A deeply moving novel about a forbidden love between two boys in war-torn Syria and the fallout that ripples through their adult lives.
Syria, 2003. A blooming romance leads to a tragic accident when Hussam's father catches him acting on his feelings for his best friend, Wassim. In an instant, the course of their lives is changed forever.
Ten years later, Hussam and Wassim are still struggling to find peace and belonging. Sponsored as a refugee by a controlling older man, Hussam is living an openly gay life in Vancouver, where he attempts to quiet his demons with sex, drugs, and alcohol. Wassim is living on the streets of Damascus, having abandoned a wife and child and a charade he could no longer keep up. Taking shelter in a deserted villa, he unearths the previous owner's buried secrets while reckoning with his own.
The past continues to reverberate through the present as Hussam and Wassim come face to face with heartache, history, drag queens, border guards, and ghosts both literal and figurative.
Masterfully crafted and richly detailed, The Foghorn Echoes is a gripping novel about how to carve out home in the midst of war, and how to move forward when the war is within yourself.
Danny Ramadan (He/Him) is a Syrian-Canadian author, public speaker and adovate for LGBTQ+ refugees. His debut novel, The Clothesline Swing, was shortlisted for the Lambda Literary Award, longlisted for Canada Reads, and named a Best Book of the Year by the Globe and Mail and Toronto Star.
His children book, Salma the Syrian Chef, won the Nautilus Book Award, The Middle East Book Award, and named a Best Book by both Kirkus and School Library Journal.
Ramadan’s forthcoming novel, The Foghorn Echoes (2022), and his memoir, Crooked Teeth (2024), to be released by Penguin Random House.
Through his fundraising efforts, Ramadan raised over $250,000 for Syrian LGBTQ+ identifying refugees.
He has an MFA in Creative Writing from UBC and currently lives in Vancouver with his husband.
I liked this novel about a forbidden love between two boys in war-torn Syria and how their tragic fallout reverberates into their adult lives. In one perspective we follow Hussam, an openly gay man in Canada coping with his trauma through sex, drugs, and alcohol. In the other perspective we witness Wassim living on the streets of Damascus, having left behind a wife and child and a false narrative he could no longer keep up. We watch as both men contend with heartache, painful memories, and present relationships as they try to grow from their tumultuous pasts.
I found this novel moving and a genuine portrayal of trauma and recovery. Danny Ramadan does a nice job highlighting the intersectionality of homophobia as well as racism within different contexts for queer men of color. I was definitely emo about Hussam’s connection with Dawood, we love this representation of queer men and nonbinary folks of color who are messy yet doing their best to grow!
I did find the writing a little lopsided in parts. I skimmed some reviews and it looks like other folks on here may have resonated more with Wassim’s narrative than Hussam’s, whereas I felt more invested in Hussam’s narrative than Wassim’s. I thought the writing in Wassim’s perspective was less grounded and more abstract. Despite this quibble I’d still recommend the novel to those interested in its synopsis. And for more queer men of color rep I’d still say check out Tell Me How to Be by Neel Patel!
A hard-hitting novel on what it means to love and let go. Told in alternating times and perspectives, The Foghorn Echoes is a fearlessly authentic portrayal of war, desire, trauma, and growth. It is a testament to the pain, but the necessity, of letting go of our past in order to face our future.
3 stars. Could've been four, and could've been 2.5. More on that in a few moments.
Without giving too much away, the story takes place in three timelines. It starts out in 2003, with two 15-year-olds, Hussam and Wassim, childhood friends growing up in Damascus and navigating tensions and dangers in war-torn Syria, and unbeknownst to the other, their growing attraction to each other/their own sex. There's a chance that they may find each other and perhaps even be together. However, a tragic event occurs that sets in motion deep secrets, shame, and guilt.
The bulk of the book takes place in 2014, where we learn not only that the two young men are not together but that their paths have diverged such that Hussam has recently arrived in Vancouver and Wassim is isolated and on the run in a Damascus more dangerous than ever. The chapters alternate between their two stories, and here is where I find one of the biggest problems of the book: I cared about Wassim's story but very little for Hussam's, yet we're meant to care about both of them, their pasts, and their possible future together. Almost from the first I found little to like about Hussam, and although as you read on you learn that who he and how he comports himself are responses to the deep psychological traumas and scars, I still couldn't care that much about him. The result is that the book felt very lopsided to me and also, I couldn't be as invested in its outcomes as possible.
