on ), this novel exemplifies what reading is about for me, challenging my own perspectives. The Lebs asks the reader to consider how they might see the world when you grow up branded by the horrific actions of others.
I inadvertently read this book alongside my Goodreads friend, Marchpane, and I am thankful for her Australian insights and the lively discussion around some of the issues in this novel. The Lebs would make for an excellent book club discussion for intrepid readers.
I also direct you to her review which is, as always, excellent !
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
Shortlisted for the 2019 Miles Franklin Award, this is a confrontational book about growing up “Leb” in Australia. I don’t think there is another author I have come across that is writing this frankly about these issues and in such a punchy style. This book will be offensive to some, I felt uncomfortable about plenty of things in here, not least the portrayal of women. Yet as tempted as I was to look away ( and I almost did DNF this book early on ), this novel exemplifies what reading is about for me, challenging my own perspectives. The Lebs asks the reader to consider how they might see the world when you grow up branded by the horrific actions of others.
I inadvertently read this book alongside my Goodreads friend, Marchpane, and I am thankful for her Australian insights and the lively discussion around some of the issues in this novel. The Lebs would make for an excellent book club discussion for intrepid readers.
I also direct you to her review which is, as always, excellent !
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
March 17, 2018
I found this an immersive and thrilling reading experience. We meet Bani Adam at Punchbowl Boys High School in Western Sydney sometime around 2001. Punchbowl Boys is more of a prison, or a pressure cooker, than a school, where the boys casually fling knives, fists and insults at each other down the corridors. Bani calls many of these boys 'Lebs', but they are not all Lebanese. He uses the term to refer to any number of Muslim and Arab identities. He wants to be a novelist, which makes the other boys say he thinks he's better than them (he does). But much to his horror, outside the school his 'Middle Eastern appearance' (a term used widely in Australian media) causes him to be lumped in with the other boys.
You could call it a coming of age novel. The major turns of the narrative are the boys witnessing the September 11 attacks, Bani getting his first girlfriend, and Bani joining a multicultural arts project. For me the most enjoyable part moment of the plot was a character sashaying in from another novel, Bucky from Peter Polites' Down the Hume. Polites and Ahmad are both members of Western Sydney's Sweatshop literary movement, raising the enticing possibility that they have some master conspiracy at play. The ending is subtle and heartbreaking, a moment of catharsis earned by every word in the previous 200-odd pages.
This novel touches on many themes: race, religion, class, sexuality, gender. I guess where it will be seen as most relevant is its window into 'multicultural' Australia (and not in the bureaucratic sense championed by Australia's politicians). It is also a window onto particular moment in time, when, in the wake of September 11, Muslim and Arabic men were all lumped together as terrorists and rapists. I thought it was a clever and provocative technique to write from Bani's outsider perspective, which is in someways aligned discomfortingly with my own as a white Australian (except, as Bani says, he would not be seen as white). The writing conveys an admirable complexity around some pretty heavy moments. For example, Bani describe the boys' reaction to September 11 as 'orgasmic'. At the same time it's clear this reaction comes from a mix of pride, teenage rebellion, hyper-masculinity and pain at the stigma from being different.
My favourite part of this book is its writing, which is a thrilling mix of the sacred and profane. Never before have I read romantic desert imaginings juxtaposed with lyrical odes to Big Macs and KFC, insults hurled by Bani's compatriots (usually variations of "slut" and "faggot" - it's always women and gays), Arabic phrases and prayers, and quotes from Nabakov's Lolita, often all within the same sentence. I can't wait to read it again to pick up on more of the nuances.
You could call it a coming of age novel. The major turns of the narrative are the boys witnessing the September 11 attacks, Bani getting his first girlfriend, and Bani joining a multicultural arts project. For me the most enjoyable part moment of the plot was a character sashaying in from another novel, Bucky from Peter Polites' Down the Hume. Polites and Ahmad are both members of Western Sydney's Sweatshop literary movement, raising the enticing possibility that they have some master conspiracy at play. The ending is subtle and heartbreaking, a moment of catharsis earned by every word in the previous 200-odd pages.
This novel touches on many themes: race, religion, class, sexuality, gender. I guess where it will be seen as most relevant is its window into 'multicultural' Australia (and not in the bureaucratic sense championed by Australia's politicians). It is also a window onto particular moment in time, when, in the wake of September 11, Muslim and Arabic men were all lumped together as terrorists and rapists. I thought it was a clever and provocative technique to write from Bani's outsider perspective, which is in someways aligned discomfortingly with my own as a white Australian (except, as Bani says, he would not be seen as white). The writing conveys an admirable complexity around some pretty heavy moments. For example, Bani describe the boys' reaction to September 11 as 'orgasmic'. At the same time it's clear this reaction comes from a mix of pride, teenage rebellion, hyper-masculinity and pain at the stigma from being different.
My favourite part of this book is its writing, which is a thrilling mix of the sacred and profane. Never before have I read romantic desert imaginings juxtaposed with lyrical odes to Big Macs and KFC, insults hurled by Bani's compatriots (usually variations of "slut" and "faggot" - it's always women and gays), Arabic phrases and prayers, and quotes from Nabakov's Lolita, often all within the same sentence. I can't wait to read it again to pick up on more of the nuances.
