This was a difficult read. Not because of the subject matter itself (it looks at a lot of issues that should be addressed) but in how inelegantly it looks at said subject matter. The writing lacks skill and nuance, leaving this as a flat, pantomime-like story where everything is divided into good or bad and where there is no attempt at creating rounded characters or adding depth beyond those two opposites. This leads to some extremely damaging representations of marginalised groups, making this a book that goes beyond being simply badly written, to one that is dangerous.
I'm aware from elsewhere that the writer has altered her position across time, from this being a work of fiction based on input from women she knew, to it being a biographical account which she had to present as fictional to protect herself. It's awful that she has been through the events narrated, and there's no doubting she should talk about them, but most people who read this will see it as it is presented: a work of fiction. Taking it as fact (and therefore based on real events and people) you have to wonder why the characters are so flat and one-dimensional, as it's much easier to create nuance, context and depth around people you know personally.
Whether we treat it as fiction or fact, the same problems exist - everything is presented as binary opposites, and ultimately it panders to the white gaze, writing about the awfulness of everything 'eastern' and the goodness of everything 'western'. The most obvious manifestation of this is in how the central character (Sara) - who has an English mum and Egyptian dad - talks about white features in contrast to Arab ones. At one stage the conversation is about the size of her nose, with Sara stating: "'It's Baba's fault I have a big nose. It's his Arab DNA.'" This is reinforced later when Sara is getting ready for a party:
"I had long, dark brown curly hair, but ... I wasn't proud of my curls. My entire life, I'd never felt a connection to Baba's homeland. When people asked me where I was from, I'd emphasise that I was British, and leave out the Egyptian part."
In contrast, when describing her sister, Sara talks about her as being "blessed with Mum's English hair genes, and with ... straight hair".
Set against this kind of backdrop, when she describes her brother Ahmed as "more of an English lad than an Arab one" it becomes a kind of code for him being a good guy, rather than a bad one. There are multiple examples of this throughout the book, with Arab men (or "Gulf men" as the writer consistently calls them, homogonising everyone from 8 countries into one all-encompassing stereotype) routinely caricatured as backwards and evil. This is apparent in multiple places throughout the book, such as when Sara's friend warns her: "'These guys date us, but they don't want to marry us.'" The writer reinforces this later when her protagonist complains: "Now that I was no longer a virgin, I could say goodbye to getting married to a Gulfie, or even an Arab ... I was now spoiled goods."
Throughout, both the father and Sara's younger brother (Abdullah) are used to represent both the above stereotypes and strict, 'religious' figures who by definition fall into the bad camp (since religion is almost exclusively written of in the negative in this book). Abdullah's catchphrase throughout is to refer to his sister as a "sharmootah" (slut) and when he falls in with a crowd of Palestinian boys his behaviour becomes worse. This is obviously to be expected, because the narrator wastes no time in telling us how terrible Palestinian men are, coming as they do from villages where "honour killings and domestic abuse were not uncommon" and that "The abusive ways of their fathers trickled down to the boys and they were clapped on the back by their elders for taking a firm stance against their sisters."
This is ultimately what fuels Abdullah to ask his mum: "'Why is there never a cooked lunch ready for me when I come home from school like the Palestinian boys?'" The argument that consequently flares up results in Abdullah stating: "I hate having a white mum!" - again reinforcing whiteness as good, since the bad character is railing against it (and strangely ignoring the fact that a conservative Muslim boy - which is apparently what Abdullah is meant to be - would recognise that verbally abusing his mum is considered to be a significant sin in Islam). In case we're unsure how to position ourselves in amongst all this, when Sara's mum (western/good) tells her dad (eastern/bad) what has happened, he helpfully comments: "I'd rather Abdullah be influenced by the Palestinian boys than be like Ahmed, influenced by the West." It is for this reason that Sara describes Ahmed as being "more of an English lad than an Arab one", to frame him as good (and reinforce that you can't be good and be a conservative Muslim - a message that is repeated throughout).
This east-west/bad-good narrative plays out in other ways too, for example in what happens post-rape. Sara goes to see a female doctor on campus who she initially describes as a "kind Iraqi" and who - while somewhat sympathetic - refuses to give her a physical examination: "'I cannot give you a physical examination unless I inform the police; this is the law in this country.'" With Sara reticent to inform the police, the doctor eventually prescribes some antiseptic cream, which Sara goes to get from a pharmacy, lamenting "I had never felt so alone." Literally on the next page, the contrast is made with how a westerner responds. Sophie (who Sara is narrating all these events to) is visibly moved by the account:
"Sophie switched off her audio recorder and sat back in her chair. I could see she the (sic) tears in her eyes."
Sara then takes Sophie's hands in her own and reassures her, adding:
"'It's been nine years since it happened. I've decided now is the right time to talk about it, to let the world know what happens when you're raped in an Arab country. It wouldn't have been safe for me to tweet about it while I still lived in the Gulf. Here in London I have freedom of speech again. You don't know how precious that is.'"
This book runs to 245 pages; it takes until page 243 for the writer to say something even vaguely positive about Islam and why she wears hijab (and red lipstick), and it feels very tacked-on, like an afterthought. Indeed, in case there were any doubt, the glossary that follows immediately after returns to the usual fare the book serves up and ensures that the book continues to pander to the white gaze.
I've described this book as dangerous, and it is. The internalised colonialism and Islamophobia drips off every page and bleeds into the protagonist/author aligning herself with the western/English/'good' part of her identity, which by default - and by repeatedly asserting that the eastern/Arab is 'bad' - means she aligns herself with the coloniser, with the power. Consequently, this book becomes page upon page of punching down (rather than up) and gives carte blanche to those who rely on Muslims and Muslim authors to continue to feed the stereotype and narrative that all conservative versions of Islam are backwards and oppressive, and that all conservative Muslims are harsh, unfeeling and incapable of good. The fact that it feeds these tropes has helped it gained popularity and traction (in spite of it being badly written as well as damaging), and it has had several idealogically-aligned benefactors who have helped push it forward and increase the damage it has done and will continue to do.
But it's ok. It's only the bad Muslims who will suffer as a result.