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Son of Sin
Poet Omar Sakr’s debut novel is a fierce and fantastic force that illuminates the bonds that bind families together as well as what can break them.
An estranged father. An abused and abusive mother. An army of relatives. A tapestry of violence, woven across generations and geographies, from Turkey to Lebanon to Western Sydney. This is the legacy left to Jamal Smith, a young queer Muslim trying to escape a past in which memory and rumour trace ugly shapes in the dark. When every thread in life constricts instead of connects, how do you find a way to breathe? Torn between faith and fear, gossip and gospel, family and friendship, Jamal must find and test the limits of love.
In this extraordinary work, Omar Sakr deftly weaves a multifaceted tale brimming with angels and djinn, racist kangaroos and adoring bats, examining with a poet’s eye the destructive impetus of repressed desire and the complexities that make us human.
An estranged father. An abused and abusive mother. An army of relatives. A tapestry of violence, woven across generations and geographies, from Turkey to Lebanon to Western Sydney. This is the legacy left to Jamal Smith, a young queer Muslim trying to escape a past in which memory and rumour trace ugly shapes in the dark. When every thread in life constricts instead of connects, how do you find a way to breathe? Torn between faith and fear, gossip and gospel, family and friendship, Jamal must find and test the limits of love.
In this extraordinary work, Omar Sakr deftly weaves a multifaceted tale brimming with angels and djinn, racist kangaroos and adoring bats, examining with a poet’s eye the destructive impetus of repressed desire and the complexities that make us human.
276 pages, Paperback
First published February 22, 2022
72 people are currently reading
2126 people want to read
About the author
Omar Sakr
20 books189 followersOmar Sakr is an Arab Australian Muslim poet born and raised in Western Sydney. His debut collection of poetry, THESE WILD HOUSES (Cordite Books, 2017), was shortlisted for the Judith Wright Calanthe award and the Kenneth Slessor Poetry Prize. His new book, THE LOST ARABS (UQP, 2019) was shortlisted for the NSW Premier's Literary Awards, the John Bray Poetry Award, the Queensland Literary Awards, and the Colin Roderick Award. In 2020 he won the Woollahra Digital Literary Award for Poetry.
He has been anthologised in Best Australian Poems 2016 (Black Inc), and in Contemporary Australian Poetry (Puncher & Wattmann). His short fiction includes, 'An Arab Werewolf in Liverpool' in 'KINDRED: 12 Queer YA Stories' (Walker Books, 2019), and 'White Flu' in AFTER AUSTRALIA (Affirm Press, 2020). His essays have appeared most recently in MEANJIN (Autumn, 2019), MEET ME AT THE INTERSECTION (Fremantle, 2018) and GOING POSTAL (Brow Books, 2018).
He has been anthologised in Best Australian Poems 2016 (Black Inc), and in Contemporary Australian Poetry (Puncher & Wattmann). His short fiction includes, 'An Arab Werewolf in Liverpool' in 'KINDRED: 12 Queer YA Stories' (Walker Books, 2019), and 'White Flu' in AFTER AUSTRALIA (Affirm Press, 2020). His essays have appeared most recently in MEANJIN (Autumn, 2019), MEET ME AT THE INTERSECTION (Fremantle, 2018) and GOING POSTAL (Brow Books, 2018).
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 129 reviews
April 22, 2022
A dazzling, lyrical coming of age story filled with heartbreak, realizations, and, ultimately, self acceptance and love. The poetic flow of this story pierced my heart almost immediately, and I hung on to every word, every ounce of cruelty, longing, laughter, and revelation with such a endearment to our narrator. This felt so real, mainly because for so many, this story is real, this is a tribute and a call to so many lost, loving souls trying to find themselves and each other in our reality’s stormy seas. Easily one of the most beautiful and essential coming of age stories that I have ever read.
February 9, 2022
It is a testament to Sakr's sense of rhythm and lyricism that I devoured this in one day, but compulsive does not mean perfect or without fault. One of my most anticipated reads of the year might be in the running to be one of my biggest disappointments.