August 2, 2019
Vivid, bleak and occasionally funny. This is a look into a kind of toxic masculinity that isn't often examined closely. It's not fun to read, but I'm glad it exists.
December 10, 2018
For people not from Western Sydney, this book might be a little unsavoury, or perhaps even confronting but as someone from Western Sydney, the characters in this book are very very real. It is real.
This book really threw me back to high school. Bani Adam really reminds me a lot of my high school self, how I always thought I was better because I wasn't like the other Arabs or wogs in my year. But really I was as naive as them and lacked a lot of self-awareness just like Bani does.
I do love Bani's progression and character development in the third act. I love that he sets out to be more than a Punchbowl boy, that he learns his lesson, but I just also love his friendship with Bucky too. I find it so endearing.
This book really threw me back to high school. Bani Adam really reminds me a lot of my high school self, how I always thought I was better because I wasn't like the other Arabs or wogs in my year. But really I was as naive as them and lacked a lot of self-awareness just like Bani does.
I do love Bani's progression and character development in the third act. I love that he sets out to be more than a Punchbowl boy, that he learns his lesson, but I just also love his friendship with Bucky too. I find it so endearing.
April 30, 2018
Very little plot or characterisation...or anything besides high school anecdotes from Punchbowl Boys High. Amusing but clearly just a compliation of Ahmad's high school scribblings, padded out by an attempt to create a love story with no beginning or end. I feel if this wasn't about an ethic minority or about being Muslim it never would have been published.
July 12, 2020
It's fast, punchy and it's that voice Australia must begin to listen to. It is also Australia. We tend to pick up what we want to read, although equally important it is to challenge yourself, read what will confront us and perhaps even change the way we see. If you consider yourself Australian, think again. This book will make you think about who you really are. Read it. Brilliant.
March 11, 2018
Very powerful, very incendiary. Having briefly taught at a school like this, I hope the author knows how to defend himself as much as his boxing character because there is enough in here to truly aggravate both Bankstown locals and women alike. MMA writes tough and wounding prose and you feel deeply for his character who is battling for his life, heart and mind in the hyper masculine world of Punchbowl Boys High. Happily, the recent principal Jihad Dib made some massive turnarounds to an institution that MMA describes in the post September 11 era. Completely believable, completely heart breaking, even if it loses some intensity in the last third of the novel, this is compulsive reading and important for Australia to read.
February 2, 2019
The tone of this book felt very authentic but I just didn’t really enjoy it. The way they treated each other, their teachers, women. It may be an insight into another culture and minority group - and that insight might be very accurate - but I just didn’t like it very much.
I found the first part of the book hard to follow, the second part very repetitive and the third part just strange.
2 stars.
I found the first part of the book hard to follow, the second part very repetitive and the third part just strange.
2 stars.
March 24, 2018
A book that captures the lingua franca of disillusioned Lebanese youth in the Bankstown area of Sydney in the early 2000's. Hypermasculine and confronting, but a novel that should be read.
February 21, 2018
I received an ARC of this book for free in a goodreads giveaway.
A furious, shambling, sweaty and bloody mess of a book; a gateway into a world I'd previously only seen snatches of; a book that more or less abandons plot and instead just hurtles forward, aiming at target after target as it passes them. Fortunately, it hits pretty much all of them.
A furious, shambling, sweaty and bloody mess of a book; a gateway into a world I'd previously only seen snatches of; a book that more or less abandons plot and instead just hurtles forward, aiming at target after target as it passes them. Fortunately, it hits pretty much all of them.
September 19, 2018
A punchy and captivating read that perfectly describes a time and place in South-West Sydney. This book won’t appeal to everyone, but if you have any interest in the current immigration debate, give it a go. I saw the author on an August episode of QandA and he seemed to be an intense and angry young man...and so I was pleasantly surprised to discover the beauty and humour in his writing.
March 26, 2018
I have lived in Belmore and worked in Bankstown. Although it was many years ago, it helped me gain a glimpse of the local culture. As a teacher I have seen the nicest students become thugs when they operate in a gang. Thus, the novel rang true.
I thought I would sympathise with the protagonist who wanted to separate himself from those who surrounded him. I did not. Bani’s arrogance was annoying, even though it was serving as self-protection, a cloak I also adorned as a child, but it was tiresome and ultimately grating. I wanted to know more about the motivations about the other characters because they basically felt like stick characters in stark contrast to every musing inside Bani’s head.
I was expecting to be shocked. I wasn’t. Perhaps I’ve read too many books like it. It particularly reminded me of The Chocolate War (Robert Cormier) which I haven’t read since I was a teenager so I can’t pinpoint the similarities.
It is written well in terms of picturing the place and experience of Bani but I didn’t engage with it emotionally and that’s really what I want from a novel.
I thought I would sympathise with the protagonist who wanted to separate himself from those who surrounded him. I did not. Bani’s arrogance was annoying, even though it was serving as self-protection, a cloak I also adorned as a child, but it was tiresome and ultimately grating. I wanted to know more about the motivations about the other characters because they basically felt like stick characters in stark contrast to every musing inside Bani’s head.
