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Silence Is a Sense
A profound and life-affirming debut about migration, trauma, and the healing power of community.
A young woman sits in her apartment in an unnamed English city, absorbed in watching the small dramas of her assorted neighbors through their windows across the way. Traumatized into muteness after a long, devastating trip from war-torn Syria to the UK, she believes that she wants to sink deeper into isolation, moving between memories of her absent boyfriend and family and her homeland, dreams, and reality. At the same time, she begins writing for a magazine under the pseudonym "the Voiceless," trying to explain the refugee experience without sensationalizing it—or revealing anything about herself.
Gradually, as the boundaries of her world expand—as she ventures to the neighborhood corner store, to a gathering at a nearby mosque, and to the bookstore and laundromat, and as an anti-Muslim hate crime shatters the members of a nearby mosque—she has to make a choice: Will she remain a voiceless observer, or become an active participant in her own life and in a community that, despite her best efforts, is quickly becoming her own?
With brilliant, poetic prose that captures all the fragments of this character's life, and making use of fragments of text from Tweets and emails to the narrator's own articles, journals, and fiction, Silence Is a Sense explores what it means to be a refugee and to need asylum, and how fundamental human connection is to survival.
A young woman sits in her apartment in an unnamed English city, absorbed in watching the small dramas of her assorted neighbors through their windows across the way. Traumatized into muteness after a long, devastating trip from war-torn Syria to the UK, she believes that she wants to sink deeper into isolation, moving between memories of her absent boyfriend and family and her homeland, dreams, and reality. At the same time, she begins writing for a magazine under the pseudonym "the Voiceless," trying to explain the refugee experience without sensationalizing it—or revealing anything about herself.
Gradually, as the boundaries of her world expand—as she ventures to the neighborhood corner store, to a gathering at a nearby mosque, and to the bookstore and laundromat, and as an anti-Muslim hate crime shatters the members of a nearby mosque—she has to make a choice: Will she remain a voiceless observer, or become an active participant in her own life and in a community that, despite her best efforts, is quickly becoming her own?
With brilliant, poetic prose that captures all the fragments of this character's life, and making use of fragments of text from Tweets and emails to the narrator's own articles, journals, and fiction, Silence Is a Sense explores what it means to be a refugee and to need asylum, and how fundamental human connection is to survival.
304 pages, Hardcover
First published March 16, 2021
84 people are currently reading
4171 people want to read
About the author
Layla AlAmmar
5 books171 followersLayla AlAmmar grew up in Kuwait. She has a Masters in Creative Writing from the University of Edinburgh, and her work has appeared in The Evening Standard, Quail Bell Magazine, The Red Letters St Andrews Prose Journal, and Aesthetica Magazine where she was a finalist for the Creative Writing Award 2014. In 2018, she served as British Council International Writer in Residence at the Small Wonder Short Story Festival. She currently lives in the UK where she's pursuing a PhD in Arab Women's Fiction.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 227 reviews
March 29, 2021
WOW! Just WOW! This stunningly emotional story has completely stolen my heart! I felt Layla Al Ammar’s beautifully evocative words deep in my soul. A simple story with a powerful message.
The story is told by a nameless narrator. A Muslim Syrian refugee who is now living in the UK. Our narrator lives her life on the edges never speaking. Out of sight meticulously observing her neighbors. She is also writing an article for a local newspaper about being a Muslim living in the UK under the pen name Voiceless. As the story progresses our narrator learns that she is seen much more than she realizes. As she becomes more comfortable and invested in the community we learn more and more about our voiceless narrator. I know my words have not done this book justice. There were just so many layers to the story and so many profound moments. A beautiful, unique, and thought-provoking story. I seriously cannot recommend this book strongly enough!
*** Big thank you to Algonquin for my gifted copy of this book. All opinions are my own. ***
The story is told by a nameless narrator. A Muslim Syrian refugee who is now living in the UK. Our narrator lives her life on the edges never speaking. Out of sight meticulously observing her neighbors. She is also writing an article for a local newspaper about being a Muslim living in the UK under the pen name Voiceless. As the story progresses our narrator learns that she is seen much more than she realizes. As she becomes more comfortable and invested in the community we learn more and more about our voiceless narrator. I know my words have not done this book justice. There were just so many layers to the story and so many profound moments. A beautiful, unique, and thought-provoking story. I seriously cannot recommend this book strongly enough!
*** Big thank you to Algonquin for my gifted copy of this book. All opinions are my own. ***
December 19, 2023
https://www.instagram.com/p/CucBaP2rY...
A profound story of survival, and the vital power of having a voice. Told through the eyes of a young woman rebuilding after trauma and displacement, we see the community around her in an intimate and compelling way; every conflict, affair, secret, is laid bare, with an urgent message to speak out against hatred and oppression. Courageous and boldly crafted, Silence is a Sense is an eye opening portrayal of trauma and the struggle to not only overcome hardship, but to become an active defender of rights and justice.
A profound story of survival, and the vital power of having a voice. Told through the eyes of a young woman rebuilding after trauma and displacement, we see the community around her in an intimate and compelling way; every conflict, affair, secret, is laid bare, with an urgent message to speak out against hatred and oppression. Courageous and boldly crafted, Silence is a Sense is an eye opening portrayal of trauma and the struggle to not only overcome hardship, but to become an active defender of rights and justice.
March 17, 2021
Silence is a Sense is an utterly emotional, and one of the most compelling novels I have read this year. I absolutely loved this book for the evocative themes presented in this book, such as the complicated identity and harrowing trauma of being Muslim, being a refugee, being an immigrant, and losing your voice.
This profound novel is centered on a young refugee woman from war-torn Syria, who is traumatized into muteness. As we are drawn in to this fragment of her life, we become privee to acute observations of her new community, her neighbors, and what is slowly becoming her new home. In that sense, as a refugee in a new country, she mourns the loss of her old life and what was once the place she called home. In the process, she writes under the pseudonym, “The Voiceless, where she depicts her experiences and harrowing journey from Syria to England.
Layla AlAmmar, a Kuwaiti writer and a citizen of the world, delivered giving voice to those whose lives have been upended due to violence and hatred, and seeking asylum to start a new life. A new life where they are able to experience freedom from hate, to glean happiness after escaping horrors, and the safety of being who you are without prejudice or judgement. Or did our protagonist just escape one violence and hatred for another?
This novel was truly a thought provoking book that is not to be missed.
This was simply brilliant.
This profound novel is centered on a young refugee woman from war-torn Syria, who is traumatized into muteness. As we are drawn in to this fragment of her life, we become privee to acute observations of her new community, her neighbors, and what is slowly becoming her new home. In that sense, as a refugee in a new country, she mourns the loss of her old life and what was once the place she called home. In the process, she writes under the pseudonym, “The Voiceless, where she depicts her experiences and harrowing journey from Syria to England.
Layla AlAmmar, a Kuwaiti writer and a citizen of the world, delivered giving voice to those whose lives have been upended due to violence and hatred, and seeking asylum to start a new life. A new life where they are able to experience freedom from hate, to glean happiness after escaping horrors, and the safety of being who you are without prejudice or judgement. Or did our protagonist just escape one violence and hatred for another?
This novel was truly a thought provoking book that is not to be missed.
This was simply brilliant.
March 20, 2021
Another incredible story. I’ve had a good streak lately.
Rtc.
Rtc.
May 29, 2021
A lone young woman watches the world outside her window from the relative safety and refuge of her apartment. She refers to those in the East, West, South tower blocks by pseudonyms, Juicer, No-Lights-Man, Amine Girl. She too is unnamed.
She rarely leaves and when she does, it's within her 'safe zone' including the nearby shop, the mosque, and part of the park.
She has email contact with a magazine editor she send pieces too, using her own pseudonym Voiceless. She writes a truth, as something of her experience and perspective and trauma passes through her into the page.
The editor wants a digestable narrative, truth but not truth, tempering the Voiceless, pandering to the expectations of an audience.
Flashbacks from her last days in Aleppo, her friends, protests, declarations, family decisions, a world disrupted. Journeying alone through a continent that equates refugee with terrorist, and that violence exists even in refuge.
In her silence she is overwhelmed by the other senses, unable to speak, yet filled with so much looking for outward expression.
