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The gripping memoir of a young man’s struggle with his sexuality and Muslim identity, culminating in his rise to the Dutch Parliament.
From a young age, Tofik Dibi feels “it”—a spirit, or djinn, that follows him everywhere. Where “it” goes, “they” go—his classmates, his colleagues, all the people who fear and hate “it,” his homosexuality.
The son of Moroccan immigrants, Dibi was elected to the Dutch Parliament in 2006 at just twenty-six years old. During his six years in office, he fought for the equal rights of Dutch Muslims against a political elite that cast them as misogynists, homophobes, and, after 9/11, terrorists. But Dibi himself never came out publicly as queer—until he wrote Djinn. A bestseller upon its publication in Dutch in 2015, it tells the poignant, at times heartbreaking, story of Dibi’s coming-of-age as a gay Muslim man with humor and grace. From his Amsterdam childhood to his experiences in New York City clubs and internet chatrooms to his unlikely political ascent, Djinn explores contemporary issues of race, religion, sexuality, and human rights in and beyond Europe. Yet it also promises readers who may not see themselves reflected in popular culture—like Dibi as a young man—an all-too-rare sense of visibility and recognition.
“…[an] excellent memoir … Dibi shatters stereotypes with this punchy, raw chronicle.” — Publishers Weekly
“…this book comes to us in English, gracefully translated by Nicolaas P. Barr, who also opens the book with an admirable introduction. This memoir serves as a coming out for Dibi as a gay man, but is also his debut as a writer. He, his whole self, and his writing are made accessible to a much larger world than he previously reached … Ultimately, the meaning of the text lives inside the reader, whose experiences and individuality color everything that is read, whether it be a religious text or another person’s memoir. Dibi’s book, then, turns into an homage to the written word and to translation itself; to what we say, how we say it, and to whom.” — Asymptote
“Djinn is a creation tale of a search for compassion. As Tofik Dibi reaches out to ‘my brothers and sisters beyond borders,’ releasing his inner emotions and fears, he underscores the power of a tale well told to bring disregarded people together—if they see their own images reflected.” — Woven Tale Press
“A brave contemporary voice: queer, Muslim, and unapologetic.” — Femke Halsema, Mayor of Amsterdam, the Netherlands
“A courageous personal story that is so much more. Dibi’s Djinn offers us a window through which we see how complex it can be to be gay in a Muslim community and how hard it is to be gay and Muslim in western societies. A contemporary must read for understanding the intertwining of religious belonging, societal expectations, and sexual identities. And a guide for those in need of support and love.” — Niels Spierings, Radboud University
“Djinn is an impressive memoir that shatters the stereotypical image of the Dutch Moroccan man. It’s funny, gritty, sincere, and very touching.” — Nadia Bouras, Leiden University
“This important book provides not only a firsthand account of the coming-of-age of a queer Muslim—a contested identity to say the least—but also offers a much-needed exploration of the racism and Islamophobia behind the celebratory narrative of Dutch neoliberal multiculturalism.” — Fatima El-Tayeb, author of European Others: Queering Ethnicity in Postnational Europe
From a young age, Tofik Dibi feels “it”—a spirit, or djinn, that follows him everywhere. Where “it” goes, “they” go—his classmates, his colleagues, all the people who fear and hate “it,” his homosexuality.
The son of Moroccan immigrants, Dibi was elected to the Dutch Parliament in 2006 at just twenty-six years old. During his six years in office, he fought for the equal rights of Dutch Muslims against a political elite that cast them as misogynists, homophobes, and, after 9/11, terrorists. But Dibi himself never came out publicly as queer—until he wrote Djinn. A bestseller upon its publication in Dutch in 2015, it tells the poignant, at times heartbreaking, story of Dibi’s coming-of-age as a gay Muslim man with humor and grace. From his Amsterdam childhood to his experiences in New York City clubs and internet chatrooms to his unlikely political ascent, Djinn explores contemporary issues of race, religion, sexuality, and human rights in and beyond Europe. Yet it also promises readers who may not see themselves reflected in popular culture—like Dibi as a young man—an all-too-rare sense of visibility and recognition.
“…[an] excellent memoir … Dibi shatters stereotypes with this punchy, raw chronicle.” — Publishers Weekly
“…this book comes to us in English, gracefully translated by Nicolaas P. Barr, who also opens the book with an admirable introduction. This memoir serves as a coming out for Dibi as a gay man, but is also his debut as a writer. He, his whole self, and his writing are made accessible to a much larger world than he previously reached … Ultimately, the meaning of the text lives inside the reader, whose experiences and individuality color everything that is read, whether it be a religious text or another person’s memoir. Dibi’s book, then, turns into an homage to the written word and to translation itself; to what we say, how we say it, and to whom.” — Asymptote
“Djinn is a creation tale of a search for compassion. As Tofik Dibi reaches out to ‘my brothers and sisters beyond borders,’ releasing his inner emotions and fears, he underscores the power of a tale well told to bring disregarded people together—if they see their own images reflected.” — Woven Tale Press
“A brave contemporary voice: queer, Muslim, and unapologetic.” — Femke Halsema, Mayor of Amsterdam, the Netherlands
“A courageous personal story that is so much more. Dibi’s Djinn offers us a window through which we see how complex it can be to be gay in a Muslim community and how hard it is to be gay and Muslim in western societies. A contemporary must read for understanding the intertwining of religious belonging, societal expectations, and sexual identities. And a guide for those in need of support and love.” — Niels Spierings, Radboud University
“Djinn is an impressive memoir that shatters the stereotypical image of the Dutch Moroccan man. It’s funny, gritty, sincere, and very touching.” — Nadia Bouras, Leiden University
“This important book provides not only a firsthand account of the coming-of-age of a queer Muslim—a contested identity to say the least—but also offers a much-needed exploration of the racism and Islamophobia behind the celebratory narrative of Dutch neoliberal multiculturalism.” — Fatima El-Tayeb, author of European Others: Queering Ethnicity in Postnational Europe
146 pages, Kindle Edition
Published January 1, 2021
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March 18, 2026
Djinn came from an extremely real and vulnerable place. The parallel drawn between sexuality and spirituality felt incredibly raw and relatable. I unfortunately feel it is so common for people, especially those that grow up religious, to feel as though there is something wrong with them, to feel as if there was an otherworldly spirit that had taken over, to feel that what is being felt is sinful and should be cast out in some way.