I was expecting to be shocked. I wasn’t. Perhaps I’ve read too many books like it. It particularly reminded me of The Chocolate War (Robert Cormier) which I haven’t read since I was a teenager so I can’t pinpoint the similarities.
It is written well in terms of picturing the place and experience of Bani but I didn’t engage with it emotionally and that’s really what I want from a novel.
July 28, 2018
There are books that gently seduce you in, weaving their way into your consciousness without you really realising the impact. The Lebs is not one of those books. Ahmad's novel straps the reader in for a wild ride, the fast pacing and tone shifts working to convey the intensity of teen masculinity in a specific time, place and context. I found it an unforgettable read, the more so because it expects the reader to do the work of sorting out what all this means.
Ahmad's setting is a flashpoint in Australian society: Punchbowl Boys High in the early millennium. This is a time when the Sydney media was in a near hysterical state about "Lebanese gangs", coverage which had started well before the high profile gang rapes. Entire suburbs - Punchbowl, Lakemba, Bankstown - were frequently used as synonyms for chaotic evil in the Daily Tele and talkback. Prior to 9/11 this narrative was primarily racial rather than religious - with a dogwhistle implication that the violence of Beirut was caused by the violence of its young male inhabitants - but that shifted and broadened quickly after a Saudi terrorist living in Afghanistan became a global symbol. Of course my viewpoint - that of an Anglo-descended Sydneysider - is not the viewpoint of the book, although it obviously informs my reading.
Ahmad takes us into the quadrangles and classrooms of Punchbowl High, through the eyes of Bani Adams, who like most teens, feels desperately and secretly like he doesn't belong. Somewhere beyond the walls of his school prison, he's sure, is a white, literary community he belongs to. If this makes it all sound very emo, it really, really isn't. Ahmad punches his sentences out rapidly, capturing a sense of physicality. Sweat glistens off the page. Violence and desire and stress are all rendered on the bodies of the protagonists. Bani's shifting perspective can have a whiplash quality to it, as his moments of growth are punctuated by losing control, or at least allowing the tensions so inherent to any adolescence, let alone one crowded by global tension, explode.
But the book isn't really about Bani. I mean, Bani is our guide on this journey, but Ahmad isn't interested in overly pretending this isn't primarily a book about a community at a moment in time. The boys of Punchbowl High muck up, they get mad, they pray, they drink and then debate absolution. They scream anti-Semitic slogans and joke about the promiscuity of white 'Aussie' girls. They cruise for blow jobs, watch porn in class, defend their mothers and decide when and how to retaliate against FOB (Pacific Islander) conflict with Lebs. They navigate a community as rife with religious difference, different nationalities and varying power dynamics as any other. And they do that while trying to make sense of everyday, and not-so-everyday, hypocrisies stemming from living in a hostile culture. Most of all, the Lebs in this book, demand to be heard.
Bots of this are particularly hard to read as a member of a family of educators. The failures of Punchbowl High are not the focus of the book, but they are criminal. I felt bile in my throat at times, as (some) teachers, principals and most of all an entire education systems completely failed to give a crap, leaving an entire generation without anything resembling an education. There is savagery in this portrayal, of an institution more prison than school, and more concerned with corralling and going through the motions than any outcome. It contrasts sharply with later experiences Bani has with boxing, where teaching occurs.
Reading a couple of the mainstream reviews on this did my head in. I started to wonder if they had read the same book that I had. For starters, they found the book funny, which, well I can admire the humour, wasn't a term I would have chosen for my own reading. But then, they both suggested that a particular line – voiced by a female character – that blamed gang rape victims for being promiscuous was "going too far". I was a little bewildered, did this mean that so many of the other sentiments voiced by characters – kill all Jews, for starters – was just AOK? It implied to me that they thought somehow Ahmad was telling a morality tale here, shaping characters for his audience to identify with and learn from. And that somehow, these characters had to fit within a mainstream left narrative about what is and isn't acceptable. It didn't help that one also argued that the boys' religiosity wasn't credible, not only misunderstanding the culture portrayed, but perhaps unaware that it is a different culture.
It was particularly irksome to me because of the denouement of the book (which is slightly clumsier in construct than the rest) comes with savage exposure of some artsy theatre types, who arrive to create a play in the west, while showing only interest in their own reactions to it. Ahmad forcefully contrasts Bani's distress at a slogan the others barely notice, with their passionate interest in sexist comments: exactly the sluts attitude, actually. In entirely unsubtle ways – and the book is not about subtle, so that's not a criticism – we are shown how unable white Sydney is to just listen, be aware, sit with or try to understand this part of it. This is all reflected through Bani's journey: his realisation of what it means to be of a culture, and how to understand the ways it empowers, not limits you.
But while I'm tempted to leave that as a nice pat ending the review, it might suggest a nice pat ending to a book which is not at all into that. This book is a challenge to understand, to avoid filters. Much of the content is confronting, but some of it is amazingly tender, particularly the portrayal of Bani's gentle, devout father; the solace he finds in boxing, and the teaching that comes with it; and the even the deep commitment of the boys. This isn't a condemnation or a celebration of a culture, it is a demand that we stop trying to make judgments through our filter and listen, learn and engage.