An intense, visceral insight and demonstration of the effect of trauma, the ongoing sensitivities, reactions, the struggle to adapt, to accept safety, to even perceive safety, when threats are observed everywhere, violence seen through windows, threatened against communities.
And yet, something within the human spirit needs to reach out, to have contact, to be a part of what little community is offered, tentative gestures, towards healing.
Sensitively depicted, rather than witnessing the events themselves, the author draws the reader into the fragmented mind of the victim of trauma, making us feel what it can be like, to be in that post traumatic period, trying to live again in an unwelcoming, welcome British city.
She rarely leaves and when she does, it's within her 'safe zone' including the nearby shop, the mosque, and part of the park.
She has email contact with a magazine editor she send pieces too, using her own pseudonym Voiceless. She writes a truth, as something of her experience and perspective and trauma passes through her into the page.
The editor wants a digestable narrative, truth but not truth, tempering the Voiceless, pandering to the expectations of an audience.
Flashbacks from her last days in Aleppo, her friends, protests, declarations, family decisions, a world disrupted. Journeying alone through a continent that equates refugee with terrorist, and that violence exists even in refuge.
In her silence she is overwhelmed by the other senses, unable to speak, yet filled with so much looking for outward expression.
An intense, visceral insight and demonstration of the effect of trauma, the ongoing sensitivities, reactions, the struggle to adapt, to accept safety, to even perceive safety, when threats are observed everywhere, violence seen through windows, threatened against communities.
And yet, something within the human spirit needs to reach out, to have contact, to be a part of what little community is offered, tentative gestures, towards healing.
Sensitively depicted, rather than witnessing the events themselves, the author draws the reader into the fragmented mind of the victim of trauma, making us feel what it can be like, to be in that post traumatic period, trying to live again in an unwelcoming, welcome British city.
February 14, 2021
“No one is truly voiceless, … either they silence you, or you silence yourself.”
This was a very interesting and thought-provoking book. Whether you – or your society – are pro or anti asylum seekers, very few of us have any idea what goes on in an asylum seeker’s head. We may have heard about the horrors they have left behind, the arduous and dangerous trek to ‘safety’ – but can we really – from our comfortable lives – ever truly understand what they have been through, what indelible marks life has branded into their souls. There is no ‘typical’ asylum seeker. All are individuals, with own personal experiences and devils. Through the encounters, writings and ideas of one such asylum seeker – Rana Halab from Syria, the Voiceless – the book tries to open our eyes to one such person’s life.
The book is narrated in the first person, and our narrator is difficult to appreciate at first – she is too different. She watches life and people go by through her window, a silent voyeur. Her world is peopled with cardboard characters, whom she names according to what she sees of them: No-lights-Man, the Juicer, the Dad, the Old Couple, Mr Big Man, the Old Man … She initially does not ascribe any humanity to them, and likewise, they seem to see her as only “The Arab”, “the Asylum Seeker”, the dumb woman. Slowly, as she is drawn into interactions with her neighbours, they gain names (Adam, Chloe, Ruth, Helen, Matt …) and personalities, and our narrator becomes more relatable.
The one character who immediately deserves a name, is Hassan, the local shopkeeper:
“He can’t be much more than forty, but he’s exceedingly prickly. Far too prickly for someone his age, but there’s no telling what a person has been through.”
To me, this quote sums up the narrator’s difficult personality too.
Most of the story takes place in the present, in and around the high rise building where the narrator now resides in Britain, but there are flashbacks to her former life in Aleppo.
Our narrator does not speak – a diagnosis of ‘hysterical mutism’ brought about by the traumas she has experienced. But, she is a highly intelligent and articulate lady, who writes for a London magazine under the pseudonym “The Voiceless”.
“It’s not so difficult to know what people want. At the root of it we all want the same things: freedom, happiness, safety. I want to write what I want to write without the fear of a knock at the door and an interrogation room. I want to love who I want to love without the fear of death or corrective rape. I want to wear what I want to wear without the worry that men will see my skirt or the buttons on my shirt as an invitation. That’s it. The freedom to live how we want to live.”
Her editor – and then later Adam – have firm ideas about what she (as a female, Arab, Muslim refugee) should believe in and campaign for. But they are not the narrator.
“They want me to speak for the chaos of the world, to weave the abstracts of cultural convulsions and scapegoats and simple apathy into my story, so that by seeing ‘me’, by knowing ‘me’, you might know them all, and I suppose – by extension – might feel some degree of empathy for them all.”
“There’s this idea that if only you bombard bigots with enough facts and data and statistics, you can cure them. This notion that their hatred comes from a place of ignorance is one people have a hard time shaking. It’s not a lack of education, … It’s fear; fear of the unknown, the Other, fear that things are changing in ways he can’t predict or control.”
“ Is it my job, as a Muslim, to try to convince you not to be afraid of me? That my people are not hardwired to hate you, to want to blow you up on a tube or ram you with a van?”
The terror in her life never goes away. Safety is always relative, never absolute:
“And when I first arrived, I couldn’t assimilate … I couldn’t reconcile myself to the notion that I was free to go anywhere. So I set invisible borders that I abided by for a good, long while.”
Gradually, her borders expand – both physically and mentally. But the fear never leaves –
“I know I’m safe here, although the meaning of that has a habit of slipping through my hands like water. I can’t explain even to myself, my hesitation, my continued sense that I’m still living in some indefinite holding room”
and can come thundering back at any time:
“I was supposed to be safe here. I was supposed to be safe here. I was supposed to be safe here …”
As the reader you become more and more wrapped up in the narrator’s life, and in her community. Can she, will she, ever find the courage to speak, rather than just anonymously write? Will the violence ever truly recede? We don’t have a civil war in this country, but are we – as a society – less violent, less bigoted, less intolerant than the country the narrator came from?
“ any time an attack occurs, there comes this blanket condemnation of an entire faith – as though the problem were one of religion rather than interpretation. The majority have no time for such subtleties of thought. Muslim Refugee = Muslim Terrorist is so much simpler.”
“What does it mean to be American? A red-blooded one, as they’re so fond of saying, and I wonder what colour they imagine the rest of the world bleeds. Every year they celebrate the brutal taking of a land that, by any definition of blood and soil, was not theirs, a systematic replacing of the native population. Is that why you fear refugees and immigrants so much? Because you know that with determination, and no small amount of violence, complete and total dominion can be achieved?”
While not all the ideas in this book are new to me, many of the comments have been eye openers, and have made me stop and think, and question my own assumptions about asylum seekers and refugees.
I highly recommend this book.
I received this copy from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own and not influenced by either the author nor by the publisher.
Want to read
January 12, 2021Kuwaiti author!
March 20, 2021
3.5 Stars!
This was incredibly unexpected! I’m not sure what I expected but it wasn’t quite what this book turned out to be. I think I expected sort of a “finding herself”/ “finding narrative of a traumatized Syrian refugee overcoming being lost in a web of PTSD-induced silence, but this was instead a rather intellectual, linguistically-astute work of literary fiction-cum- social commentary and I liked it. Based on the title, as you’d expect, it’s a very quiet and introspective sort of book with strong themes around religious extremism, revolution, racism, nationalism and bigotry.
The premise is that the unnamed (till the very end) narrator is a Syrian refugee in England, a part-time student, part-time freelancer about her experiences for a magazine, who is still dealing with the extreme trauma of being a single woman fleeing Syria on her own late in the Civil War and making her way across all of Europe to England. Suffering a psychotic break as a result of her experience, she finds solace and strength in silence, not speaking for years till her neighbours believe her to be deaf and unable to speak. In her silence, she develops her own self-awareness as well as an understanding of others, especially her neighbors in the apartment blocks around hers who she spies on all day, becoming embroiled against her will, in the tragedies of their lives.
.
.
This was written by an author who obviously loves literature and it is clear she’s writing what she knows because her narrator is also a bibliophile. There are numerous references to renowned middle eastern writers and their quotes are sprinkled throughout this book, and the narrator’s analysis of these quotes make them appear like her own well-worn, thoroughly digested thoughts about home, belonging, memory and identity. But she is also well-versed in Western classics revealing a kinship with the melancholy and human frailty they reveal versus the “silence” in her own literary heritage. I don’t know enough about middle eastern writers or the melancholy white Western classics writers she prefers to comment either way but I did like the exploration of this theme.