Growing up Catholic, I had been given the notion that because I am capable of having feelings for both women and men, instead of just men, there was basically no hope for me after death. I remember trying so hard to be a good Catholic and feeling devastated in believing that it was simply hopeless. I remember praying that I would never have serious feelings for a girl because that would make it real, that then I would truly be a lost cause.
Dibi details this similar complexity as a homosexual Muslim man. He points out the hypocrisy that is common in certain ways of thinking under religion. I was honestly fascinated that throughout the book Dibi comes to find peace in not only his sexuality, but also in his faith—basically simultaneously. I really admired the fact that he took it upon himself to read the Koran and find that these homophobic notions aren’t even truly present in these texts saying, “I realized that it is not God, but rather the people who interpret the Koran who are homophobic. At that moment, I felt free to be completely myself.”
I think it is so interesting how accurately Dibi portrays the way fear of how people view you takes over your mind. You are constantly wondering if people can tell, you keep thinking about your own actions—is what I am doing exposing something about myself I don’t want to be seen? “It is the eternal confession box. It has only caused confusion and sadness…It can’t coexist. I have to choose.” I think so many of these ideas stem from societal hatred and othering. People get confused and that confusion makes people scared, and that fear becomes hate. Additionally, I feel as though the intersectionality that is present in each of our individual identities creates complications and makes it harder for us to truly feel understood. We as humans crave connection. We want to be seen and known and loved as we are.
Dibi discovering a deeper strength in his faith through his journey and understanding of his own sexuality is so refreshing. Especially in media, I feel there is a common pattern of “you have to pick between your identities—you are either gay or you are religious, you can’t be both.” It can’t coexist. You have to choose. Dibi affirms that you can be both, that your multitude of identities can and should live hand-in-hand. I found so much comfort in Dibi’s own self-acceptance. It so interesting how hope can be found in seeing things work out for others and understanding that it positively will work out for you.
Growing up Catholic, I had been given the notion that because I am capable of having feelings for both women and men, instead of just men, there was basically no hope for me after death. I remember trying so hard to be a good Catholic and feeling devastated in believing that it was simply hopeless. I remember praying that I would never have serious feelings for a girl because that would make it real, that then I would truly be a lost cause.
Dibi details this similar complexity as a homosexual Muslim man. He points out the hypocrisy that is common in certain ways of thinking under religion. I was honestly fascinated that throughout the book Dibi comes to find peace in not only his sexuality, but also in his faith—basically simultaneously. I really admired the fact that he took it upon himself to read the Koran and find that these homophobic notions aren’t even truly present in these texts saying, “I realized that it is not God, but rather the people who interpret the Koran who are homophobic. At that moment, I felt free to be completely myself.”
I think it is so interesting how accurately Dibi portrays the way fear of how people view you takes over your mind. You are constantly wondering if people can tell, you keep thinking about your own actions—is what I am doing exposing something about myself I don’t want to be seen? “It is the eternal confession box. It has only caused confusion and sadness…It can’t coexist. I have to choose.” I think so many of these ideas stem from societal hatred and othering. People get confused and that confusion makes people scared, and that fear becomes hate. Additionally, I feel as though the intersectionality that is present in each of our individual identities creates complications and makes it harder for us to truly feel understood. We as humans crave connection. We want to be seen and known and loved as we are.
Dibi discovering a deeper strength in his faith through his journey and understanding of his own sexuality is so refreshing. Especially in media, I feel there is a common pattern of “you have to pick between your identities—you are either gay or you are religious, you can’t be both.” It can’t coexist. You have to choose. Dibi affirms that you can be both, that your multitude of identities can and should live hand-in-hand. I found so much comfort in Dibi’s own self-acceptance. It so interesting how hope can be found in seeing things work out for others and understanding that it positively will work out for you.
March 10, 2026
(spoiler warning) Tofik Dibi’s Djinn translated by Nicolaas P. Barr was another book that made me think about my identity in ways I hadn’t before. Djinn is a memoir about Dibi’s life growing up as a son of Moroccan immigrants, eventually becoming a member of the Dutch parliament. Throughout the book, he talks about what it was like trying to balance multiple identities at once. Those being Dutch. Moroccan, Muslim, and also secretly struggling with being gay.
Obviously, since it’s in the title of the book, I have to talk about the “djinn” metaphor. In Islamic tradition, a djinn is like a spirit (in simple terms), and Dibi uses this “djinn” to show how he felt about his sexuality growing up. He describes the djinn as something that was always following him, something he couldn’t escape, and the presence of the djinn throughout the book helped explain how confusing and isolating these feelings truly were. Instead of just saying he was internally struggling or something generic like that, the djinn metaphor gives us a clearer way to imagine what that experience might feel like.
Another interesting part of the book was with Dibi describing how he lived between cultures. His family followed Moroccan and Muslim traditions, while outside he was surrounded by Dutch culture and expectations. In Dutch society, he was almost treated like an outsider for his immigrant background, and within his own Moroccan community, he felt pressure to hide parts of himself. Because of this, he often felt like he didn’t fully belong anywhere. Reading this made me think about how difficult it is to constantly navigate different expectations and hiding who you truly are, especially when it’s between essentially two different worlds. This part stood out to me as I can relate to living between two different cultures. For me, those were Vietnamese and American cultures. I don’t speak Vietnamese, so I felt like I didn’t belong in Vietnamese communities since I couldn’t communicate with others in the language. I also felt that I didn’t fit in American communities, as just being Asian made me stand out, often with the grades I was expected to get or by the food I brought to school. Reading about Dibi’s experience helped me better understand how complicated identity can be when two of your identities collide.