Ahmad's setting is a flashpoint in Australian society: Punchbowl Boys High in the early millennium. This is a time when the Sydney media was in a near hysterical state about "Lebanese gangs", coverage which had started well before the high profile gang rapes. Entire suburbs - Punchbowl, Lakemba, Bankstown - were frequently used as synonyms for chaotic evil in the Daily Tele and talkback. Prior to 9/11 this narrative was primarily racial rather than religious - with a dogwhistle implication that the violence of Beirut was caused by the violence of its young male inhabitants - but that shifted and broadened quickly after a Saudi terrorist living in Afghanistan became a global symbol. Of course my viewpoint - that of an Anglo-descended Sydneysider - is not the viewpoint of the book, although it obviously informs my reading.
Ahmad takes us into the quadrangles and classrooms of Punchbowl High, through the eyes of Bani Adams, who like most teens, feels desperately and secretly like he doesn't belong. Somewhere beyond the walls of his school prison, he's sure, is a white, literary community he belongs to. If this makes it all sound very emo, it really, really isn't. Ahmad punches his sentences out rapidly, capturing a sense of physicality. Sweat glistens off the page. Violence and desire and stress are all rendered on the bodies of the protagonists. Bani's shifting perspective can have a whiplash quality to it, as his moments of growth are punctuated by losing control, or at least allowing the tensions so inherent to any adolescence, let alone one crowded by global tension, explode.
But the book isn't really about Bani. I mean, Bani is our guide on this journey, but Ahmad isn't interested in overly pretending this isn't primarily a book about a community at a moment in time. The boys of Punchbowl High muck up, they get mad, they pray, they drink and then debate absolution. They scream anti-Semitic slogans and joke about the promiscuity of white 'Aussie' girls. They cruise for blow jobs, watch porn in class, defend their mothers and decide when and how to retaliate against FOB (Pacific Islander) conflict with Lebs. They navigate a community as rife with religious difference, different nationalities and varying power dynamics as any other. And they do that while trying to make sense of everyday, and not-so-everyday, hypocrisies stemming from living in a hostile culture. Most of all, the Lebs in this book, demand to be heard.
Bots of this are particularly hard to read as a member of a family of educators. The failures of Punchbowl High are not the focus of the book, but they are criminal. I felt bile in my throat at times, as (some) teachers, principals and most of all an entire education systems completely failed to give a crap, leaving an entire generation without anything resembling an education. There is savagery in this portrayal, of an institution more prison than school, and more concerned with corralling and going through the motions than any outcome. It contrasts sharply with later experiences Bani has with boxing, where teaching occurs.
Reading a couple of the mainstream reviews on this did my head in. I started to wonder if they had read the same book that I had. For starters, they found the book funny, which, well I can admire the humour, wasn't a term I would have chosen for my own reading. But then, they both suggested that a particular line – voiced by a female character – that blamed gang rape victims for being promiscuous was "going too far". I was a little bewildered, did this mean that so many of the other sentiments voiced by characters – kill all Jews, for starters – was just AOK? It implied to me that they thought somehow Ahmad was telling a morality tale here, shaping characters for his audience to identify with and learn from. And that somehow, these characters had to fit within a mainstream left narrative about what is and isn't acceptable. It didn't help that one also argued that the boys' religiosity wasn't credible, not only misunderstanding the culture portrayed, but perhaps unaware that it is a different culture.
It was particularly irksome to me because of the denouement of the book (which is slightly clumsier in construct than the rest) comes with savage exposure of some artsy theatre types, who arrive to create a play in the west, while showing only interest in their own reactions to it. Ahmad forcefully contrasts Bani's distress at a slogan the others barely notice, with their passionate interest in sexist comments: exactly the sluts attitude, actually. In entirely unsubtle ways – and the book is not about subtle, so that's not a criticism – we are shown how unable white Sydney is to just listen, be aware, sit with or try to understand this part of it. This is all reflected through Bani's journey: his realisation of what it means to be of a culture, and how to understand the ways it empowers, not limits you.
But while I'm tempted to leave that as a nice pat ending the review, it might suggest a nice pat ending to a book which is not at all into that. This book is a challenge to understand, to avoid filters. Much of the content is confronting, but some of it is amazingly tender, particularly the portrayal of Bani's gentle, devout father; the solace he finds in boxing, and the teaching that comes with it; and the even the deep commitment of the boys. This isn't a condemnation or a celebration of a culture, it is a demand that we stop trying to make judgments through our filter and listen, learn and engage.
October 30, 2021
The narrative is raw and emotionally punishing at times.
Wonderfully explores the search for finding peace with who you are. The search isn't perfect and is never complete.
Wonderfully explores the search for finding peace with who you are. The search isn't perfect and is never complete.
November 15, 2018
In this hugely provocative and compelling read, Ahmad's titular Lebs are both victims and perpetrators. The prose is obscene, outrageous and frequently hilarious. It is just as rollicking and chaotic as Punchbowl Boys High School, which serves as the setting for much of the novel. And the final scene is a sucker punch to the stomach. An eye opening, haunting and hugely entertaining account of Lebanese Muslim identity from one of Western Sydney's most exciting authors.