Because the protagonist/narrator observes rather than speaks and lives so much in her head, she has a self-awareness AND an almost non-judgmental understanding of others. On bigotry, she recognizes that irrational fear of loss and lessening rather than a lack of rational knowledge and facts is the key. I think the narrator is so lost to herself from everything she’s experienced that she recognizes herself almost as a chameleon, someone whose experiences and trauma have ripped away their identity, someone who has been called so many names that she can’t help but be simultaneously all and none of them. But what we do know is that physically, in her own words, she “can be whatever you see. Arab. University student. Writer. Fatty. Muslim. Whore.”
The narrator is filled with clever and smart but somewhat unpopular opinions that many people will be offended by. For example, she has really interesting and different ideas about blaming terrorist attacks on Islam and questioning whether people’s personal definitions and interpretations of Islam were invalid because a fellow Muslim didn’t think they were right. Great points were made but not sure that I agree from a religious perspective that someone defines their religion rather than a holy book or the tenets after religion is more than a spiritual identity. But I also get her meaning and she does discuss how religion-justified terrorism is a cycle that is supported by interpretation rather than the religion itself. She also analyzes the futility of democracy and how it is impossible without an informed electorate and a free, fair and responsible press doing that informing, none of which exists in any part of the world where bias is the order of the day. It’s very interesting and she is very good at these thought pieces which exist throughout the book.
Silence is definitely a theme. Not only in the narrator’s presentation of herself and her unwillingness or inability to speak, but also it is a philosophical question to her, a being to explore, a memory, a punishment, a culture, a literary heritage. More than a theme, in this book, very much on the nose, silence might even be a character.
There’s a lot of sex and sexuality and talk about bodies in this book but it’s not at all a sexy book. Sex isn’t pleasure, it’s more pain and forgetting and loss of self, but also a place of bitter memories of a means to an end, a loss of control, a release even if not a pleasurable one. It’s as though sex in this book is a proxy for human contact for dealing with a silence that is oppressive and that needs to be released.
I’m not sure what to feel about this book. I didn’t not like it. But I also didn’t love it. I liked that it told a different story gave a different perspective than the refugee narratives that journalists typically take on. This is a pretty emotionally devastating book and I liked the way emotion was captured in this book, being simultaneously explosive and repressed, buried under silence, struggling to stay contained so that the heroine doesn’t break even further. I do feel like this felt like separate ideas in one book. The plot of the snooping, always watching neighbour and the narrator’s increasing involvement in the community was somewhat slowed down by the tangents and opinion articles the narrator would go on, which didn’t have much to do with her increasing interactions with others. But again arguably, this wasn’t a book where the author wanted to have an A to B narrative telling that sort of story. This is more a snapshot-style book of flashbacks, ideas and thoughts and ways of looking at society. The “should I tell, shouldn’t I tell” conflict of the book was to me weak and underdeveloped so that when it escalated at the end, it didn’t feel like the escalation matched the amount of attention that had been given to that conflict. And I felt that way about the plot in general. I liked the broad strokes of the plot, but I think the editorial bits kind of distracted and took away from the plot development. I would have liked the narrator to have a bit more to do with her neighbours and to develop that tension and conflict a bit more. As it was, to me this book was strongest whenever she was giving her opinions and writing her articles and think pieces or doing her linguist thing with words. I enjoyed this book for those novel ideas and the beautiful way everything was written more than I enjoyed it as a work of fiction. I am glad I read this though. The gorgeous writing and use of language had me highlighting half the book and taking notes so that I can think even more deeply about and discuss the narrator’s idea.
Many thanks to Algonquin Books for an advance review copy!
This was incredibly unexpected! I’m not sure what I expected but it wasn’t quite what this book turned out to be. I think I expected sort of a “finding herself”/ “finding narrative of a traumatized Syrian refugee overcoming being lost in a web of PTSD-induced silence, but this was instead a rather intellectual, linguistically-astute work of literary fiction-cum- social commentary and I liked it. Based on the title, as you’d expect, it’s a very quiet and introspective sort of book with strong themes around religious extremism, revolution, racism, nationalism and bigotry.
The premise is that the unnamed (till the very end) narrator is a Syrian refugee in England, a part-time student, part-time freelancer about her experiences for a magazine, who is still dealing with the extreme trauma of being a single woman fleeing Syria on her own late in the Civil War and making her way across all of Europe to England. Suffering a psychotic break as a result of her experience, she finds solace and strength in silence, not speaking for years till her neighbours believe her to be deaf and unable to speak. In her silence, she develops her own self-awareness as well as an understanding of others, especially her neighbors in the apartment blocks around hers who she spies on all day, becoming embroiled against her will, in the tragedies of their lives.
.
.
This was written by an author who obviously loves literature and it is clear she’s writing what she knows because her narrator is also a bibliophile. There are numerous references to renowned middle eastern writers and their quotes are sprinkled throughout this book, and the narrator’s analysis of these quotes make them appear like her own well-worn, thoroughly digested thoughts about home, belonging, memory and identity. But she is also well-versed in Western classics revealing a kinship with the melancholy and human frailty they reveal versus the “silence” in her own literary heritage. I don’t know enough about middle eastern writers or the melancholy white Western classics writers she prefers to comment either way but I did like the exploration of this theme.
Because the protagonist/narrator observes rather than speaks and lives so much in her head, she has a self-awareness AND an almost non-judgmental understanding of others. On bigotry, she recognizes that irrational fear of loss and lessening rather than a lack of rational knowledge and facts is the key. I think the narrator is so lost to herself from everything she’s experienced that she recognizes herself almost as a chameleon, someone whose experiences and trauma have ripped away their identity, someone who has been called so many names that she can’t help but be simultaneously all and none of them. But what we do know is that physically, in her own words, she “can be whatever you see. Arab. University student. Writer. Fatty. Muslim. Whore.”
The narrator is filled with clever and smart but somewhat unpopular opinions that many people will be offended by. For example, she has really interesting and different ideas about blaming terrorist attacks on Islam and questioning whether people’s personal definitions and interpretations of Islam were invalid because a fellow Muslim didn’t think they were right. Great points were made but not sure that I agree from a religious perspective that someone defines their religion rather than a holy book or the tenets after religion is more than a spiritual identity. But I also get her meaning and she does discuss how religion-justified terrorism is a cycle that is supported by interpretation rather than the religion itself. She also analyzes the futility of democracy and how it is impossible without an informed electorate and a free, fair and responsible press doing that informing, none of which exists in any part of the world where bias is the order of the day. It’s very interesting and she is very good at these thought pieces which exist throughout the book.
Silence is definitely a theme. Not only in the narrator’s presentation of herself and her unwillingness or inability to speak, but also it is a philosophical question to her, a being to explore, a memory, a punishment, a culture, a literary heritage. More than a theme, in this book, very much on the nose, silence might even be a character.
There’s a lot of sex and sexuality and talk about bodies in this book but it’s not at all a sexy book. Sex isn’t pleasure, it’s more pain and forgetting and loss of self, but also a place of bitter memories of a means to an end, a loss of control, a release even if not a pleasurable one. It’s as though sex in this book is a proxy for human contact for dealing with a silence that is oppressive and that needs to be released.
I’m not sure what to feel about this book. I didn’t not like it. But I also didn’t love it. I liked that it told a different story gave a different perspective than the refugee narratives that journalists typically take on. This is a pretty emotionally devastating book and I liked the way emotion was captured in this book, being simultaneously explosive and repressed, buried under silence, struggling to stay contained so that the heroine doesn’t break even further. I do feel like this felt like separate ideas in one book. The plot of the snooping, always watching neighbour and the narrator’s increasing involvement in the community was somewhat slowed down by the tangents and opinion articles the narrator would go on, which didn’t have much to do with her increasing interactions with others. But again arguably, this wasn’t a book where the author wanted to have an A to B narrative telling that sort of story. This is more a snapshot-style book of flashbacks, ideas and thoughts and ways of looking at society. The “should I tell, shouldn’t I tell” conflict of the book was to me weak and underdeveloped so that when it escalated at the end, it didn’t feel like the escalation matched the amount of attention that had been given to that conflict. And I felt that way about the plot in general. I liked the broad strokes of the plot, but I think the editorial bits kind of distracted and took away from the plot development. I would have liked the narrator to have a bit more to do with her neighbours and to develop that tension and conflict a bit more. As it was, to me this book was strongest whenever she was giving her opinions and writing her articles and think pieces or doing her linguist thing with words. I enjoyed this book for those novel ideas and the beautiful way everything was written more than I enjoyed it as a work of fiction. I am glad I read this though. The gorgeous writing and use of language had me highlighting half the book and taking notes so that I can think even more deeply about and discuss the narrator’s idea.