Overall, Djinn to me was a powerful memoir. It explores how Dibi’s identity was shaped by his culture, religion, and personal experiences all at once. It doesn’t present identity as something simple, but shows how it can involve the balancing of multiple worlds. It highlights how difficult it can be for people to navigate multiple identities in a society that expects people to fit into clear cut labels. This book shows the importance of honesty, self-acceptance, and the courage to share one’s story.
Obviously, since it’s in the title of the book, I have to talk about the “djinn” metaphor. In Islamic tradition, a djinn is like a spirit (in simple terms), and Dibi uses this “djinn” to show how he felt about his sexuality growing up. He describes the djinn as something that was always following him, something he couldn’t escape, and the presence of the djinn throughout the book helped explain how confusing and isolating these feelings truly were. Instead of just saying he was internally struggling or something generic like that, the djinn metaphor gives us a clearer way to imagine what that experience might feel like.
Another interesting part of the book was with Dibi describing how he lived between cultures. His family followed Moroccan and Muslim traditions, while outside he was surrounded by Dutch culture and expectations. In Dutch society, he was almost treated like an outsider for his immigrant background, and within his own Moroccan community, he felt pressure to hide parts of himself. Because of this, he often felt like he didn’t fully belong anywhere. Reading this made me think about how difficult it is to constantly navigate different expectations and hiding who you truly are, especially when it’s between essentially two different worlds. This part stood out to me as I can relate to living between two different cultures. For me, those were Vietnamese and American cultures. I don’t speak Vietnamese, so I felt like I didn’t belong in Vietnamese communities since I couldn’t communicate with others in the language. I also felt that I didn’t fit in American communities, as just being Asian made me stand out, often with the grades I was expected to get or by the food I brought to school. Reading about Dibi’s experience helped me better understand how complicated identity can be when two of your identities collide.
Overall, Djinn to me was a powerful memoir. It explores how Dibi’s identity was shaped by his culture, religion, and personal experiences all at once. It doesn’t present identity as something simple, but shows how it can involve the balancing of multiple worlds. It highlights how difficult it can be for people to navigate multiple identities in a society that expects people to fit into clear cut labels. This book shows the importance of honesty, self-acceptance, and the courage to share one’s story.
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March 16, 2026This is an amazing and powerful memoir, a must-read if i do say so myself! Reading Djinn by Toufique Dibi sparked a mix of curiosity and self-reflection for me. Throughout the memoir, I often found myself thinking about my own fears and how they have influenced my decisions, beliefs, and everyday experiences. Dibi’s story does more than describe his childhood; it invites readers to think about the narratives they grew up with and how those narratives continue to shape their worldview long after childhood. At several points in the memoir, I also felt a sense of confusion as I reflected on the lessons and beliefs that were ingrained in me when I was younger and how those early teachings still influence my social, emotional, and even political perspectives. One aspect of the memoir that stood out to me was how Dibi describes the authority of the adults around him. As children, many of us view teachers and parents as sources of truth. How could what our parents say not be true? At such a young age, everyone is impressionable about everything. Dibi captures this dynamic clearly in the early parts of the book when he explains how he believed the stories about Djinn were real and threatening rather than symbolic or metaphorical. Because these stories were told by trusted authority figures, questioning them did not seem possible at the time.
As the memoir continues, Dibi shows how that fear becomes internalized. What begins as a fear of an external supernatural figure slowly transforms into a constant sense of self-surveillance. He describes living in a persistent state of worry and anxiety, monitoring his own behavior in order to avoid punishment. I think that this shift is one of the most powerful themes in the book. Fear no longer needs a physical or supernatural presence to exist; it becomes embedded in the way a person thinks about themselves and their actions. In this sense, the memoir demonstrates how religion and storytelling can function not only as spiritual guidance but also as systems that shape one's livelihood. I found that this concept truly stumped me and definitely made me reflect on my entire life. Even though we do not share the same religion or sexuality, I found that I aligned with many of the same feelings, an aspect that I find quite powerful and intriguing. Although this type of self-reflection could send someone into a spiral, Dibi does not necessarily argue that these systems should be rejected outright. Instead, he emphasizes the importance of understanding them more deeply, recognizing how they influence our fears, beliefs, and behaviors.
As the memoir continues, Dibi shows how that fear becomes internalized. What begins as a fear of an external supernatural figure slowly transforms into a constant sense of self-surveillance. He describes living in a persistent state of worry and anxiety, monitoring his own behavior in order to avoid punishment. I think that this shift is one of the most powerful themes in the book. Fear no longer needs a physical or supernatural presence to exist; it becomes embedded in the way a person thinks about themselves and their actions. In this sense, the memoir demonstrates how religion and storytelling can function not only as spiritual guidance but also as systems that shape one's livelihood. I found that this concept truly stumped me and definitely made me reflect on my entire life. Even though we do not share the same religion or sexuality, I found that I aligned with many of the same feelings, an aspect that I find quite powerful and intriguing. Although this type of self-reflection could send someone into a spiral, Dibi does not necessarily argue that these systems should be rejected outright. Instead, he emphasizes the importance of understanding them more deeply, recognizing how they influence our fears, beliefs, and behaviors.
March 18, 2026
-WARNING: MINOR SPOILERS-
I want to be upfront about something before getting into this review. I am a Muslim, and the central tension of this book, Dibi navigating his identity as a queer Muslim man, is not something I approached from a neutral position. I came into this book a little guarded, and I think that guardedness is actually worth naming because it shaped how I read every page. That said, this book surprised me in ways I was not expecting.
What Dibi does with the djinn as a literary device is genuinely creative. In Islamic tradition, jinn are seen real creations, not simply metaphors, so watching him use that concept to describe something internal and unnamed (this restless presence he carries), added a layer to the writing that I found both interesting and honest. It would have been easy to use the djinn as a simple symbol and leave it there, Instead the author lets it exist in that uncomfortable space between the literal and the figurative, which mirrors exactly what the book is doing with the topic of identity itself.