I adored the first half;
Jamal is coming of age as a Muslim boy in a racist colony post 9/11, raised by his aunt and surrounded by extended family that sense something different about him. On the holiest night of Ramadan he experiences a sexual awakening finding both solace and punishment in his faith; in fasting, praying and storytelling, experiencing first-hand the complex interwoven nature of pain and pleasure.
In part 2 An older Jamal’s mental health is declining just as by chance he reconnects with his estranged father, flying to Turkey on a whim the physically jarring experience of reconnecting with country was enthralling in its viscerality; the sweat, the sea, the vomit, the earthly father of flesh and blood. It is here in the land of his forefathers he finds deeper connection, grounding the spiritual transcendency of part one as Jamal and all he could be begins to take shape.
If the novel had ended here I might have been a bit disappointed, wanted more, but honestly would have preferred that to the laborious disappointment of the second half.
Parts 3 and 4 felt aimless and undefined, reflective in a derivative way as an older Jamal rehashes experiences that do not yield any new revelations or insight - that we know well as we literally just read about them. His reconnection with a figure from his past should have felt monumental, perhaps being the climax of the second half but fell flat as some threads were hastily tied and others abandoned. There was just nothing to guide these characters we had come to care for, it all felt too smooth and easy. The writing also took a turn and began to feel bizarrely YAish with cringy pop culture references and witty banter of his ragtag queer friendship group - within which something happens I still am not sure what to think, but am leaning towards poorly done. It felt like a different novel, and not a promising literary debut from a well regarded poet.
I really wanted to like this but I gotta be honest and bump it down to three stars - I hope that those who do pick this up have a more positive experience and I’m very interested to see what everyone thinks! - out March 2022
I adored the first half;
Jamal is coming of age as a Muslim boy in a racist colony post 9/11, raised by his aunt and surrounded by extended family that sense something different about him. On the holiest night of Ramadan he experiences a sexual awakening finding both solace and punishment in his faith; in fasting, praying and storytelling, experiencing first-hand the complex interwoven nature of pain and pleasure.
In part 2 An older Jamal’s mental health is declining just as by chance he reconnects with his estranged father, flying to Turkey on a whim the physically jarring experience of reconnecting with country was enthralling in its viscerality; the sweat, the sea, the vomit, the earthly father of flesh and blood. It is here in the land of his forefathers he finds deeper connection, grounding the spiritual transcendency of part one as Jamal and all he could be begins to take shape.
If the novel had ended here I might have been a bit disappointed, wanted more, but honestly would have preferred that to the laborious disappointment of the second half.
Parts 3 and 4 felt aimless and undefined, reflective in a derivative way as an older Jamal rehashes experiences that do not yield any new revelations or insight - that we know well as we literally just read about them. His reconnection with a figure from his past should have felt monumental, perhaps being the climax of the second half but fell flat as some threads were hastily tied and others abandoned. There was just nothing to guide these characters we had come to care for, it all felt too smooth and easy. The writing also took a turn and began to feel bizarrely YAish with cringy pop culture references and witty banter of his ragtag queer friendship group - within which something happens I still am not sure what to think, but am leaning towards poorly done. It felt like a different novel, and not a promising literary debut from a well regarded poet.
I really wanted to like this but I gotta be honest and bump it down to three stars - I hope that those who do pick this up have a more positive experience and I’m very interested to see what everyone thinks! - out March 2022
December 21, 2021
Lyrical, bracingly honest, and shot through with dark humor, this is a portrait of a bisexual Arab Australian's coming of age in a country wracked with racism, homophobia, and Islamophobia; it is also a poet's novel that leavens the wrenching with the sacred. This is a queer Arab coming-of-age novel that sings.