Many thanks to Algonquin Books for an advance review copy!
October 12, 2021
This was a great book that gave a potential voice to Voiceless and tried to share the real emotion behind the tough choices and challenges of a refugee trying to relocate and have a new life.
Readers who desire plot won’t find it in this novel. It’s definitely more of a character study and a look at the refugee experience versus a novel with clear-cut events.
I would recommend it to anyone who appreciates learning about someone else's perspective, especially as a refugee.
The only complaint I have about this book was that it got confusing between the narratives at times, since I picked up the audiobook it could be the issue of my personal experience. Though I got ebook to follow the events clearly, which definitely solved my tiny issue.
All in all, THIS BOOK MAKES FOR AN IMPORTANT READ AND IS TOTALLY INCREDIBLE.
Readers who desire plot won’t find it in this novel. It’s definitely more of a character study and a look at the refugee experience versus a novel with clear-cut events.
I would recommend it to anyone who appreciates learning about someone else's perspective, especially as a refugee.
The only complaint I have about this book was that it got confusing between the narratives at times, since I picked up the audiobook it could be the issue of my personal experience. Though I got ebook to follow the events clearly, which definitely solved my tiny issue.
All in all, THIS BOOK MAKES FOR AN IMPORTANT READ AND IS TOTALLY INCREDIBLE.
February 11, 2021
"I don't know how to explain to her that I am cornered by memories, caged in my recollection. I feel persecuted by the things I remember and by what my mind chooses to hide from me.~from Silence is a Sense by Layla AlAmmar
Everyone wants a story. A narrative with meaning. The doctors. The officials. The contact at a magazine who publishes her writing.
She is recognized as 'other', Arab, Muslim. She is a refugee in England. People fear her. Or, they want to know things she holds close, the people lost and the atrocities of war and her escape across Europe. The experiences that left her enveloped by silence.
Trauma took her voice. Communicating only in the written word, she becomes "The Voiceless."
The only reasonable response was to fill myself up with silence.~from Silence is a Sense by Layla AlAmmar
She looks out the windows of her apartment and observes the occupants of the other apartments. She knows their secrets. But she keeps apart until a horrendous crime evokes a response that frees her.
Layla AlAmmar's novel Silence is a Sense brilliantly delves into the soul of a woman who has lost everything, first by the war that destroyed her world, and then by her harrowing flight across borders, only to find there is no safe harbor even in freedom.
Edgar Allan Poe's fable Silence informs the work, the narrator committing it to memory. "My heart pounds to the rhythm of his cadence," she thinks as she recites it in her head.
I picked up my grandfather's set of Poe to read the fable and noted images that appear in AlAmmar's novel. Poe describes a place where giant water lilies shriek in a yellow river, and forests quake in windless skies, and a crimson moon lights the view. A being in desolation is subjected to beating rain and roaring hippopotami, then by a profound silence by the Demon who tells the tale. The man hurriedly flees in terror.
The fable speaks to the narrator who has also been terrorized and left in silence.
For AlAmmar's protagonist, silence is the only sane reaction to atrocity. We don't need detailed descriptions of what she endured, for her reaction tells us all we need to know.
What do we see when we look at refugees, immigrants, people who look different from us, or who worship differently from us? Do we think of their legacy of losses?
Our immigrant ancestors kept their stories quiet, they did not tell us of the death camps or the burned villages, the rape and torture when they were powerless. We wrap these things in silence.
We demand stories and hope to hear pretty tales, happy endings.
At the end of the novel, our heroine speaks her name, has found her voice. There is hope of healing.
I received a free ARC from the publisher in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.
Everyone wants a story. A narrative with meaning. The doctors. The officials. The contact at a magazine who publishes her writing.
She is recognized as 'other', Arab, Muslim. She is a refugee in England. People fear her. Or, they want to know things she holds close, the people lost and the atrocities of war and her escape across Europe. The experiences that left her enveloped by silence.
Trauma took her voice. Communicating only in the written word, she becomes "The Voiceless."
The only reasonable response was to fill myself up with silence.~from Silence is a Sense by Layla AlAmmar
She looks out the windows of her apartment and observes the occupants of the other apartments. She knows their secrets. But she keeps apart until a horrendous crime evokes a response that frees her.
Layla AlAmmar's novel Silence is a Sense brilliantly delves into the soul of a woman who has lost everything, first by the war that destroyed her world, and then by her harrowing flight across borders, only to find there is no safe harbor even in freedom.
Edgar Allan Poe's fable Silence informs the work, the narrator committing it to memory. "My heart pounds to the rhythm of his cadence," she thinks as she recites it in her head.
I picked up my grandfather's set of Poe to read the fable and noted images that appear in AlAmmar's novel. Poe describes a place where giant water lilies shriek in a yellow river, and forests quake in windless skies, and a crimson moon lights the view. A being in desolation is subjected to beating rain and roaring hippopotami, then by a profound silence by the Demon who tells the tale. The man hurriedly flees in terror.
The fable speaks to the narrator who has also been terrorized and left in silence.
For AlAmmar's protagonist, silence is the only sane reaction to atrocity. We don't need detailed descriptions of what she endured, for her reaction tells us all we need to know.
What do we see when we look at refugees, immigrants, people who look different from us, or who worship differently from us? Do we think of their legacy of losses?
Our immigrant ancestors kept their stories quiet, they did not tell us of the death camps or the burned villages, the rape and torture when they were powerless. We wrap these things in silence.
We demand stories and hope to hear pretty tales, happy endings.
At the end of the novel, our heroine speaks her name, has found her voice. There is hope of healing.
I received a free ARC from the publisher in exchange for a fair and unbiased review.
April 11, 2021
Distressing, yet enlightening read. I don’t see how anyone could possibly look at immigrants the same way after they read this powerful book. It should be required reading for all. The references to Poe’s work were so appropriate for this tale of a woman who has lost her voice due to extreme trauma. Most highly recommended.
November 7, 2021
Silence Is a Sense by Layla AlAmmar, is an intense and moving story of a Syrian refugee who has escaped from war-torn Aleppo, undertaken a perilous journey through most of Europe and has finally made it to a nameless, ‘supposedly safe’ British city. The conflict back home and her traumatic escape have cost her everything, including her will to speak.
Set in a dual timeline, the story unfolds through the eyes of a young woman who remains unnamed till the very end. Living alone in an apartment, she is a ‘watcher’ who spends her time minutely observing the neighbours – an elderly couple, a fitness enthusiast, an abusive man and his family members, and a single man.
Feeling safe behind her windows, she witnesses the personal lives of her neighbours – sex, fights, struggles, happiness, tears–there’s nothing hidden from her.
There is so much of her life that she wants to share with the world–lost friends and family, a refugee’s turmoil, and the views of the world towards those seeking refuge. But when she cannot find her speaking voice and neighbours presume her to be ‘deaf,’ she opines by writing a column for an online magazine under the pseudonym of ‘The Voiceless.’ The column becomes her only way of communicating with the world. Digging into the past and relying on her memories helps her write the stories for the magazine. Her flashbacks reveal her losses, grievous escape, and struggles.
Over time, the narrator unknowingly gets involved in the lives of her neighbours. A couple of grave incidents at the local mosque and a neighbourhood store implore her to question her ‘voiceless’ identity.
Every so often we come across books which leave a long-lasting impression, either with their narration, premise or treatment. This is one such novel which leaves a mark on account of its literary impact. The premise for the story is not new–the struggles of a refugee from a war-torn nation trying to restart their life in a safer country. But what makes this novel different from others is the author’s diction and her choice of the protagonist. It adds intricate layers to the story.
It is quite challenging to narrate a story through a character who does not want to speak, and Al Ammar has done a remarkable job with it. This inability of the character lends an interesting perspective to the story. We can feel her thoughts, rather than miss her speaking voice.