The childhood sections are where the book is strongest; The way he describes fear becoming a companion rather than something you eventually get over felt grounded and real. Stories about jinn are common in Muslim communities, and Dibi takes that shared cultural familiarity and turns it into something deeply personal without it feeling forced or imposed. Those sections did not require me to agree with where he eventually lands to find them meaningful.
Where I personally struggled was with how he positions Islam in relation to his sexuality. I do not share his conclusions, and my understanding of the faith comes from a different place than his (shaped by tradition, scholarship, and community) in ways that lead me to a different reading of those boundaries. But here is the thing the book made me realize: my interpretation was also formed by a specific environment. Dibi's was formed by a completely different one; growing up Muslim in the Netherlands, navigating racism, sexuality, and belonging all at the same time. That does not make us equally right, but it does make the disagreement more honest and more worth thinking about than I expected going in.
The reason this is a four and not a five is that some sections in the middle lose the intimacy that makes the early chapters so compelling. It pulls toward something more political in a way that occasionally distances you from the personal story that is the book's real strength.
Still, I am very glad I read it. It made me examine my own framework in ways I did not anticipate, which is probably the best thing a book can do.
I want to be upfront about something before getting into this review. I am a Muslim, and the central tension of this book, Dibi navigating his identity as a queer Muslim man, is not something I approached from a neutral position. I came into this book a little guarded, and I think that guardedness is actually worth naming because it shaped how I read every page. That said, this book surprised me in ways I was not expecting.
What Dibi does with the djinn as a literary device is genuinely creative. In Islamic tradition, jinn are seen real creations, not simply metaphors, so watching him use that concept to describe something internal and unnamed (this restless presence he carries), added a layer to the writing that I found both interesting and honest. It would have been easy to use the djinn as a simple symbol and leave it there, Instead the author lets it exist in that uncomfortable space between the literal and the figurative, which mirrors exactly what the book is doing with the topic of identity itself.
The childhood sections are where the book is strongest; The way he describes fear becoming a companion rather than something you eventually get over felt grounded and real. Stories about jinn are common in Muslim communities, and Dibi takes that shared cultural familiarity and turns it into something deeply personal without it feeling forced or imposed. Those sections did not require me to agree with where he eventually lands to find them meaningful.
Where I personally struggled was with how he positions Islam in relation to his sexuality. I do not share his conclusions, and my understanding of the faith comes from a different place than his (shaped by tradition, scholarship, and community) in ways that lead me to a different reading of those boundaries. But here is the thing the book made me realize: my interpretation was also formed by a specific environment. Dibi's was formed by a completely different one; growing up Muslim in the Netherlands, navigating racism, sexuality, and belonging all at the same time. That does not make us equally right, but it does make the disagreement more honest and more worth thinking about than I expected going in.
The reason this is a four and not a five is that some sections in the middle lose the intimacy that makes the early chapters so compelling. It pulls toward something more political in a way that occasionally distances you from the personal story that is the book's real strength.
Still, I am very glad I read it. It made me examine my own framework in ways I did not anticipate, which is probably the best thing a book can do.
March 18, 2026
Djinn is a courageous book. In the video of the release of the book in English, Tofik Dibi said that he was always looking for a healthy role model of a Muslim man who came out as gay, but he never saw one. So he decided that he had to be the one to become a healthy role model. Dibi sacrificed so much because expressing his authentic self to the world and being a healthy role model was so important to him. I believe he said he likely won’t be able to go back to Morocco after publishing the book. He said he thought his life would be over after publishing it. He said that many readers have reached out and thanked him. He has made an impact. He has paved the way for queer Muslim men, and even anyone who has yet to come out. His vulnerability is absolutely inspirational.
In Djinn, he shares his story of the challenges of growing up as a Muslim, trying to suppress his sexuality, in a country that was the first to legalize gay marriage, yet still has so much discrimination and bigotry towards queer people and Muslims. It was gut-wrenching to read all the adversity he experienced and witnessed. I am not a man, nor gay, but while reading that first scene of rape, I felt so strongly through Dibi’s eyes. It felt all too familiar – what so many women experience. I ached for him. It immediately put me in his shoes, giving me a strong sense of connection and care for Dibi from the start of the book. I cried in the part where Dibi described how he would search for his dad after school.
Dibi calls attention to the strong existence to this day of homophobia, racism, internal racism, and self-hate. Most white, heterosexual people never hear stories from queer BIPOC who live in predominantly white areas. It is crucial that these stories are spread to decrease marginalization and increase empathy. Dibi called out injustices many times in his career in Parliament and likely inspired so many queer BIPOC to dream big and run for positions of power. This book gave me more perspective. It helped me to realize that there are such big and important things happening across the world that we never hear about. I might not ever have heard of this book if I hadn’t been assigned to read it in a class. Someone in my class mentioned this was the first representation from a queer person in any class she’s been in her whole life. This is an amazing story that deserves to be known all over the world. I think stories like these should have a big platform. Tofik Dibi became the role model he never had, and is now a role model for so many.
In Djinn, he shares his story of the challenges of growing up as a Muslim, trying to suppress his sexuality, in a country that was the first to legalize gay marriage, yet still has so much discrimination and bigotry towards queer people and Muslims. It was gut-wrenching to read all the adversity he experienced and witnessed. I am not a man, nor gay, but while reading that first scene of rape, I felt so strongly through Dibi’s eyes. It felt all too familiar – what so many women experience. I ached for him. It immediately put me in his shoes, giving me a strong sense of connection and care for Dibi from the start of the book. I cried in the part where Dibi described how he would search for his dad after school.