Again, not to give spoilers, but the last acts of the book take us forward three years, to 2017. A second problem I have with the book is that here, as in other sections, there are what I would call sloppy timelines having to do with characters' ages at different points of the book "present" and flashbacks. (Without giving away plotlines, some of the pages where those mistakes/mismatched dates and ages can be found: 128, 198, 200, 241, and 244, among others.) Having said all that, there is growth, there is forgiveness, there is taking responsibility, there is facing the past, and all this and more was interesting.
Before I forget, I will say that I also appreciated the author taking us deep into what is going on in a part of the world too many of us know little about, and how traumatizing it is for all those involved. Oh, another non-spoiler: My favorite character in the book is a ghost.
Would I recommend this book? Yes, with reservations. I wasn't wholly satisfied myself, but I think the book was worth my while, and would be for others.
Many thanks to NetGalley for a digital ARC of this book in exchange for my honest review.
There’s such a beautifully sad story at the core of this book.
The passages set in Syria are heartbreaking. And we need more of queer Syrian peoples’ experiences in literature.
However, the book is based between Syria and Vancouver, and unfortunately some of the writing in the Vancouver chapters, for me, let the side down a little. Which is a small shame, as otherwise I think this would have been a worthy 5 stars.
A moving, heartfelt #ownvoices novel from Syrian-Canadian author Danny Ramadan. I really enjoyed listening to this dual timeline story about a gay Syrian immigrant's life before and after coming to Canada. Great on audio narrated by Hani Mefti and Noor Hamdi and recommended for fans of books like The beekeeper of Aleppo or The death of Vivek Oji. Much thanks to Libro.fm for my complimentary ALC!
loved how this lets the past of a blooming queer romance b/w two syrian boys echo through the present as the two—one openly gay & a refugee in vancouver and the other living on damascus streets after abandoning his wife & child—struggle to belong. also, the poetic prose and the fantastical element added with the presence of a ghost make this story both tender and eerie at the same time—while projecting the struggle *and* resilience of a war-torn country and a war-torn heart. rtc.
The Foghorn Echoes is a gorgeous book, as I knew it would be, after reading The Clothesline Swing. It’s a book I feel like I’ve been waiting forever for, but one that didn’t in any way disappoint once I started it.
The book opens with the catalyst: Hussam’s father catching Hussam and Wassim, as they finally act on their emotions towards each other. Then we skip to the present, and the whole story spools out in reverse from there.
Like in The Clothesline Swing, there’s a poetry to the writing of The Foghorn Echoes. This is the kind of literary fiction I like the most, the ones that feel more poetic than prose. And, for me, Danny Ramadan is one of the best at that. Even when there was not much happening in this book, I was fully engaged because of the writing.
It also helps that the characters are vastly sympathetic. Okay, they’re not perfect, they have their flaws, for one. And, as the reader discovers as the book progresses, they’ve fucked up a few times as well. But that only serves to make them incredibly human (and thus, more sympathetic). They’re trying, at the end of the day.
There’s also a fantastical element to the book, as there was in Ramadan’s first novel, with the presence of a ghost in Wassim’s narrative. It added an eeriness to the book—for the longest time, I wasn’t at all sure if Wassim was actually alive, or if all of this was some kind of ghostly fever dream. For me, that built up the tension even further because I wanted to know the truth of it all, so I kept reading obsessively.
All of which to say, in summary, that this is a book you really need to be picking up. Hell, this is an author you need to pick up. As in, right now.
“Sometimes we need to learn what brings us comfort from within. Find what’s within us that makes us happy.”
✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮
Thank you to partner Canongate Books for the gifted copy.
You know sometimes they say, the ending you didn’t expect or even like is the best kid of ending? That is this book. Danny Ramadan takes the reader on a complete rollercoaster of emotions throughout this book, switching between Hussam in Vancouver, Canada, and Wassim in Damascus, Syria. I was expecting more, but unexpectedly the ending was very different, albeit a little disappointing. However, changing the ending would not have improved the book.
I found this book really gripping, and there are so many content warnings, because it’s an important story to tell. The author is also a Syrian-Canadian advocate for LGBTQ+ refugees, now living in Vancouver. That small snippet of his life makes you think about just how much of this book he experienced on his journey across from Syria.