August 9, 2018
Boom!!! As my grandson writes when he's making an impression, this novel will knock you off your feet! It's hugely energetic, packed full of incident, emotion, action and reaction. It opens in Sydney's Punchbowl High, a pack, a gang of young Lebanese males set about destroying the joint. Well, not really, just in their thoughts and dreams. We follow Bani, he's the outsider, smart and not afraid of it. I can't describe how dramatic the nature of Ahmad's writing is...chockfull of strong language, violent words, sometimes actions too. Division is a key theme, we're all divided by so much - ethnicity, religion and religious tribes within religion were most powerful and interesting to me. It's eye-opening in its account of how Sept 11 is regarded in one high school in Australia. I couldn't sleep after I finished it, my poor old brain was just too wired.
May 7, 2018
This really hit me hard.
I found the first half hard to get through but we hit a point in the plot halfway through where I became much more invested in the story.
This is definitely a character-driven book and the author actually completed this book as part of his PhD. You can see more information about his process of writing this book and more about what this book is about and the themes and ideas it challenges: https://www.westernsydney.edu.au/news...
The reason why I appreciate this book is because of its authentic voice. It reflects the complexity of identity and really touches on how it can feel to never fit in just one place or one community. In this novel, our main character Bani never feels like he fully belongs in his high school - Punchbowl Boys High - but as we follow his story, Bani realises that he does not belong in the Australian 'white' community either. He is stuck between two, vastly different worlds that seem to oppose each other at times. This struggle was shown really well and my heart was racing at a particular scene near the end of the book, where Bani comes to terms with how he is viewed by others outside the Lebanese Muslim community. The ending brought some tears to my eyes.
The author writes well. Several, vivid scenes come to mind.
This book shows that great novels can come from many different voices from many different communities, and that great literature is literature that reflects its time and reveals different human truths.
I found the first half hard to get through but we hit a point in the plot halfway through where I became much more invested in the story.
This is definitely a character-driven book and the author actually completed this book as part of his PhD. You can see more information about his process of writing this book and more about what this book is about and the themes and ideas it challenges: https://www.westernsydney.edu.au/news...
The reason why I appreciate this book is because of its authentic voice. It reflects the complexity of identity and really touches on how it can feel to never fit in just one place or one community. In this novel, our main character Bani never feels like he fully belongs in his high school - Punchbowl Boys High - but as we follow his story, Bani realises that he does not belong in the Australian 'white' community either. He is stuck between two, vastly different worlds that seem to oppose each other at times. This struggle was shown really well and my heart was racing at a particular scene near the end of the book, where Bani comes to terms with how he is viewed by others outside the Lebanese Muslim community. The ending brought some tears to my eyes.
The author writes well. Several, vivid scenes come to mind.
This book shows that great novels can come from many different voices from many different communities, and that great literature is literature that reflects its time and reveals different human truths.
June 13, 2019
The Lebs are on the loose, loping around Punchbowl high in some black comedic moments and our narrator is doing his best to navigate it all. Delivering a powerful punch to the guts at the end.
Unputdownable!
Urban Australia can be pretty animalistic, especially if your a Muslim boy in Bankstown around 9/11.
This is the sort of book that should be read in Australian highschools instead of Catcher-in-the-Rye.
Bloody fantastic work.
A great addition to the Miles Franklin Long-list. So raw! Loved it!
Read it in one sitting.
December 24, 2018
I abandoned this book. It may be an authentic voice; it may be we need to hear from those on the margins who are disenfranchised. But I couldn’t handle their shit - how they treated each other and how they treated their teachers. It was repetitive and disheartening. So I abandoned it. I’d give it no stars but then it wouldn’t count in the GR average. Just because it may be an authentic voice, doesn’t mean it is worthy of being listened to.
February 2, 2019
I don’t think this is a book that is meant to be “enjoyed” rather something to make you think and I respect it for that. Having said that I just did not like the style of writing - a mess of stories together with no plot line. The final part of the book was very odd as well.
January 7, 2022
I like the first part of this book. The second half, when he was associated with all the art & Drama people was boring.
April 27, 2019
Bleeding Hearts
https://reviewithaview.squarespace.com/
There was a time, during the heated debates and divided lines of the Cronulla Riots that my mother, my very white mother, was afraid. I was too young to recall the complexities of her reaction, but she was disgusted with the news, the actions of the ‘patriots’, the dismantling of perceived safety and rose-coloured harmony.
The whole thing was a boil on the behind of humanity.
She was afraid, because her husband, the father of her children looked like the ‘others’. His deep olive skin, the golden cross glistening around his neck, the dark curls atop his head, unruly and not to be contained. As Greek as they come. The walking Wog. And this was the closest we ever came, as a family, to fearing what might happen next. Fearing the actions of wider society and how they may infiltrate what we had forged.
Unlike Bani Adam in Michael Mohammed Ahmad’s The Lebs, I lived through the identity conflict and racism through the stories of my father. They were embellished but honest; unkind and hopeless; resentful and othering in itself, not at all admiring of the ‘Aussies’ — whatever I was supposed to take that to mean.
But unlike my father and Bani Adam, a young Lebanese-Australian, I could choose growing up, how to be identified.