Dibi calls attention to the strong existence to this day of homophobia, racism, internal racism, and self-hate. Most white, heterosexual people never hear stories from queer BIPOC who live in predominantly white areas. It is crucial that these stories are spread to decrease marginalization and increase empathy. Dibi called out injustices many times in his career in Parliament and likely inspired so many queer BIPOC to dream big and run for positions of power. This book gave me more perspective. It helped me to realize that there are such big and important things happening across the world that we never hear about. I might not ever have heard of this book if I hadn’t been assigned to read it in a class. Someone in my class mentioned this was the first representation from a queer person in any class she’s been in her whole life. This is an amazing story that deserves to be known all over the world. I think stories like these should have a big platform. Tofik Dibi became the role model he never had, and is now a role model for so many.
March 9, 2026
Reading Djinn by Tofik Dibi was not what I expected at first. From the start, the book threw me right into confusion and uncertainty, which mirrors what Dibi himself seems to feel. The opening is disorienting, and for a bit, I was not sure what exactly was happening or what “it” referred to. But as he begins to describe this “djinn” that follows him, the story starts taking shape as an amazing metaphor for living with a hidden truth and the weight that it carries for the person who lives with it.
What I found most interesting in Djinn is the way Dibi uses the idea of a supernatural being to represent something deeply human. The djinn is kind of like the embodiment of his fears, his guilt, and his constant sense of being watched or judged. Through this image he creates for us, Dibi shows how growing up queer in a traditional, religious setting can make a person feel haunted by the need to be someone they’re not. The metaphor feels real because he doesn’t treat it as just symbolism and weaves it really well into every part of his life, from his work as a politician to his relationships with his family and religion. The tension between his public and private selves forms the heart of the book. Dibi was a well respected young member of Parliament, seen as a voice for diversity and progress. Yet behind that public image was a person that was unable to live openly or authentically. He writes about the pressure of having to appear “normal” and successful while keeping a major part of himself hidden. It is not just about his story, but also about the expectations we put on people who represent their communities publically and how they often have to hide parts of themselves to be accepted by their peers.
One of the most memorable parts of his book was about his trip to Morocco, especially the ritual aimed at driving out the djinn. That entire moment shows how far someone can go and is willing to go to be accepted, and how painful it is when your identity is seen as something to be fixed. Dibi doesn’t present himself as a hero or a victim, and he just lets the contradiction stand, which makes the story more genuine.
By the end, Djinn feels like an attempt to make peace with the parts of himself he spent years trying to silence. It’s a story about identity, religion, and belonging that doesn’t try to simplify anything. What stayed with me was how honestly he faces these uncomfortable truths and invites readers to do the same.
What I found most interesting in Djinn is the way Dibi uses the idea of a supernatural being to represent something deeply human. The djinn is kind of like the embodiment of his fears, his guilt, and his constant sense of being watched or judged. Through this image he creates for us, Dibi shows how growing up queer in a traditional, religious setting can make a person feel haunted by the need to be someone they’re not. The metaphor feels real because he doesn’t treat it as just symbolism and weaves it really well into every part of his life, from his work as a politician to his relationships with his family and religion. The tension between his public and private selves forms the heart of the book. Dibi was a well respected young member of Parliament, seen as a voice for diversity and progress. Yet behind that public image was a person that was unable to live openly or authentically. He writes about the pressure of having to appear “normal” and successful while keeping a major part of himself hidden. It is not just about his story, but also about the expectations we put on people who represent their communities publically and how they often have to hide parts of themselves to be accepted by their peers.
One of the most memorable parts of his book was about his trip to Morocco, especially the ritual aimed at driving out the djinn. That entire moment shows how far someone can go and is willing to go to be accepted, and how painful it is when your identity is seen as something to be fixed. Dibi doesn’t present himself as a hero or a victim, and he just lets the contradiction stand, which makes the story more genuine.
By the end, Djinn feels like an attempt to make peace with the parts of himself he spent years trying to silence. It’s a story about identity, religion, and belonging that doesn’t try to simplify anything. What stayed with me was how honestly he faces these uncomfortable truths and invites readers to do the same.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 12, 2026
Djinn by Tofik Dibi is a fantastic book and captures the struggles of navigating our identities and belongingness within our families, communities, and culture. From the very beginning of the book, we get a sense for how vulnerable Dibi will be with such a strong and heavy opening chapter that he recounts from his past experience. As we further travel further and deeper into the book, we follow Dibi’s personal life and track how growth and how his “djinn” developed through his different stages of life.
Growing up from a divorced household and his father remarried, we understand how his “djinn" developed through exposure of film and ideas of sexuality. Without proper discussion of this new concept, Dibi has trouble trying to find an explanation of why he feels this certain way and is grasping for solutions from his family. Through his Muslim faith and mythology, he attempts to grasp for an answer and comes to the conclusion that it must be a djinn that is possessing him. Through lengthy attempts to expel the djinn, he finally believes he is able to do so.
However, Djinn is a story about the inner struggles and fear of the judgements of others. We begin to understand that his “djinn” is a manifestation of this fear. His family expectations of when he is going to marry to a Moroccan wife and being devout to his Muslim faith, begins to burden him and he suppresses aspects of his identity to become something he fears that will shine from him. Reflecting on my own experiences, the Islam culture and my personal Vietnamese culture are so similar. Both cultures carry the expectation of how traditions triumph over individuality, and how if “it worked for the elders, it must work for you” vibe. These overwhelming expectations push us to suppress certain parts of ourselves just to please the latter and to not disappoint. This book resonated with me so much that it made me notice that I carried my own djinns and how the environment I grew up in has made me subconsciously suppress my own aspirations and certain ways that I have felt towards greater political issues so I could make my family and culture proud.
Djinn is a great book and serves as a way for ourselves as readers to reflect more deeply on our identity and belonging. How Dibi bravely came out with stories of trauma should influence others to come out with their own, so those who find themselves unheard are able to have their voices heard.