The character and world building was incredible, and I felt sucked into the literary quicksand. I loved how across the two places halfway around the globe, they both manage to tell their stories at matching times, and I also loved how diverse the representation is in this novel, I will be looking out for some own voices reviews on this one, because I felt it was well written.
It was a really incredibly moving read, and I could inhale it a second time right now. Highly recommend for anyone wanting something a bit stronger.
With its captivating prose and graceful storytelling, "The Foghorn Echoes" by Danny Ramadan takes readers on a poignant journey into profound emotional depths. It offers a raw exploration of the trials faced by gay individuals in a country where their sexuality is not only punishable but also overshadowed by the constant specter of war.
Within its pages, the novel intricately examines the complexities of reconciling with one's past, wrestling with the repercussions of choices made, and ultimately finding the resilience to forge ahead and embrace a fresh start.
Through its strong narrative, replete with vivid imagery and dynamic action, this book captivates readers with its stunning portrayal of human experiences.
This is an excellent book about war, desire, and trauma following a Syrian gay man who goes through hell in Syria and then moves to Canada. In this new country, he doesn’t need to hide anymore, but he still carries that ghost with him - and all that trauma.
I’m not sure I was in the right mental space for something so heavy. The writing was gorgeous, but I struggled a bit with it, maybe because it was a bit too trauma-heavy (and the sex too explicit). Maybe in another time it would’ve been a 4 star read.
I wanted to give it three stars, but I changed my mind. I changed it because I deeply disagree with the politics of this novel, both at the formal level and at the level of content. Content wise, it too often hits too high notes producing a melodramatic effect without (camp) relief, so the experience is rather exhausting. Also, melodrama as a means to frame queer experience is rather dated. But on the other hand, its use is understandable as it serves to affectively connects us to the form and its ideological effect.
As for the form, I do not think resolution of trauma inflicted by the cisheteropatriachal system follows a linear route as constructed in the novel. And even framing the experience of queer destitution under the cisheteropatriachal regime as trauma to be resolved by an individual is in itself problematic, as I'm not sure such a thing is resolvable at the individual level. While I may agree with the author that we need more moments of queer joy in this world, I do wonder if such moments come about following familiar patterns of formation of the individual within neoliberal Western society - through subject's agency by taking things in one's hands and conquering the "trauma". What we need is removal of the cisheteropatriachal regime together with the individualizing neoliberalism, a social change not an individual's adaptation to such a society.
3.5 stars! Hussam and Wassim are growing up in Syria during the war. They develop feelings for each other but are torn apart by tragedy. Hussam has immigrated to Canada where he lives as an openly gay man. Wassim is homeless in Damascus after a failed marriage. They both struggle with their realities until their paths finally cross again.
I really thought the writing style was almost musical in parts and it pulled me into the emotions both Hussam and Wassim were experiencing. The alternate timelines between past and present was also interesting as you get their backgrounds and then where they are today. I did find it eclectic in parts and sometimes just odd. I also didn’t like how the ending was written in third person but the rest of the book wasn’t.
The title perfectly captures the eerie heartbreak contained in this book’s pages. It evokes a total darkness that’s only broken by a distant sliver of horizon. A promise of what once was. The hope embedded in possibility.
So much worked for me in this book: the dynamic among Hussam’s friend group, the interpersonal devastation that so often smolders beneath the rubble of sensationalized war stories, the chasing of a fleeting future, the rusted chains of the past. There’s a haunting quality to Ramadan’s portrayal of memory that underscores the raw, original honesty of his storytelling. He pours an abundance of humanity into his characters, particularly Wassim, whose circumstances are painfully familiar and strikingly compelling. This grounding allows the narrative to stretch across countries and years without ever losing its intimacy, like a thread pulled taut through the ruins. Even when the plot takes surreal turns, it remains anchored in real emotional stakes. While I felt the magical realism could’ve been more purposefully woven throughout, I admired the ambition behind it—the way it attempts to crack open the spiritual dimensions of guilt, grief, exile, and love. At its core, this is a novel about learning to find home within yourself, especially when the home you once knew has been shattered into something unrecognizable.
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“The story within me aches like an untreated wound. It's unheard and I need to speak it. It roams my insides like a caged animal gasping for air. It trembles.”