Want to read
January 6, 2022me: this year i want to read more adult lit & literary fiction
one of my fav poets: okay fine, here's my debut novel
one of my fav poets: okay fine, here's my debut novel
July 27, 2024
He couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t look anyone in the eye, because if he did, he was sure they would see his death there, that shameful snake, and he couldn’t bear the possibility that they might take it away from him.
Son of Sin by Omar Sakr was originally published in Australia in 2022 by Affirm Press and has now been brought to the UK by the87press (see below).
On its original publication it was said to be the first Australian novel by a queer Arab Muslim man.
Our first person narrator Jamal has a similar back as the author explains in his acknowledgements: “First and foremost I would like to thank Jamal, my distant avatar, for carrying the weight of my unreal life. This is a work of fiction, which is to say a stylised and imaginative construct, but the pain I had him shoulder is very real.”
Jamal, born in Australia, has a Lebanese mother and a Turkish father. His mother left him in the care of her sister Rania, his aunt, for the first few years of his life, and he only meets his father in his adolescence, the two families very different:
You’re here now, son. Talk to me, ask me whatever you want. Jamal stared, appalled. The Smiths were a family of unspoken secrets, of the-walls-are-listening sign language: direct speech was abhorred, a profound thing that had to be earned, and which you were never meant to actually earn, at least not while the adults were alive. They wanted to keep their shames secret, as was proper. The Khans were a completely different animal, if his father was any indication. Jamal had come to meet the man on his own terms, to hold him, to show him he could be held, but he had not expected to succeed, had not known what success would even look like, and now he wanted nothing more than to run.
But what both families share is an aversion to homosexuality (more religious on behalf of his mother’s family, and culturally macho on behalf of his father’s) leaving Jamal feel guilt and insecurity, labelling himself as a son of sin (this his first sexual encounter that confirms to him his own sexuality):
He did, more than anything, and still he hesitated. He could hear Rania hissing in his ears, Ta lehon ya ibn haram! Come here you sinful boy! How many times had he heard it? A hundred times, a thousand, more: as a shout promising violence: laced in an affectionate chuckle: a rasp: a whisper almost to herself, an echo as he was lassoed to her from wherever he’d been, a soft song of ibn haram, ibn haram. O you son of sin. His other name, his true lineage. He’d never thought of the words in English, tuned rather to the tone, the sound that could predict future pain, but they unveiled themselves to him as he pulled Bilal’s zipper down. He hurt more than he knew how to express, he was hard in his pants, and he could not move.
And the novel also takes place against the societal backdrop of Australia at the time, notably the 2005 Cronulla Riots when Jamal was a teenager, and where the “Leb” community to which he belongs found itself pitted against the white community, to the 2017 Australian Marriage Law Postal Survey, which while ultimately ending in the endorsement of same sex marriage, brings out the prejudice of others, including his own family.
An impressive novel - powerful, personal and passionate.
The UK publisher
Established in 2018, the87press is an Asian, LGBTQIA+, and neurodiverse led publishing collective and events curator in South London. We prioritize modernism, anti-colonialism, anti-racism, and environmentalism in our print publications of poetry, fiction, and essays. Additionally, we offer educational and creative workshops, industry leading live events, and regular commissioned work with online journal of culture theHythe. Committed to equity, all authors receive fair contracts regardless of their background. As part of Arts Council England's National Portfolio, we contribute to the Let's Create project and look forward to fostering inclusive learning spaces as the only NPO in the London Borough of Sutton.
Son of Sin by Omar Sakr was originally published in Australia in 2022 by Affirm Press and has now been brought to the UK by the87press (see below).
On its original publication it was said to be the first Australian novel by a queer Arab Muslim man.
Our first person narrator Jamal has a similar back as the author explains in his acknowledgements: “First and foremost I would like to thank Jamal, my distant avatar, for carrying the weight of my unreal life. This is a work of fiction, which is to say a stylised and imaginative construct, but the pain I had him shoulder is very real.”