Growing up from a divorced household and his father remarried, we understand how his “djinn" developed through exposure of film and ideas of sexuality. Without proper discussion of this new concept, Dibi has trouble trying to find an explanation of why he feels this certain way and is grasping for solutions from his family. Through his Muslim faith and mythology, he attempts to grasp for an answer and comes to the conclusion that it must be a djinn that is possessing him. Through lengthy attempts to expel the djinn, he finally believes he is able to do so.
However, Djinn is a story about the inner struggles and fear of the judgements of others. We begin to understand that his “djinn” is a manifestation of this fear. His family expectations of when he is going to marry to a Moroccan wife and being devout to his Muslim faith, begins to burden him and he suppresses aspects of his identity to become something he fears that will shine from him. Reflecting on my own experiences, the Islam culture and my personal Vietnamese culture are so similar. Both cultures carry the expectation of how traditions triumph over individuality, and how if “it worked for the elders, it must work for you” vibe. These overwhelming expectations push us to suppress certain parts of ourselves just to please the latter and to not disappoint. This book resonated with me so much that it made me notice that I carried my own djinns and how the environment I grew up in has made me subconsciously suppress my own aspirations and certain ways that I have felt towards greater political issues so I could make my family and culture proud.
Djinn is a great book and serves as a way for ourselves as readers to reflect more deeply on our identity and belonging. How Dibi bravely came out with stories of trauma should influence others to come out with their own, so those who find themselves unheard are able to have their voices heard.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 17, 2026
I really liked reading Djinn, despite it being a relatively short read, it was incredibly emotional and personal. I really liked how the author, Tofik Dibi, was able to write such a powerful book in a small amount of space without it feeling rushed. Instead, it felt very intense, like everything he said was very important and intentional. This book really stood out to me because of how honest it was, and how it felt like the author was sharing something personal that he wouldn’t normally say out loud.
I think that another aspect of the book I liked was how the author showed identity through his own life and his own experiences rather than a general book on identity. This helped me see first hand the clash of identities, as instead of saying that identity is complex, he showed me what it looks like through his own life. Throughout the book, he talked about he he was constantly pushed into different boxes by people because of his religion, background and sexuality. There was a part in the book where he talked about how he was fighting for the rights of Dutch Muslims as they were not being treated as equal citizens. However, he was afraid that the people he was fighting for would discover the fact that he was gay and stop seeing everything else that made him who he was. Instead of seeing him as a whole, they would focus on one part of his identity. I thought this moment was very powerful because I think that this is something that everyone can relate to, in which some parts of a person’s identity can be overlooked because of another part of their identity.
The books focus on identity really expanded my knowledge on how identity works and how it applies to people. I always thought that identity was a label used to describe someone, something that is used to categorize or put someone in a box. This book challenged my beliefs on how identity applies to everyone, as now I’ve started seeing identity as something more than a label. It is something that is connected to someone’s experience, culture, background, and how they live their life.
I would recommend this book to everyone interested in deepening their understanding of identity as well as other topics such as race, sexuality, and religion as the book also has intense and emotional stories exploring them. Although this book is short, it has made a lasting impact on me because it challenged the way I look at identity and made me think about how complicated it can be.
I think that another aspect of the book I liked was how the author showed identity through his own life and his own experiences rather than a general book on identity. This helped me see first hand the clash of identities, as instead of saying that identity is complex, he showed me what it looks like through his own life. Throughout the book, he talked about he he was constantly pushed into different boxes by people because of his religion, background and sexuality. There was a part in the book where he talked about how he was fighting for the rights of Dutch Muslims as they were not being treated as equal citizens. However, he was afraid that the people he was fighting for would discover the fact that he was gay and stop seeing everything else that made him who he was. Instead of seeing him as a whole, they would focus on one part of his identity. I thought this moment was very powerful because I think that this is something that everyone can relate to, in which some parts of a person’s identity can be overlooked because of another part of their identity.
The books focus on identity really expanded my knowledge on how identity works and how it applies to people. I always thought that identity was a label used to describe someone, something that is used to categorize or put someone in a box. This book challenged my beliefs on how identity applies to everyone, as now I’ve started seeing identity as something more than a label. It is something that is connected to someone’s experience, culture, background, and how they live their life.
I would recommend this book to everyone interested in deepening their understanding of identity as well as other topics such as race, sexuality, and religion as the book also has intense and emotional stories exploring them. Although this book is short, it has made a lasting impact on me because it challenged the way I look at identity and made me think about how complicated it can be.
March 18, 2026
Djinn by Tofik Dibi was an incredible book that left a lasting impression on me. I genuinely enjoyed reading it, and I found the entire story to be both powerful and deeply thought-provoking. Dibi’s writing felt honest and personal, and it gave readers a clear window into his life and the challenges he faced. I also have to give a lot of credit to Nicolaas Barr, who did an amazing job translating the book. His work made the story flow naturally in English while still preserving the emotion and meaning behind Dibi’s words. I actually had the opportunity to meet him in class, which made the experience even more meaningful. He came across as a highly intelligent and thoughtful person, and it was clear how much care he put into his work.
The book focuses on Dibi’s personal struggles throughout his Dutch political career, especially as he navigated issues of religion, sexuality, and race as a Moroccan-Dutch gay man. One of the most impactful moments for me was reading his public coming-out statement. Seeing it written out so honestly, along with the reactions and challenges he faced, was incredibly inspiring. It took a lot of courage for him to be that open, especially in such a public and political setting. His story highlights how difficult it can be to live authentically when different parts of your identity feel like they are in conflict with each other.
I found myself relating to Dibi in a more personal way than I expected. While our experiences are very different, I connected with the feeling of being somewhat alienated. Growing up, I didn’t always have “traditional” hobbies like some of my friends. I loved being in plays and acting, and although I also played sports, my passion for musicals was something they didn’t really understand. Because of that, I often kept it to myself. I felt embarrassed to fully express that part of who I was, and over time, it started to feel like something I had to hide.
Reading Djinn helped me reflect on that feeling in a deeper way. While Dibi faced much more serious and complex challenges, the emotional experience of hiding a part of yourself creates a strong connection. His story made me realize how important self-acceptance is and how much courage it takes to be open about who you are. Overall, this book was not only inspiring but also eye-opening, and it encouraged me to think more honestly about identity, acceptance, and the importance of living authentically.