The main character’s progression is extremely well done and satisfactory. However, I cannot say the same about the secondary characters. Since the author has focused mainly on the narrator, a few other characters are left under-developed. Also, I was left a bit confused at certain places involving a peek into the past. But nevertheless, this novel is a beautiful story of a woman’s trauma and her healing.
The Syrian Civil War and its aftermath is felt throughout the story. It was painful reading about Syrians struggling for survival in war-ravaged Syria and the dangerous journeys undertaken by those fleeing the war.
With an evocative narration, Al Ammar highlights the disastrous effects of trauma on a person’s memory, psyche and verbal abilities. She also exposes the bigotry and intolerance prevalent in current times.
Silence Is a Sense is a complex and fearless tale of revolution, loss and survival.
BLOG | INSTA
Set in a dual timeline, the story unfolds through the eyes of a young woman who remains unnamed till the very end. Living alone in an apartment, she is a ‘watcher’ who spends her time minutely observing the neighbours – an elderly couple, a fitness enthusiast, an abusive man and his family members, and a single man.
Feeling safe behind her windows, she witnesses the personal lives of her neighbours – sex, fights, struggles, happiness, tears–there’s nothing hidden from her.
There is so much of her life that she wants to share with the world–lost friends and family, a refugee’s turmoil, and the views of the world towards those seeking refuge. But when she cannot find her speaking voice and neighbours presume her to be ‘deaf,’ she opines by writing a column for an online magazine under the pseudonym of ‘The Voiceless.’ The column becomes her only way of communicating with the world. Digging into the past and relying on her memories helps her write the stories for the magazine. Her flashbacks reveal her losses, grievous escape, and struggles.
Over time, the narrator unknowingly gets involved in the lives of her neighbours. A couple of grave incidents at the local mosque and a neighbourhood store implore her to question her ‘voiceless’ identity.
Every so often we come across books which leave a long-lasting impression, either with their narration, premise or treatment. This is one such novel which leaves a mark on account of its literary impact. The premise for the story is not new–the struggles of a refugee from a war-torn nation trying to restart their life in a safer country. But what makes this novel different from others is the author’s diction and her choice of the protagonist. It adds intricate layers to the story.
It is quite challenging to narrate a story through a character who does not want to speak, and Al Ammar has done a remarkable job with it. This inability of the character lends an interesting perspective to the story. We can feel her thoughts, rather than miss her speaking voice.
The main character’s progression is extremely well done and satisfactory. However, I cannot say the same about the secondary characters. Since the author has focused mainly on the narrator, a few other characters are left under-developed. Also, I was left a bit confused at certain places involving a peek into the past. But nevertheless, this novel is a beautiful story of a woman’s trauma and her healing.
The Syrian Civil War and its aftermath is felt throughout the story. It was painful reading about Syrians struggling for survival in war-ravaged Syria and the dangerous journeys undertaken by those fleeing the war.
With an evocative narration, Al Ammar highlights the disastrous effects of trauma on a person’s memory, psyche and verbal abilities. She also exposes the bigotry and intolerance prevalent in current times.
Silence Is a Sense is a complex and fearless tale of revolution, loss and survival.
BLOG | INSTA
August 23, 2022
3.5*
Silence is a Sense follows a Syrian refugee in England who is a part-time student and a part-time freelancer writing about her life experiences for a magazine. She writes the articles, balancing what is expected of her with her trauma of fleeing Syria, the Civil War, and her travels across Europe seeking asylum as a refugee. Instead of anger, her reaction to the atrocities and experiences she's faced is to find silence. She finds solace in silence as it gives her space and time to learn about herself and others and, in doing so, she starts interacting and observing the people around her.
I have mixed feelings about the book. It was slower and more introspective than I had expected and I liked the surprise. I enjoyed being inside of her head and everything she had to say about being a refugee, migrating, and losing her home. AlAmmar's writing is impeccable and I think it really sent the message that we tend to generalize when we speak of 'refugees from X or Y conflict', and this leads us to forget everyone has their own story to tell.
"Ref.u.gee
/ˌrefyo͝oˈjē/
- Noun: a person forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.
- Synonyms: fugitive, exile, displaced person, asylum seeker, boat people
So many words. Why do you need so many words? What will I say if, when, someone asks? What will I tell them I am?"
I didn't really care about what she was doing or who she was watching and there was a lot of explicit stuff that felt anticlimactic. I'm still trying to understand why literary fiction as of late keeps adding sex into the narrative in such a crude and repetitive way. By now, it's nothing new; it is expected; it adds nothing to the story; and, honestly, it just makes me lose interest. Ugly (un)sexy content is for literary fiction whatever the "she released a breath she didn't realize she was holding" is for YA.
Regardless of my whining about the 'explicit stuff', this is a very poignant and powerful book.
Silence is a Sense follows a Syrian refugee in England who is a part-time student and a part-time freelancer writing about her life experiences for a magazine. She writes the articles, balancing what is expected of her with her trauma of fleeing Syria, the Civil War, and her travels across Europe seeking asylum as a refugee. Instead of anger, her reaction to the atrocities and experiences she's faced is to find silence. She finds solace in silence as it gives her space and time to learn about herself and others and, in doing so, she starts interacting and observing the people around her.
I have mixed feelings about the book. It was slower and more introspective than I had expected and I liked the surprise. I enjoyed being inside of her head and everything she had to say about being a refugee, migrating, and losing her home. AlAmmar's writing is impeccable and I think it really sent the message that we tend to generalize when we speak of 'refugees from X or Y conflict', and this leads us to forget everyone has their own story to tell.
"Ref.u.gee
/ˌrefyo͝oˈjē/
- Noun: a person forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster.
- Synonyms: fugitive, exile, displaced person, asylum seeker, boat people
So many words. Why do you need so many words? What will I say if, when, someone asks? What will I tell them I am?"
I didn't really care about what she was doing or who she was watching and there was a lot of explicit stuff that felt anticlimactic. I'm still trying to understand why literary fiction as of late keeps adding sex into the narrative in such a crude and repetitive way. By now, it's nothing new; it is expected; it adds nothing to the story; and, honestly, it just makes me lose interest. Ugly (un)sexy content is for literary fiction whatever the "she released a breath she didn't realize she was holding" is for YA.
Regardless of my whining about the 'explicit stuff', this is a very poignant and powerful book.
March 17, 2021
This is a difficult story about migration, trauma, and the healing power of community.
Often tough to read but the main characters growth throughout the story and glimpse of hope at the end are worth it.
“I have a box in my head. It’s where I keep the things that are too much, the things that don’t make sense. Images and sounds and smells and textures stacked up in a room in my mind.”
Silence is a Sense follows the daily life of a young, single voyeuristic young woman. After a long, devastating trip from war-torn Syria leaves her mute, she sinks deeper into isolation. She sits in her apartment every day and watches the antics of her neighbors through their windows across the way. The fights, the sex, the exercise, the odd quirks. She only knows them by the names she assigns them "The Dad", "No Lights Man", "The Old Couple".
"I don't know how to explain that I'm cornered by memories, caged in by recollections. I feel persecuted by the things I remember and by what my mind chooses to forget."
The story moves between flashbacks of scenes with her boyfriend and family in Syria to dreams and then back into her current reality. At the same time, she writes for a magazine under the pseudonym "the Voiceless," trying to explain the refugee experience and those posts are shared in between chapters. The book makes creative use of Tweets, emails, doctors journals, and fiction.
"I would never go back, but I began to wonder if there was anywhere in the world that I belonged."
But I think at times, it's a little too much all at once. Maybe that's the poetry in it all...that as a refugee sometimes its all a little too much all at once. Too much change. Too much pain. Too much noise. Too many memories. But it makes for a jilting read as you are tossed from scene to scene and from one literary device to another.
Overall, Silence Is a Sense is important as it explores what it means to be a refugee and to need asylum, as well as how fundamental human connection is to survival.
To read more reviews, head over TO MY BLOG.
Or see what I'm currently reading over on my INSTAGRAM PAGE.
And now you can even follow my book chats on my BOOKTUBE CHANNEL!
“I have a box in my head. It’s where I keep the things that are too much, the things that don’t make sense. Images and sounds and smells and textures stacked up in a room in my mind.”