Yes, I am Greek. No, I am Australian.
The language of The Lebs is one of the novel’s most profoundly powerful tools. In itself — it is shocking and offensive. As you amble along the smooth journey of a passage or chapter, the language suddenly rips you from the smooth motion and, shaking you awake, brings you back into the heart of the story. It brings you back into the dirty, muddled, politically charged, hormone driven reality like an unkind slap to the cheek. Both cheeks in fact.
FOBS (Fresh Off the Boat). Lowie, the name given to girls ‘low’ enough to give head jobs. Spiks, “That’s what Lebanese Christians call Muslims in Punchbowl.” Kashby, “That’s what we call Lebanese Christians.” House n——-. Sand n——-. F——t.
Through this language, Ahmad shows us the myriad of perceived and very real differences and social hierarchies within Punchbowl Boys High School. The institution is separated from the outside world, it has its own etiquettes and laws, resembling that of a prison. But those functions in itself, are a projection of what the outside world delivers. A projection, if not a pushing back against the high flying Australian flag, that towers over the boys of Punchbowl and reaches them, no matter where they stand. The language is visceral, compelling and relevant. Immature but clear, rational. Determined, if not snobbish.
Perhaps in some ways, the differences don’t translate quite the same outside the schoolyard. Half-caste, black, brown, Indonesian, Vietnamese, Syrian, Greek and Lebanese all mould into one shade of not being white. The laws are different everywhere and your identity is determined by everyone else. Everyone else but you. You can only feign control.
The language around women was a particular point of concern, intrigue and, as a young feminist, a sore point.
Bani Adam questions the actions of his friends in a contradictory manner, in a manner that is befitting of a young man finding his way. He is frustratingly accepting, but also critical, almost philosophical.
What does it mean for a girl to be a slut? To be a ‘lowie’? How can a girl be a slut regardless of whether she consents to a blow job or outwardly rejects it? And what does that make is friend, Omar, who hunts for these sexual interactions, that sexual relief through an act that he has determined will bring him pleasure, but not displease his god?
These questions are raised through Bani Adam, and in turn they are raised within our own psyche. How we view women and their sexual rights and decisions. How we view the sexual actions of boys and men. How those actions are allowed, without challenge, and are therefore merely repurposed into generation after generation. I found myself asking: Who are these voices? Are they just boys? Who will these characters grow to be? Can we change opinion, alter the choices and judgments of horny young men? ‘No, she didn’t deserve it!’ we can scream until ears bleed.
These discussions are presented in a way that resembles real life, the, ‘that’s just the way it is’ kind of attitude.
There is no resolution offered, no tools to alter the concrete forms of social norms. Doing so would have been patronising and somewhat dishonest. However, only viewing it as a dark reflection of the world would also be wrong. Because through it all — there’s Bani Adam.
Bani Adams hates being a ‘Lebo’ and fights it like the Lebanese boys fight against Aussies and Fobs and gays. He hates being a ‘Lebo’, because to him, it means, in the simplest terms, you aren’t white, you aren’t Australian. Being a Lebanese is determined by what you aren’t.
The conflict is born.
The identity is dependent on the environment, the context. And it’s difficult to stand tall, when you’re standing alone.
It’s easy to forget that Bani Adam is just a kid, trying to understand himself in Punchbowl, in the education system, the Bankstown Theatre Company. The coming of age story followed through boyhood and beyond, where ones emotional capacity is constantly oversized and out of place. Swollen within the body of a boy. The difference protruding from every crevice. The process of living becomes a determination of hierarchy and stereotypes which have been stapled upon his forehead and moving to detach from them.
“Now I understand why the Lebs used to call me a traitor,” Bani says. “Because in Punchbowl they taught White people to be afraid to offend Muslims, while here in Bankstown, I am afraid to offend White people.”
You are not what ‘they’ want you to be. Not at Punchbowl Boys High, not at BCA. Not on the streets. Not in your home. A constant state of limbo. Of being, but not being enough of…
There is no hero in this story. No saviour — white or otherwise. Which it could be said is used as a tool to both progress the story along and hamper it, in its darkest times. We become stuck. Voiceless. Confused. We are all damaged in this reality; as victims and perpetrators. We are all moving contradictions. Pull back the veil, the curtain, remove the rose-coloured glasses telling you this could all be fixed if only they were more like us, less like us. If they were there and not here.
The razor — it cuts deep and the wound is festering, and there’s not a soul about who knows how to mend it. []
https://reviewithaview.squarespace.com/
There was a time, during the heated debates and divided lines of the Cronulla Riots that my mother, my very white mother, was afraid. I was too young to recall the complexities of her reaction, but she was disgusted with the news, the actions of the ‘patriots’, the dismantling of perceived safety and rose-coloured harmony.
The whole thing was a boil on the behind of humanity.
She was afraid, because her husband, the father of her children looked like the ‘others’. His deep olive skin, the golden cross glistening around his neck, the dark curls atop his head, unruly and not to be contained. As Greek as they come. The walking Wog. And this was the closest we ever came, as a family, to fearing what might happen next. Fearing the actions of wider society and how they may infiltrate what we had forged.