The book focuses on Dibi’s personal struggles throughout his Dutch political career, especially as he navigated issues of religion, sexuality, and race as a Moroccan-Dutch gay man. One of the most impactful moments for me was reading his public coming-out statement. Seeing it written out so honestly, along with the reactions and challenges he faced, was incredibly inspiring. It took a lot of courage for him to be that open, especially in such a public and political setting. His story highlights how difficult it can be to live authentically when different parts of your identity feel like they are in conflict with each other.
I found myself relating to Dibi in a more personal way than I expected. While our experiences are very different, I connected with the feeling of being somewhat alienated. Growing up, I didn’t always have “traditional” hobbies like some of my friends. I loved being in plays and acting, and although I also played sports, my passion for musicals was something they didn’t really understand. Because of that, I often kept it to myself. I felt embarrassed to fully express that part of who I was, and over time, it started to feel like something I had to hide.
Reading Djinn helped me reflect on that feeling in a deeper way. While Dibi faced much more serious and complex challenges, the emotional experience of hiding a part of yourself creates a strong connection. His story made me realize how important self-acceptance is and how much courage it takes to be open about who you are. Overall, this book was not only inspiring but also eye-opening, and it encouraged me to think more honestly about identity, acceptance, and the importance of living authentically.
March 20, 2026
Djinn is a memoir symbolizing a turning point for author Tofik Dibi. After years of living falsely, he finally confesses his truth to the public through the publication of this book. The events he faces while discovering himself, along with his internal conflicts, are incredibly vivid and genuine but to such an extent that it often arouses discomfort. His entirely raw expression resembles driving a truck on an unpaved road. Some may consider this bumpiness a thrilling new sensation that awakens previously unconsidered possibilities, actively enjoying the discomfort. In my case, however, it simply wasn't enough to reach beyond that initial shock and inspire deeper contemplation in my personal space.
The blunt nature of Dibi’s writing forces the reader to confront his reality without any protective filters. By using stark and unfiltered phrasing that leaves little room for imagination, his storytelling prioritizes honesty over comfort, making the pacing feel abrupt and occasionally aggressive. While this unpolished approach effectively shows the chaotic reality of his internal battle, it sometimes is really overwhelming. The lack of narrative cushioning makes it difficult to simply absorb his story. Instead, you are jolted along, feeling every bump and pothole of his emotional journey.
However, reading through the development of Dibi’s identity and understanding its formation is something you wouldn’t expect to stumble upon in typical memoirs. The process from living a highly reputable life as a political figure to navigating a deeply secretive, hidden private life creates an interesting duality. Watching his carefully constructed facade crumble provides the readers an unique look into the psychology of Dibi.
Despite this intriguing connection, my perception of the message was fundamentally hindered by a significant cultural disconnect. Sharing explicit sexual stories in public is considered a strict taboo in my culture. Tofik doesn’t hesitate at all when detailing his experiences, which I found quite discomforting rather than representing an enlightenment of any kind. I think the book would reach out very well to readers who share similar experiences of identity confusion as Tofik, or to those accustomed to highly confessional memoirs. But to an individual like me, whose cultural background sets different boundaries regarding personal privacy, it ultimately didn’t appeal in the best ways it could have.
The blunt nature of Dibi’s writing forces the reader to confront his reality without any protective filters. By using stark and unfiltered phrasing that leaves little room for imagination, his storytelling prioritizes honesty over comfort, making the pacing feel abrupt and occasionally aggressive. While this unpolished approach effectively shows the chaotic reality of his internal battle, it sometimes is really overwhelming. The lack of narrative cushioning makes it difficult to simply absorb his story. Instead, you are jolted along, feeling every bump and pothole of his emotional journey.
However, reading through the development of Dibi’s identity and understanding its formation is something you wouldn’t expect to stumble upon in typical memoirs. The process from living a highly reputable life as a political figure to navigating a deeply secretive, hidden private life creates an interesting duality. Watching his carefully constructed facade crumble provides the readers an unique look into the psychology of Dibi.
Despite this intriguing connection, my perception of the message was fundamentally hindered by a significant cultural disconnect. Sharing explicit sexual stories in public is considered a strict taboo in my culture. Tofik doesn’t hesitate at all when detailing his experiences, which I found quite discomforting rather than representing an enlightenment of any kind. I think the book would reach out very well to readers who share similar experiences of identity confusion as Tofik, or to those accustomed to highly confessional memoirs. But to an individual like me, whose cultural background sets different boundaries regarding personal privacy, it ultimately didn’t appeal in the best ways it could have.