Silence is a Sense follows the daily life of a young, single voyeuristic young woman. After a long, devastating trip from war-torn Syria leaves her mute, she sinks deeper into isolation. She sits in her apartment every day and watches the antics of her neighbors through their windows across the way. The fights, the sex, the exercise, the odd quirks. She only knows them by the names she assigns them "The Dad", "No Lights Man", "The Old Couple".
"I don't know how to explain that I'm cornered by memories, caged in by recollections. I feel persecuted by the things I remember and by what my mind chooses to forget."
The story moves between flashbacks of scenes with her boyfriend and family in Syria to dreams and then back into her current reality. At the same time, she writes for a magazine under the pseudonym "the Voiceless," trying to explain the refugee experience and those posts are shared in between chapters. The book makes creative use of Tweets, emails, doctors journals, and fiction.
"I would never go back, but I began to wonder if there was anywhere in the world that I belonged."
But I think at times, it's a little too much all at once. Maybe that's the poetry in it all...that as a refugee sometimes its all a little too much all at once. Too much change. Too much pain. Too much noise. Too many memories. But it makes for a jilting read as you are tossed from scene to scene and from one literary device to another.
Overall, Silence Is a Sense is important as it explores what it means to be a refugee and to need asylum, as well as how fundamental human connection is to survival.
To read more reviews, head over TO MY BLOG.
Or see what I'm currently reading over on my INSTAGRAM PAGE.
And now you can even follow my book chats on my BOOKTUBE CHANNEL!
March 13, 2021
Silence is a Sense is an incredible book by Layla AlAmmar that follows the story of a young woman refugee who slowly finds herself entangled in her neighbors lives.
“Journeying from her war-torn Syrian homeland to this unnamed British city has traumatized her into silence, and her only connection to the world is the column she writes for a magazine under the pseudonym “the Voiceless,” where she tries to explain the refugee experience without sensationalizing it— or revealing anything about herself”.
Quick Take: Human connection, survival and community.
What I loved:
✨Vivid imagery. I felt like a fly on the wall.
✨Poetic. The grief was palpable and left a strong impression.
✨ I appreciated the slow beginning— each chapter is a layer. Some of them even felt like vignettes.
✨Reading a book where the main character is a refugee. Learning their story and the way the journey imprinted their life and perspective is very powerful.
✨I loved that the main character was flawed and human. She made decisions that she would later question and wonder if they were mistakes. But her courage to be authentic and vulnerable is beautiful.
There’s a lot of relatable themes in this book. The interrelationship of lives, the people we see but do not know. The ebb and flow of humanity and the overlapping pain, trauma and fear. How do we reconcile what we’ve gone through with who we want to be? What does it mean to belong? to feel seen? to flee from everything you’ve ever known?
Quotes:
✨“Your humanity and my humanity are the same”.
✨“...life is just this thing that breaks apart and that you have to keep trying to put back together”
Thank you to the author and Algonquin books for the ARC and finished copy in exchange for an honest review!
CW: racial slurs, PTSD, domestic abuse, sexual assault, rape, refugee detention centers, self harm, homophobic slurs, hate crime, murder
“Journeying from her war-torn Syrian homeland to this unnamed British city has traumatized her into silence, and her only connection to the world is the column she writes for a magazine under the pseudonym “the Voiceless,” where she tries to explain the refugee experience without sensationalizing it— or revealing anything about herself”.
Quick Take: Human connection, survival and community.
What I loved:
✨Vivid imagery. I felt like a fly on the wall.
✨Poetic. The grief was palpable and left a strong impression.
✨ I appreciated the slow beginning— each chapter is a layer. Some of them even felt like vignettes.
✨Reading a book where the main character is a refugee. Learning their story and the way the journey imprinted their life and perspective is very powerful.
✨I loved that the main character was flawed and human. She made decisions that she would later question and wonder if they were mistakes. But her courage to be authentic and vulnerable is beautiful.
There’s a lot of relatable themes in this book. The interrelationship of lives, the people we see but do not know. The ebb and flow of humanity and the overlapping pain, trauma and fear. How do we reconcile what we’ve gone through with who we want to be? What does it mean to belong? to feel seen? to flee from everything you’ve ever known?
Quotes:
✨“Your humanity and my humanity are the same”.
✨“...life is just this thing that breaks apart and that you have to keep trying to put back together”
Thank you to the author and Algonquin books for the ARC and finished copy in exchange for an honest review!
CW: racial slurs, PTSD, domestic abuse, sexual assault, rape, refugee detention centers, self harm, homophobic slurs, hate crime, murder
tasted
January 21, 2022I felt that the best thing about this novel was the author's ear. Her prose is always well-crafted and sometimes beautiful. I also enjoyed the narrator’s voyeurism regarding her neighbors. It was when she shifted to stories about Syria and her escape to Europe that the novel didn’t work for me. That and the way the novel shifts back and forth between present and past (which seemed to me random) led me to put down this promising novel at the midway point.
There’s a passage early on that warns of what is to come: “The human need for stories is itself an obstacle to memory. ... We try to construct narratives—what happened before the blood came? What happened after I saw the horse? What does it mean? We try to place these elements within a structure that makes sense, wading back through fragments, trying to stitch it all together into a coherent pattern—a beginning, a middle, and an end. Something to cleave to, something to reassure us that everything is okay in that head of ours and that the monsters and ghouls and jinn that visit us in the night ARE NOT REAL.”
I don’t agree with this dichotomy. In fact, most dichotomies are no different than what AlAmmar calls stories: ways to make sense of things. Narrative structure doesn’t have to make sense of things. It’s an artificial construction that can serve many purposes, including entertainment, manipulating the reader, and horrifying rather than calming. Similarly, structurelessness — which itself varies in form and effect — can make or ruin a novel (or just muddy it). This novel’s structurelessness didn’t work for me.
There’s a passage early on that warns of what is to come: “The human need for stories is itself an obstacle to memory. ... We try to construct narratives—what happened before the blood came? What happened after I saw the horse? What does it mean? We try to place these elements within a structure that makes sense, wading back through fragments, trying to stitch it all together into a coherent pattern—a beginning, a middle, and an end. Something to cleave to, something to reassure us that everything is okay in that head of ours and that the monsters and ghouls and jinn that visit us in the night ARE NOT REAL.”
I don’t agree with this dichotomy. In fact, most dichotomies are no different than what AlAmmar calls stories: ways to make sense of things. Narrative structure doesn’t have to make sense of things. It’s an artificial construction that can serve many purposes, including entertainment, manipulating the reader, and horrifying rather than calming. Similarly, structurelessness — which itself varies in form and effect — can make or ruin a novel (or just muddy it). This novel’s structurelessness didn’t work for me.
March 18, 2021
I read this book as part of the blog tour organised by Algonquin Books. Thanks to Netgalley and Algonquin for providing the ARC in exchange for an honest review.
March 15 marked ten years since the start of the Syrian war. Millions of people have been become refugees and internally displaced and hundreds of thousands of people have lost their lives. These are numbers that are so LARGE that it's impossible to comprehend. What is it like for people to literally watch their nation crumble right before their eyes? To have to choose between leaving and living or staying and (very possibly) dying? As stated in an interview, through this book, AlAmmar set out to 'dispel the abstractions' of the literal crumbling of a nation and to ground the magnitude of such devastation and loss through a personal narrative and she does an INCREDIBLE job. Poetically written, thought-provoking and emotionally explosive, this isn't an easy read at all but my gosh is it absolutely worth it! This will undoubtedly be one of the most impactful books I read in 2021 and I highly recommend it.
Check out my full review on my blog!
March 15 marked ten years since the start of the Syrian war. Millions of people have been become refugees and internally displaced and hundreds of thousands of people have lost their lives. These are numbers that are so LARGE that it's impossible to comprehend. What is it like for people to literally watch their nation crumble right before their eyes? To have to choose between leaving and living or staying and (very possibly) dying? As stated in an interview, through this book, AlAmmar set out to 'dispel the abstractions' of the literal crumbling of a nation and to ground the magnitude of such devastation and loss through a personal narrative and she does an INCREDIBLE job. Poetically written, thought-provoking and emotionally explosive, this isn't an easy read at all but my gosh is it absolutely worth it! This will undoubtedly be one of the most impactful books I read in 2021 and I highly recommend it.