A phenomenal novel, perhaps one for the best queer novels I’ve ever read (with probably one of the most impactful prologues I’ve encountered). It pulled at every heartstring imaginable, and left me rooting for two protagonists that I feel like I’ve personally known for years. It’s not an easy read - there’s so much pain and agony to weed through - but every page was worth it.
I should say up front that this novel won’t be for everyone, but I couldn’t put it down. It’s so very dark and sad, but the two men who are its beating heart touched mine immediately. This is a Refugee story. This is a coming of age story. This is an LGBTQ story. This is a love story. This is a war story. This is a ghost story. That’s a lot to balance, and I applaud Ramadan’s eloquence and courage. It did not quite live up to his astonishing debut for me, but that doesn’t diminish Ramadan’s talent. He’s an author worth reading and this is a story worth telling.
Wow. This book has an urgent, raw quality. It grabbed me from the first chapter and kept its hold.
Ramadan's writing and storycrafting have progressed a lot since his The Clothesline Swing. Here he portrays the wrenching story of two young men, Hussam and Wassim, in Syria. Social "norms" and then sociopolitical unrest abound and drive them to make desperate choices. Their parallel stories unfold to reveal how their young love affected each of them.
I found this read to have an intensity and a feeling of intimacy...both heightened by the external factors (to their relationship). Their internal lives, as older adults, unfold reflecting the pain and harm done by being shamed and having to contain and hide their true selves. The scenes in Canada, where hiding a gay identity is not needed, also carry the remnants of having to mask--though now the impulse is to don a new mask. But stripped of that need, who or what remains?
The plotting was clever and the characterizations nuanced. I enjoyed reading this title and certainly look forward to future works from Ramadan.
As an aside, this was my 7th book read in a row (but unplanned) that was written by a person of color and featured queer characters of color. I'm very grateful for the abundance of such talent and titles.
Moving, although a bit too plotty for its own good.
A story of two gay Syran boys separated by war and multiple cirumstances. The most succefulpart of the books has the two characters similarly lost in different worlds, one as a destitute wanderer in war-torn Damascus, and the other as an out-of-place drifter/sugar-baby in the gay Toronto scene; the writing there is beautiful.
Then other parts of the book, dealing with what happened betweened them, try to cram a bit too much and have too many contrivances that took me a bit out of the book.
Danny Ramadans Nebelhorn Echos (Orlanda Verlag Berlin) war nach einer langen Lesepause für mich ein gelungener Wiedereinstieg und hat mich sofort in seinen Bann gezogen. Die Geschichte ist durch den Wechsel zwischen zwei Perspektiven aufgebaut, was anfangs für Spannung sorgt und am Ende meisterhaft zusammengeführt wird. Diese Struktur gibt der Erzählung eine besondere Dynamik und Tiefe.
Besonders beeindruckend fand ich Ramadans Fähigkeit, Weisheiten und Lebenslektionen in seinen Text einfließen zu lassen, die zum Nachdenken anregen. Ein Zitat, das mir besonders im Gedächtnis geblieben ist, lautet: „Du bist der einzige Mensch, der dich aufbauen und zerbrechen kann. Behandle deine Gedanken wie verletzte Kinder. Sie haben noch nicht gelernt, wie man mit Schmerzen umgeht. Sie brauchen Trost und Bestärkung.“ (S. 206). Diese Worte zeigen eine einfühlsame und reflektierte Sicht auf den Umgang mit sich selbst und den eigenen Emotionen.
Ein weiteres Zitat, das mir besonders gefallen hat, ist: „Wir warten knietief im Schlamm unserer Zeit, und wir werden nur durchkommen, wenn wir einander festhalten.“ (S. 211). Es beschreibt auf eindrückliche Weise, wie wichtig Zusammenhalt und gegenseitige Unterstützung in schwierigen Zeiten sind.
Nebelhorn Echos ist ein Buch, das zum Innehalten einlädt und durch seine Erzählweise sowie tiefgründigen Gedanken lange nachwirkt.
This is a great book that feels very real. The story of two Syrian men told from their perspectives is interesting. At times the surreal aspects of the narrative felt weird, but they also added a depth of heartbreak to the stories of those not in the narrative and gave voice the victims of the regime. Overall it is a great story but there were times I wanted a bit more. Well worth the read
With alternating stories about two gay Syrian men - one still in Syria, one a refugee in Canada - this is a book about coming to terms with trauma. Sometimes that means relying on sex and drugs as distractions (trigger warning for ambiguous consent/rape), sometimes it means connected through stories with a ghost. Harrowing but hopeful.