March 9, 2026
Djinn by Tofik Dibi is a masterfully insightful book that delves into the inner workings of a queer muslim man who worked in the Parliament. This book travels through his life in a gripping autobiography that highlights his struggles and triumphs, all while battling a massive “other” living in him. I did read this book for a University of Washington course, and it was a hard to find text. This book touches on intersectionality in such a unique way. During the course of his life, queerness and homosexuality was illegal, and because he grew up Muslim, his faith also took it as wrong. This accounts for him to feel a big disturbance in Dibi, what he refers to as “it” throughout the text. Dibi also touches on what it was like to have a broken home, to grow up both Dutch and Muslim, and to be lower class. As he gets older, he explores his sexuality in secret. He uses chatrooms to message people like him, to meet an ugly fate. He defends queerness in Parliament, only to be met with hate and people who try to knock him down with rumors. What Dibi really wanted out of this text is to show others that they are not alone. He shares his message in hopes that other people read it and unite under it. He wrote this to share his story and leave behind his legacy, but that is second to making this story for queer or Muslim folk to know that they are understood. I resonated with his message a lot. While I am queer, I have never and hopefully will never experience what Dibi has in this text. What I can relate to is his hope. This story is relevant to the world today because of its themes of activism. We are living in a world of LGBTQ hate and disgust, with our rights being taken away every day. This book speaks out to the struggle queer people face and how they may thrive under these harsh conditions. This book also speaks to the people with many identities, especially contradicting ones. Dibi reminds you that you are not alone and that you will overcome obstacles. You are human, just like him. I don’t read many autobiographies, but this one was solid. It kept me in my emotions and really sold the story of hope Dibi was trying to present. I would recommend this book to any queer or muslim folk who want to hear a story of someone like them, and also to the average reader who wants to gain insight on how other people may live.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 18, 2026
As an undergraduate student who has never really delved into the topics of race, identity, and religion until now, this book has been such an incredible perspective-shifting experience. I was able to read this book filled with curiosity, emotion, and astonishment, realizing that even though the author’s life is completely different than mine, there were various parts of the book that I resonated with. Some of them involved Tofik’s concept of obsession, self-talking, and identity-related aspects. It made me feel the different emotions as I read through Tofik’s story, and I gradually began to understand what Tofik meant by the terms, “it”, “they”, and “them.” These powerful metaphors highlighted his concepts of Djinn and his experience as a gay Muslim man, who once struggled to understand the interconnection between these two identities, specifically being both Queer and Muslim. Some of the obstacles he experienced, such as holding the weight of guilt and his initial belief of his homosexuality being stemmed by Djinn, made the narrative much more gradual and tense as he begins to find his inner sense of embracement towards the end. I also resonated with his idea of the struggle to belong in his religious background, coming from a Korean American Christian. The book captured a lot of familial and societal pressure Tofik had, and it made me reflect on my very religion, such as how it impacts my current guilts, and whether I truly belong in my religious community. For example, I have always been taught religion through biblical scriptures and the worship services in my Korean Christian Church. However, I realized that even after all these years, I still do not do the practices that most Christians are intended to do, such as reading the bible or praying every day. Many Korean elders tend to prioritize this, but like Tofik, I felt religious, social, and familial pressure, as they treated other Christian people slightly differently than me due to differences in understanding.
I appreciated Tofik’s personal growth in the last few chapters. His story of becoming an MP, advocating for other Dutch Muslims, people of color, youth, and family, all while holding onto his queer identity, shows the tremendous amount of bravery and intention that the author had to help the world become a better place for all people, including the marginalized voices. I see this book encouraging readers to be well-informed about today’s struggles of identity, sexuality, and politics, especially when they all intersect with one another. I also see this book as an encouragement for people who have gone through similar experiences, indicating that though the process to embrace oneself is challenging, choosing your authentic self over outside expectations creates numerous possibilities.
I appreciated Tofik’s personal growth in the last few chapters. His story of becoming an MP, advocating for other Dutch Muslims, people of color, youth, and family, all while holding onto his queer identity, shows the tremendous amount of bravery and intention that the author had to help the world become a better place for all people, including the marginalized voices. I see this book encouraging readers to be well-informed about today’s struggles of identity, sexuality, and politics, especially when they all intersect with one another. I also see this book as an encouragement for people who have gone through similar experiences, indicating that though the process to embrace oneself is challenging, choosing your authentic self over outside expectations creates numerous possibilities.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
March 16, 2026
Djiin by Tofik Dibi is a very heartfelt and authentic memoir. I believe that this book is great for readers who want to feel less alone in their quest for self-acceptance. Tofiks offer us the opportunity to see into his personal experiences of the complexities and internal conflict that can arise when identities intersect with one another, and the harsh reality of suppressing aspects of one's identity to avoid potential judgments from the world. Additionally, he gives us an idea of what that journey was like while also stepping into his political career, and the uncertainty that caused him at first. Many of the intimate glimpses of Tofik's personal conflict and experiences gave the book a very personal tone, and almost as if reading a diary at times. I appreciate Tofik's vulnerability and authenticity in this book, which creates a sense of connection to the author, although not having known him personally. His voice is evocative, and there were many stories told and thoughts expressed that brought about various emotions. For example, many of Tofik's personal experiences, as well as moments in the book that highlighted his thought processes of self conflict, brought a mix of respect, compassion, empathy, and much more. Before reading Djinn, I was completely unaware of the Dutch parliament's tactics to perpetuate Islamophobia, which I found compelling to read about. The introduction provided important context about these tactics, such as where sometimes the right wing parties support LGBTQ rights in an attempt to oppose immigration or Muslims by arguing them as a potential threat to Dutch values. This explanation provided an important backbone for the rest of the memoir, as Tofik continues to effectively grasp the effects of discrimination towards Islam and homophobia on his identity, and present an honest demonstration of how social constructs can lead us in defiance of our sense of self. It also evoked a lot of curiosity in me, especially about what other tactics certain political systems use to discretely, and seemingly “justifiably” perpetuate discriminative practices. Reflecting on this, I found it heartwrenching to learn that some groups would go as far as falsely and publicly portraying themself as supportive of a marginalized group, in an attempt to marginalize another, ultimately putting both groups at a disadvantage. I must additionally highlight that I am sincerely grateful to Nick Barr, whose translation allowed Tofik's book to reach a larger audience of English speakers. Despite the difficulty that might arise having cultural or identity differences while translating, Barr's translations allowed readers to experience Tofik's personal stories and perspectives, retaining emotional power that sticks with readers. I believe he wants readers to see that feeling unease with your identity is common, and that acceptance towards it is a rough, but worthwhile, journey.
July 20, 2021
A thoughtful coming out story, Djinn explores the intersections of faith and freedom, identity and sexuality, and political vs private life. I appreciated how Dibi reveals such personal experiences under the lens of multiculturalism, wrestling with his identity as a Morroccan-Dutch gay Muslim politician.
March 23, 2022
Tofik Dibi's memoir underscores the complexities of sexual identity formation as a young, queer Muslim. The story is a page-turner, and the translation by Dr. Nick Barr is beautifully done. I plan on teaching this book in my next queer studies class!
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