Check out my full review on my blog!
March 19, 2021
A young woman has suffered such unimaginable trauma on her journey out of Syria that she is left fearful and unable to speak. Having been granted asylum in England, she now writes political pieces for a London magazine under the anonymous byline The Voiceless.
While sitting in her apartment she peers into the flats across from hers. Here she begins to “study” the lives of these nameless people. At first, she calls them by mere descriptions, No-lights-man, the Juicer, the Odd Couple, and others, but as their lives play out before her and then entwine with hers, she learns that no one is immune to fear and pain.
Alammar has written this story in such a way that the tension and dissonance in our protagonist are palpable. She states her views and opinions in her anonymous writings clearly, but her fears in life come tumbling out in recurring memories so erratically that it makes her appear unstable and unreliable. She seeks safety, refuge; where might that be?
Although this book deals with Islamophobia and trauma, I felt that a sense of community and the power of one’s story were the overriding themes. This one will leave you pondering long after you turn the last page.
Thank you to @algonquinbooks for an invitation to this tour and the #gifted copies.
While sitting in her apartment she peers into the flats across from hers. Here she begins to “study” the lives of these nameless people. At first, she calls them by mere descriptions, No-lights-man, the Juicer, the Odd Couple, and others, but as their lives play out before her and then entwine with hers, she learns that no one is immune to fear and pain.
Alammar has written this story in such a way that the tension and dissonance in our protagonist are palpable. She states her views and opinions in her anonymous writings clearly, but her fears in life come tumbling out in recurring memories so erratically that it makes her appear unstable and unreliable. She seeks safety, refuge; where might that be?
Although this book deals with Islamophobia and trauma, I felt that a sense of community and the power of one’s story were the overriding themes. This one will leave you pondering long after you turn the last page.
Thank you to @algonquinbooks for an invitation to this tour and the #gifted copies.
March 1, 2021
The Voiceless is the pseudonym of the narrator, a Syrian refugee living in an English town, who writes pieces for an online newspaper. In her flat she watches her neighbours and sees more than she is ever seen, by most people at least. She is voiceless in the literal and figurative sense because she is mute and because her status as a refugee means her views are only given space within a limited framework.
Through her pieces of writing, her inner dialogue, and communications with her editor, The Voiceless challenges the narrative expected of her as a refugee. The editor wants her to write pieces about her journey, to share personal memories – with no consideration of the mental and emotional cost it would take for her to do so.
She wants to comment on the wider context of the relationship between refugees and their new country. Her experiences put her in a better position to do this than anyone yet her editor is not interested in her voice on the matter (a gatekeeper, thinking of what the readers would be interested in). No, just give us your trauma, entertain us with your pain, try and gain our sympathy by displaying your soul for us all to see. This is what the editor in the story wants and by extension is this not what society wants of refugees?
But! When The Voiceless gives in and decides to share her memories… no, it’s too much. Too much pain, too much detail. Too. Much. Could all this really have happened to one person? We see how her editor tries to encourage her to sculpt a narrative, a story of hope, out of the truth of what happened to her.
This story is one that constantly questions the expected narrative of refugees and challenges it’s very parameters. It’s striking in its individuality and refreshing in its requirement for the reader to think beyond learned assumptions, no matter how small. In short, a brilliant book that I highly recommend.
Through her pieces of writing, her inner dialogue, and communications with her editor, The Voiceless challenges the narrative expected of her as a refugee. The editor wants her to write pieces about her journey, to share personal memories – with no consideration of the mental and emotional cost it would take for her to do so.
She wants to comment on the wider context of the relationship between refugees and their new country. Her experiences put her in a better position to do this than anyone yet her editor is not interested in her voice on the matter (a gatekeeper, thinking of what the readers would be interested in). No, just give us your trauma, entertain us with your pain, try and gain our sympathy by displaying your soul for us all to see. This is what the editor in the story wants and by extension is this not what society wants of refugees?
But! When The Voiceless gives in and decides to share her memories… no, it’s too much. Too much pain, too much detail. Too. Much. Could all this really have happened to one person? We see how her editor tries to encourage her to sculpt a narrative, a story of hope, out of the truth of what happened to her.
This story is one that constantly questions the expected narrative of refugees and challenges it’s very parameters. It’s striking in its individuality and refreshing in its requirement for the reader to think beyond learned assumptions, no matter how small. In short, a brilliant book that I highly recommend.
February 8, 2021
Our heroine is nameless for the majority of the novel, as she sits in her apartment building in the UK watching over all of her neighbors. Our heroine does not speak but is remarkably perceptive, picking up on all kinds of idiosyncrasies of her neighbors. She is a refugee, from a war-torn country, specifically Syria. She writes a newspaper column about both her neighbors and her life in Syria, trying to reconcile what her former life looks like compared to her present life. Despite her unwillingness to be part of the Muslim community, she is drawn to it like a moth to a flame and when acts of anti-Muslim violence threaten, she must decide to stand for her community or be lost to her religion, her past, her history. This is an absolutely stunning and riveting narrative about Post-traumatic stress disorder and finding a safe place to call home, when everything has been ripped out of your hands. The novel makes the distinction between loud racism and quiet racism: loud racism being the outright attacks, while quiet racism is the muttered remarks. It’s searing to see how both types hurt in different ways. I also found the point that our heroine makes, about social media and newspaper companies making profits off, what I’ll call, refugee porn, to be equally prevalent for discussion. We beg and beg for the most horrible stories, the deepest sources of people’s pain...so that we may pat ourselves on the back and say glad that’s not us? That’s not right, yet we do it across the board and not just with refugees. This book will make for some fantastic discussions and I absolutely encourage everyone to peruse their way through this stimulating read.
January 3, 2021
If a book can help those of us who live in safety and privilege to begin to understand a refugee and asylum seeker‘s experience, then this is the book. A young Syrian refugee is no longer able to speak after her traumatic migration to England. Her heartbreaking and harrowing experiences are revealed as she observes her neighbors in the apartment complex where she lives. She writes articles for The New Press as The Voiceless. When her articles begin to garner attention, her editor asks for more. As her story unfolds slowly, piece by piece, the tension becomes ever more taut. I cannot leave this book behind. It was difficult to read - difficult to accept the horrible experiences. I have no regrets.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the chance to read this arc in exchange for an honest review.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the chance to read this arc in exchange for an honest review.
May 11, 2022
I’m really disappointed not to be giving this book more stars. This book was beautifully written for the most part and could have, and should have, been 4 or 5 stars. However the injection of Americanisms into a story where neither the characters nor the settings are American was not only jarring but, in this case, fundamentally changed the main character to someone who assumed that all English speakers are that same as Americans. This just didn’t fit with the narrative and ruined the book for me.
September 11, 2021
Deeply and profoundly sad. The main character is a Syrian refugee in Britain, the weight of her traumatic experiences having silenced her almost completely. Now, she watches the lives of those around her - neighbors in the buildings adjoining hers. In her silence, she thinks maybe she can stay safe - until she witnesses a terrible tragedy, and her silence begins to cost more than speaking up.
March 16, 2021
I read this book for the Algonquin blog tour, so thank you so much to the team at Algonquin, and the author for letting me take part and for providing me with a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.
Silence is a Sense by Layla AlAmmar is a poignant adult fiction novel in which our main character is mute because of what she has gone through while living in Syria and fleeing the war across Europe and to England where she now lives.
I really love how this book was set up. It flips back and forth between present-day in England where the MC lives, the things she does, the people she watches from her flat and the events around her; and going back to when she lived in Syria, a few years ago and at first happy memories of family life, university and her boyfriend. This second narrative slowly bleeds into recollections of the start of the war, the resistance, things that were done to people she knew and what she had to go through to get out alive. If you are squeamish, don’t like reading about violence, war, abuse, and other triggering topics, then I would steer clear of this book because it has some very vivid and graphic descriptions of all things I mentioned in the trigger warning section below.
The prose is one that I would not read usually. This is a contemporary novel, which again is not something I often read, but I didn’t need setting or plot in this book because the narrator’s voice is so strong despite being mute that I was instantly hooked. The writing style is poignant, raw, beautiful, shocking, tragic and so many more things that I can’t possibly put into words. If you like literary fiction, any fiction, any nonfiction, I urge you to pick up this book because it is a beautiful rendering of an impossible and terrifying situation.