Unlike Bani Adam in Michael Mohammed Ahmad’s The Lebs, I lived through the identity conflict and racism through the stories of my father. They were embellished but honest; unkind and hopeless; resentful and othering in itself, not at all admiring of the ‘Aussies’ — whatever I was supposed to take that to mean.
But unlike my father and Bani Adam, a young Lebanese-Australian, I could choose growing up, how to be identified.
Yes, I am Greek. No, I am Australian.
The language of The Lebs is one of the novel’s most profoundly powerful tools. In itself — it is shocking and offensive. As you amble along the smooth journey of a passage or chapter, the language suddenly rips you from the smooth motion and, shaking you awake, brings you back into the heart of the story. It brings you back into the dirty, muddled, politically charged, hormone driven reality like an unkind slap to the cheek. Both cheeks in fact.
FOBS (Fresh Off the Boat). Lowie, the name given to girls ‘low’ enough to give head jobs. Spiks, “That’s what Lebanese Christians call Muslims in Punchbowl.” Kashby, “That’s what we call Lebanese Christians.” House n——-. Sand n——-. F——t.
Through this language, Ahmad shows us the myriad of perceived and very real differences and social hierarchies within Punchbowl Boys High School. The institution is separated from the outside world, it has its own etiquettes and laws, resembling that of a prison. But those functions in itself, are a projection of what the outside world delivers. A projection, if not a pushing back against the high flying Australian flag, that towers over the boys of Punchbowl and reaches them, no matter where they stand. The language is visceral, compelling and relevant. Immature but clear, rational. Determined, if not snobbish.
Perhaps in some ways, the differences don’t translate quite the same outside the schoolyard. Half-caste, black, brown, Indonesian, Vietnamese, Syrian, Greek and Lebanese all mould into one shade of not being white. The laws are different everywhere and your identity is determined by everyone else. Everyone else but you. You can only feign control.
The language around women was a particular point of concern, intrigue and, as a young feminist, a sore point.
Bani Adam questions the actions of his friends in a contradictory manner, in a manner that is befitting of a young man finding his way. He is frustratingly accepting, but also critical, almost philosophical.
What does it mean for a girl to be a slut? To be a ‘lowie’? How can a girl be a slut regardless of whether she consents to a blow job or outwardly rejects it? And what does that make is friend, Omar, who hunts for these sexual interactions, that sexual relief through an act that he has determined will bring him pleasure, but not displease his god?
These questions are raised through Bani Adam, and in turn they are raised within our own psyche. How we view women and their sexual rights and decisions. How we view the sexual actions of boys and men. How those actions are allowed, without challenge, and are therefore merely repurposed into generation after generation. I found myself asking: Who are these voices? Are they just boys? Who will these characters grow to be? Can we change opinion, alter the choices and judgments of horny young men? ‘No, she didn’t deserve it!’ we can scream until ears bleed.
These discussions are presented in a way that resembles real life, the, ‘that’s just the way it is’ kind of attitude.
There is no resolution offered, no tools to alter the concrete forms of social norms. Doing so would have been patronising and somewhat dishonest. However, only viewing it as a dark reflection of the world would also be wrong. Because through it all — there’s Bani Adam.
Bani Adams hates being a ‘Lebo’ and fights it like the Lebanese boys fight against Aussies and Fobs and gays. He hates being a ‘Lebo’, because to him, it means, in the simplest terms, you aren’t white, you aren’t Australian. Being a Lebanese is determined by what you aren’t.
The conflict is born.
The identity is dependent on the environment, the context. And it’s difficult to stand tall, when you’re standing alone.
It’s easy to forget that Bani Adam is just a kid, trying to understand himself in Punchbowl, in the education system, the Bankstown Theatre Company. The coming of age story followed through boyhood and beyond, where ones emotional capacity is constantly oversized and out of place. Swollen within the body of a boy. The difference protruding from every crevice. The process of living becomes a determination of hierarchy and stereotypes which have been stapled upon his forehead and moving to detach from them.
“Now I understand why the Lebs used to call me a traitor,” Bani says. “Because in Punchbowl they taught White people to be afraid to offend Muslims, while here in Bankstown, I am afraid to offend White people.”
You are not what ‘they’ want you to be. Not at Punchbowl Boys High, not at BCA. Not on the streets. Not in your home. A constant state of limbo. Of being, but not being enough of…
There is no hero in this story. No saviour — white or otherwise. Which it could be said is used as a tool to both progress the story along and hamper it, in its darkest times. We become stuck. Voiceless. Confused. We are all damaged in this reality; as victims and perpetrators. We are all moving contradictions. Pull back the veil, the curtain, remove the rose-coloured glasses telling you this could all be fixed if only they were more like us, less like us. If they were there and not here.