Thank you to libro.fm for providing me with an ALC of this audiobook. I am voluntarily providing an honest review.
This was a stunning story, full of love, pain, grief, trauma, loss, and even some hope. I listened to the audiobook, and loved the way that the narrators brought this story to life.
There are some serious trigger warnings, including (but not limited to) death of a parent, homophobia, internalized homophobia, implied torture, addiction, overdose, rape/sex with dubious consent, PTSD, and unhealthy/controlling relationship. But then again, I wasn't expecting this to be a light, fluffy story full of sunshine and rainbows.
The narrative begins in Syria, when both Hussam and Wassim are teens, growing up together. But as they grow up, it swings back and forth between Hussam in Vancouver and Wassim in Syria, both dealing with the fallout of their own actions and each of them trying to piece together their lives. It seamlessly transitions between their narratives, offering distinct voices and experiences.
However, the vastly different experiences that they have cause their individual traumas to play out differently. Hussam has emigrated to Canada as a refugee, and his escape from Syria was traumatic. We learn more about his experience in flashes, and he carries a lot of pain within, not feeling safe or comfortable in sharing any of it. Consequently, he has descended into self-medicating with drugs and promiscuity, which is ultimately causing additional issues for him. In addition, his relationship is another source of pain, along with the internalized homophobia that he has absorbed over the years.
Wassim is struggling as well, but in a different way. He was forced into a marriage that he didn't want, and he has no shortage of internalized homophobia of his own. As he struggles to live on the streets, he finds himself living in an abandoned house with a ghost named Kalila. However, it felt like Kalila's story overshadowed his at times. Wassim is also living in an active war zone, under an unstable and oppressive regime.
As the story goes on, I couldn't stop reading. It was a propulsive narrative that was impossible to stop listening to, despite how difficult it could be at times. The characters were all in so much pain, and it showed in their various actions. In Hussam's case, they were self-destructive to the extreme, but both characters also went so far out of their way to push everyone around them away. Ramadan is a powerful voice in fiction.
(book cws: probably too many to list without missing some. Unsparing depiction of life as gay men in Syria amid the associated military conflicts, including homophobic violence, and the trauma of being a refugee. Traumatic death of a parent. Sexual scenes with dubious consent. Recreational drug use and overdose. Gendered violence including forced marriage, and depictions of abuse and miscarriage.)
A recent release I got after seeing it pop up a lot on resources I follow, and read this soon particularly after listening to Ramadan be interviewed on Skylight Books' podcast Skylit.
Character-driven novel about two young gay men growing up in Syria, Hussam and Wassim. When Hussam's father discovers their relationship and the resulting explosive conflict leads to his death, Wassim swears he'll protect and love Hussam. By their adulthood, Hussam has fled Syria to become a refugee in Canada, haunted by visions of his dead father, while Wassim navigates homelessness in Damascus and putting his life back together after years of anguish.
I really loved this, but it should 1000% be noted that it is emotionally heavy literary fiction and will not be for everyone. I'm always particularly looking for queer stories that are reflective of experiences other than mine, and this really helped me learn more about some conflicts I knew very little about. Ramadan really makes the refugee experience vivid, from the unwillingness of locals to learn to pronounce non-white names to Hussam's white partner wondering why he can't just forget about his traumatic memories now that he's safely ashore in Canada. I also found the book's depiction of finding solace in community really moving. Hussam falls in with a fellow Syrian refugee drag queen and her circle of friends, where Wassim finds companionship first from the ghost of his squat's female owner and later with an Iranian former classmate.
Recommended to those who feel they can handle the content. Ramadan portrays living with and coming to terms with trauma in such a way that I found closure by the end (which made me cry), and though Wassim's side of the story in particular is about being queer in a hostile country, Ramadan never pretends like immigration is the one and only answer to the problem. Wassim even asks why he should be expected to live in exile just to be who he is. I already went and found Ramadan's first novel to read as well, and am looking forward to his future output.
The Foghorn Echoes feels like the perfect book for now, focusing on the displacement of our two central characters Hussam and Wassim from Syria, we see one character trying to survive living amidst the civil war while the other is trying to survive in a different way in Canada. Both have to wrestle with the traumas of their past and learn how to live with the traumas and without each other and move forward.