I gave this book 5 stars and I absolutely loved it. This sounds weird because this is a book that recounts horrific events, trauma, torture, rape, displacement, mutism, and so many other tough and hard-hitting topics, so it is weird to say “I loved it” but I did and I don’t know how to phrase it otherwise. I didn’t “love” the events, but the book itself was fantastic and I highly, highly recommend it. If you love poignant stories about current events, real and multi-faceted characters, a simple day-to-day plot and a raw narrative voice, this is the book for you.
Trigger Warnings: mutism, war, trauma, rape, torture, death, murder, choking, sex scenes, graphic violence, graphic narrative of trauma, hospital environments and medical treatments, war zones, losing loved ones, religion, racism, immigration, vivid depictions of domestic abuse, self-harm.
You can find the full review on my blog here: https://readtoramble.com/book-review-...
Silence is a Sense by Layla AlAmmar is a poignant adult fiction novel in which our main character is mute because of what she has gone through while living in Syria and fleeing the war across Europe and to England where she now lives.
I really love how this book was set up. It flips back and forth between present-day in England where the MC lives, the things she does, the people she watches from her flat and the events around her; and going back to when she lived in Syria, a few years ago and at first happy memories of family life, university and her boyfriend. This second narrative slowly bleeds into recollections of the start of the war, the resistance, things that were done to people she knew and what she had to go through to get out alive. If you are squeamish, don’t like reading about violence, war, abuse, and other triggering topics, then I would steer clear of this book because it has some very vivid and graphic descriptions of all things I mentioned in the trigger warning section below.
The prose is one that I would not read usually. This is a contemporary novel, which again is not something I often read, but I didn’t need setting or plot in this book because the narrator’s voice is so strong despite being mute that I was instantly hooked. The writing style is poignant, raw, beautiful, shocking, tragic and so many more things that I can’t possibly put into words. If you like literary fiction, any fiction, any nonfiction, I urge you to pick up this book because it is a beautiful rendering of an impossible and terrifying situation.
I gave this book 5 stars and I absolutely loved it. This sounds weird because this is a book that recounts horrific events, trauma, torture, rape, displacement, mutism, and so many other tough and hard-hitting topics, so it is weird to say “I loved it” but I did and I don’t know how to phrase it otherwise. I didn’t “love” the events, but the book itself was fantastic and I highly, highly recommend it. If you love poignant stories about current events, real and multi-faceted characters, a simple day-to-day plot and a raw narrative voice, this is the book for you.
Trigger Warnings: mutism, war, trauma, rape, torture, death, murder, choking, sex scenes, graphic violence, graphic narrative of trauma, hospital environments and medical treatments, war zones, losing loved ones, religion, racism, immigration, vivid depictions of domestic abuse, self-harm.
You can find the full review on my blog here: https://readtoramble.com/book-review-...
April 6, 2021
Ok, vi har en konstnärlig kvinna som flyr från Aleppo till Storbritannien och som är så traumatiserad att hon förlorar ett sinne. Med andra ord: Vi har upplägget från The Beekeeper of Aleppo (som jag hatälskade fullkomligt).
Men sen skiljer det sig. I stället för bilder får vi ord (hey, jag är såld!), och istället för familjerelationer får vi samhällsproblematik. Blandningen av så många olika delar (skarpa politiska texter, vardaglig granndramatik, krigets fasor, Brexit-britanniens främlingsfientlighet) borde förmodligen inte fungera alls, men jag läser boken snabbt - nästan hetsigt - just för att det gör det. Fungerar. Samtidigt som det skaver, som tusan, mellan varven. Jag känner mig obildad och oengagerad och... europeisk, när Voiceless beskriver sin version av Islam, sin version av revolution, sin version av mänsklighet. Ibland vet jag inte om jag bara inte håller med henne, eller om hon får mig att känna mig dum. Men AlAmmar stöter såna stycken mot andra viljor, andra åsikter. Det blir aldrig svartvitt, vilket förvirrar ytterligare - men också gör texten mer levande. Det blir aldrig lika känslomässigt brutalt som The Beekeeper of Aleppo, samtidigt som det är minst lika engagerande; känslomässigt irriterande.
Det här är inte en given femma. Samtidigt som det är det.
Men sen skiljer det sig. I stället för bilder får vi ord (hey, jag är såld!), och istället för familjerelationer får vi samhällsproblematik. Blandningen av så många olika delar (skarpa politiska texter, vardaglig granndramatik, krigets fasor, Brexit-britanniens främlingsfientlighet) borde förmodligen inte fungera alls, men jag läser boken snabbt - nästan hetsigt - just för att det gör det. Fungerar. Samtidigt som det skaver, som tusan, mellan varven. Jag känner mig obildad och oengagerad och... europeisk, när Voiceless beskriver sin version av Islam, sin version av revolution, sin version av mänsklighet. Ibland vet jag inte om jag bara inte håller med henne, eller om hon får mig att känna mig dum. Men AlAmmar stöter såna stycken mot andra viljor, andra åsikter. Det blir aldrig svartvitt, vilket förvirrar ytterligare - men också gör texten mer levande. Det blir aldrig lika känslomässigt brutalt som The Beekeeper of Aleppo, samtidigt som det är minst lika engagerande; känslomässigt irriterande.
Det här är inte en given femma. Samtidigt som det är det.
March 19, 2021
This was a powerfully written book about a girl who was a refugee from Syria who is now in the UK, all by herself. From trauma she wasn’t able to speak anymore, and she enjoyed people watching her neighbors. She also wrote about her experiences to a local paper with the name “voiceless”. With eloquent prose, this was an emotional read regarding the girls journey and her ability to realize human connection is what she needed the most.
Not typically a genre i read, but it kept me captivated. Although, in some spots it was a little intense.
Not typically a genre i read, but it kept me captivated. Although, in some spots it was a little intense.
April 13, 2022
this was better than I thought. the character development. learning about the lives of the neighbors. all of it,
I loved how I could relate to the culture, being Syriam, I loved knowing the foods and references to culture, the Arabic words written throughout the book that I could understand, and the talk about Islam.
it was a really wholesome book. her story is tragic. the writing style is pretty good.
overall the book was decent, though I felt like it dragged on a lot
I loved how I could relate to the culture, being Syriam, I loved knowing the foods and references to culture, the Arabic words written throughout the book that I could understand, and the talk about Islam.
it was a really wholesome book. her story is tragic. the writing style is pretty good.
overall the book was decent, though I felt like it dragged on a lot
November 30, 2025
Zgodba o mladi begunki, ki je po travmah, skozi katere je šla na begu iz Sirije preko cele Evrope, ostala brez glasu.
Zdaj živi sama v neimenovanem angleškem mestu, skozi okno opazuje stanovalce stanovanj v sosednjih blokih, a se želi držati zase.
Med pripovedjo se vračajo boleči drobci iz preteklosti, tako spomini na družino in prijatelje, kot težka pot v svobodo in varnost.
Je nesposobnost govora zaostrila njene čute in njen spomin?
Zdaj živi sama v neimenovanem angleškem mestu, skozi okno opazuje stanovalce stanovanj v sosednjih blokih, a se želi držati zase.
Med pripovedjo se vračajo boleči drobci iz preteklosti, tako spomini na družino in prijatelje, kot težka pot v svobodo in varnost.
Je nesposobnost govora zaostrila njene čute in njen spomin?
March 2, 2024
3.75 stars ⭐️
‘Could they turn their minds to the questions no one is asking and the answers that remains buried in caverns of a person’s chest or embroidered on their tongue?
That’s where the story is.’
‘Could they turn their minds to the questions no one is asking and the answers that remains buried in caverns of a person’s chest or embroidered on their tongue?
That’s where the story is.’
April 16, 2025
Sivullisuudesta, ulkopuolisuudesta, pakolaisuudesta ja rasismista kokoon kasautuva palapeli on kaunis ja hieno - joskin kompastuu hieman siihen, mitä kirjan päähahmo kritisoi: ikuiseen tunteisiin vetoavuuteen mitä pakolaistarinoihin tulee.
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