The razor — it cuts deep and the wound is festering, and there’s not a soul about who knows how to mend it. []
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 24, 2019
Driving reading for a 60 something year old white Australian woman. Yes it’s about youthful search for identity and belonging, and how awfully harrowing that can be. It’s the Lebanese perspective that was of great interest. The boys of Punchbowl High really reminded me so much of the boys of my high school days, sexist, racist, confused, bragging, threatening and hilarious. The girls weren’t of course ! The main character Bani reads avidly, aspires to be a Writer. He’s exposed to so much damaging socialization, low expectations, porn, racial profiling of crimes and current rape crimes, homophobia, misogyny. Then the intense theatre workshopping, some feminist characters nearly destroy him by their own unfailing belief in who they think he is, revealing they are perhaps not so enlightened either. He is pushed hard to become their prophecy. Is it real or is it theatre. It’s as if he will always be reduced. He has always felt above his peers, that he’s not like them. His peers behaviours are rejectable, their behaviours though it’s suggested seem to stem from their being labeled and in a twisted way they then live out these expectations. Rejecting all the negative behaviours assigned to the Lebs. He’s not like that, so he’s not Leb so who is he. Does he find out ? It’s great social observation this writing explored in the midst of identity crises.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
July 24, 2025
2.5 to 3 🌟
This was a propulsive and energetic look at toxic masculinity, racial vilification, homophobia, and male aggression through the eyes of the Arab community in Sidney, Australia. Which is something I knew very little about. Mostly centred around an all boys Muslim school (so, Lebanese, Iraqi, Iranian, Palestinian, Syrian, etc.), this book takes a classic coming of age tale and puts it through the lens of the average modern Muslim Arab Australian boy. It's been called powerful, brutal, and untarnished, which it is, the lyrical exposition contrasting beautifully with the coarseness of the boys' dialogue. However, I also found it very samey. Not that much happens, and I get it. It's a slice of life book, and sure, the MC himself was oddly fascinating (he finds himself pulled in many different directions), but overall, I often found myself wanting more. Basically, I learned some interesting things about Australia and about modern Muslim culture as a whole, but I found the switch towards the end jarring (where he suddenly leaves school), and something about the overall vibe just didn't connect with me. Although maybe it wasn't meant to. Maybe it was meant to be confronting. In short, this was an interesting look at something I've never seen written before, but I doubt it will live long inside my brain.
This was a propulsive and energetic look at toxic masculinity, racial vilification, homophobia, and male aggression through the eyes of the Arab community in Sidney, Australia. Which is something I knew very little about. Mostly centred around an all boys Muslim school (so, Lebanese, Iraqi, Iranian, Palestinian, Syrian, etc.), this book takes a classic coming of age tale and puts it through the lens of the average modern Muslim Arab Australian boy. It's been called powerful, brutal, and untarnished, which it is, the lyrical exposition contrasting beautifully with the coarseness of the boys' dialogue. However, I also found it very samey. Not that much happens, and I get it. It's a slice of life book, and sure, the MC himself was oddly fascinating (he finds himself pulled in many different directions), but overall, I often found myself wanting more. Basically, I learned some interesting things about Australia and about modern Muslim culture as a whole, but I found the switch towards the end jarring (where he suddenly leaves school), and something about the overall vibe just didn't connect with me. Although maybe it wasn't meant to. Maybe it was meant to be confronting. In short, this was an interesting look at something I've never seen written before, but I doubt it will live long inside my brain.
Read
December 12, 2022A powerful voice and character, caught between worlds and identities.
The book powerfully identifies issues associated with Australian culture, such as racism, sexuality, misogyny, homophobia and religion. But, because of the nature of the character telling the story, these issues weren’t resolved or even particularly developed. A lot was left unsaid - the tension and problems identified and left to sit uncomfortably in the readers mind and heart. This is powerful in its own way. However, because of the loaded nature of these issues, and because it’s a novel, leaving these issues unexamined at the end of the book felt a little awkward, and even a little disappointing.
It is a failed coming-of-age story, almost like a Lebanese-Australian Catcher in the Rye. It’s was actually pretty eye-opening for me about the Muslim-Australian’s experience. I enjoyed the almost satirical take-down of condescending inner-west arty-types.
I kinda wish more things happened. The last part - with the character workshopping a play in Bankstown with a group of people who only saw him as a Muslim - built tension really well, and I felt lots of conceptual complexity was being built as a result. But there was too much “Holden” walking around, thinking he’s better than everyone around him, but nothing really happening plot-wise or thematically.
I’m very happy I read it and would be interested in the author’s other books.
The book powerfully identifies issues associated with Australian culture, such as racism, sexuality, misogyny, homophobia and religion. But, because of the nature of the character telling the story, these issues weren’t resolved or even particularly developed. A lot was left unsaid - the tension and problems identified and left to sit uncomfortably in the readers mind and heart. This is powerful in its own way. However, because of the loaded nature of these issues, and because it’s a novel, leaving these issues unexamined at the end of the book felt a little awkward, and even a little disappointing.
It is a failed coming-of-age story, almost like a Lebanese-Australian Catcher in the Rye. It’s was actually pretty eye-opening for me about the Muslim-Australian’s experience. I enjoyed the almost satirical take-down of condescending inner-west arty-types.
I kinda wish more things happened. The last part - with the character workshopping a play in Bankstown with a group of people who only saw him as a Muslim - built tension really well, and I felt lots of conceptual complexity was being built as a result. But there was too much “Holden” walking around, thinking he’s better than everyone around him, but nothing really happening plot-wise or thematically.
I’m very happy I read it and would be interested in the author’s other books.
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