With his writing Ramadan echoes past masters of literature while also being a completely fresh voice. He also draws the characters so well that they were fully alive for me off the page, I felt as if I knew them and they were fully realised. They were living, breathing, flawed people to me.
It was an examination on trauma and how it infiltrates all areas of life and what it looks like to try to move forward with that ever present, they make mistakes because Ramadan has provided us with real people and we all do make mistakes in real life. This is no fantasy or romance novel, it’s not a Disney story so you’re not owed a happily ever after, but still the overall feeling I was left with in the end was hope.
The Foghorn Echoes is a deeply reflective novel centred around gay love between two Syrian boys, Hussam and Wassim. Their love is secretive, forbidden, and tragic and when discovered, has deadly consequences.
The novel is told from Hussam’s perspective from Vancouver, and Wassim’s from Damascus. Both men haunted by their pasts.
I was more intrigued by Wassim’s story set in Damascus. I really enjoyed his storytelling and the relationship he formed with a ghost in the deserted villa he took shelter in. I found myself not as interested in Hussam’s story as there was too many mentions of social media and dating apps which can often take me out of the magic of a novel. Saying that, I enjoyed Hussam’s chapters more about 3/4 of the way into the story - his relationship with Dawood and coming to terms with the ghosts of his past.
This is a story on what it is like to embrace queer love, and to find home and healing within yourself and others, even in the midst of war.
Thanks to NetGalley and the publishers Canongate Books for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
This emotionally moving novel is about Hussam and Wassim two gay men in war-torn Damascus. It is about identity and the different ways they come to terms with their traumatic pasts to live in a shaky present and an unknown future.
They meet as children/adolescents and fall in love. Events in their lives and in the wider world of Damascus tear them apart. One ends up as a refugee in Canada. The other remains in Damascus (by choice). Which is the right decision? Which is the more courageous decision? Who can say.
At the end of the novel, after several years apart they finally make contact (thanks to Facebook--maybe FB is not so bad). The ending is slightly hopeful, not so much that they will cross oceans to rush into each others arms, but that they will find peace in the world that they have chosen.
Should say that once of my favorite characters is Kalila, who is a ghost.
During the Iraq invasion, two boys in Damascus, Hussam and Wassim, share a kiss that leads to a tragic accident, their lives forever changed. Now I n 2014, with the Syrian civil war raging, the two men lead separate lives on opposite sides of the world. Hussam lives in Vancouver with a Canadian man in an open relationship who brought him as a refugee from Turkey. Wassim is separated from his wife and son, surviving on the streets and hiding in an abandoned manor. Both are haunted by their pasts, the figurative and literal ghosts of their mistakes and missteps, and their forbidden love as they both try to move on. How does one move on without the support of family, friends, community, or culture?
First, I love how this book is structured. The first and last sections are told in third person about the main characters. The alternating middle sections are set in Vancouver and Damascus and written in first person. This book is about the destruction of war, the tearing apart of homes and families as they try to survive in the chaos of violence. But caught in these wars are queer people who are not only trying to survive the violence of the war, but lack a support system to give them safety and shelter. The foghorn from the title helps guide ships through the fog so they don’t crash on the shore. Queer people similarly need the support and protection of society to guide them safely home. These two queer men struggle to find themselves and each other as their lives are upended again and again by war and intolerance.
I’m not sure why I haven’t seen this book featured more on Bookstagram. This book has some of the best writing I’ve read all year, and yet, it’s still so readable. I wasn’t able to put this down once I started. I felt so much for Hussam and Wassim and their situations which were brilliantly rendered. Vancouver and Damascus came alive as settings for these stories. ▪️
But... I couldn't care for Housam as much as I should have. All the open relationship and sex and orgies he had left a bad taste in my mouth quite frankly. It took away from the feelings he supposedly had for Wassim.
I also was waiting until the absolute last second for a reconciliation or a happy ending and while it ended on a good note, I found it lacking after all the pain they had to endure.
I loved the tiny supernatural aspect with the ghost that Wassim befriends and that relationship kept me guesssing as to whether Wassim was actually alive or not.
All in all, loved parts of this book but hated others so I'm giving it a 3.5 stars rounded up because the two narrators were amazing.