Jamal, born in Australia, has a Lebanese mother and a Turkish father. His mother left him in the care of her sister Rania, his aunt, for the first few years of his life, and he only meets his father in his adolescence, the two families very different:
You’re here now, son. Talk to me, ask me whatever you want. Jamal stared, appalled. The Smiths were a family of unspoken secrets, of the-walls-are-listening sign language: direct speech was abhorred, a profound thing that had to be earned, and which you were never meant to actually earn, at least not while the adults were alive. They wanted to keep their shames secret, as was proper. The Khans were a completely different animal, if his father was any indication. Jamal had come to meet the man on his own terms, to hold him, to show him he could be held, but he had not expected to succeed, had not known what success would even look like, and now he wanted nothing more than to run.
But what both families share is an aversion to homosexuality (more religious on behalf of his mother’s family, and culturally macho on behalf of his father’s) leaving Jamal feel guilt and insecurity, labelling himself as a son of sin (this his first sexual encounter that confirms to him his own sexuality):
He did, more than anything, and still he hesitated. He could hear Rania hissing in his ears, Ta lehon ya ibn haram! Come here you sinful boy! How many times had he heard it? A hundred times, a thousand, more: as a shout promising violence: laced in an affectionate chuckle: a rasp: a whisper almost to herself, an echo as he was lassoed to her from wherever he’d been, a soft song of ibn haram, ibn haram. O you son of sin. His other name, his true lineage. He’d never thought of the words in English, tuned rather to the tone, the sound that could predict future pain, but they unveiled themselves to him as he pulled Bilal’s zipper down. He hurt more than he knew how to express, he was hard in his pants, and he could not move.
And the novel also takes place against the societal backdrop of Australia at the time, notably the 2005 Cronulla Riots when Jamal was a teenager, and where the “Leb” community to which he belongs found itself pitted against the white community, to the 2017 Australian Marriage Law Postal Survey, which while ultimately ending in the endorsement of same sex marriage, brings out the prejudice of others, including his own family.
An impressive novel - powerful, personal and passionate.
The UK publisher
Established in 2018, the87press is an Asian, LGBTQIA+, and neurodiverse led publishing collective and events curator in South London. We prioritize modernism, anti-colonialism, anti-racism, and environmentalism in our print publications of poetry, fiction, and essays. Additionally, we offer educational and creative workshops, industry leading live events, and regular commissioned work with online journal of culture theHythe. Committed to equity, all authors receive fair contracts regardless of their background. As part of Arts Council England's National Portfolio, we contribute to the Let's Create project and look forward to fostering inclusive learning spaces as the only NPO in the London Borough of Sutton.
November 20, 2025
CWs: racial slurs, homophobic slurs, domestic abuse, racism, homophobia, sexual assault, suicidal ideation, implied child sexual abuse
December 12, 2023
I am unsurprised to see the author of this book is a poet. There were countless times I was awestruck by his writing - witty, poetic, rhythmic, raw, honest, lyrical, dark in humour and at time a bit crass.
The jumping around timeline at first was hard to follow, but after a while I really enjoyed the links between one time and another. I also really loved the Australian references - different locations, opal cards, our weather and animals, our food, etc..! This helped me to connect to the characters.
At times I found the dark humour/ crass language challenging, but by the end I accepted that this is how some people think and speak - calling someone a c**t/b***h/dickhead didn’t have the same weight if I would have if I said it (cause I would probably mean it if I got to the point of calling someone that). If that makes sense??
I don’t think I have read many books from the perspective of a gay / bisexual man, and although I did find some of the scenes confronting after a few of them, they didn’t phase me as much. I am so glad the book lined up with the vote for gay marriage. It was such a huge thing, and I can’t imagine how that time would have felt for those a part of the LGBTQI+ community, and also within a community who are so strongly against you.
Overall I am glad to have read this book. I recommend listening to it as an audiobook. I think what would have made it a 5 star book for me would be to add some softened parts so I could adjust to the language / crass/dark humour, but I also understand that then it probably wouldn’t have reflected things accurately.
The jumping around timeline at first was hard to follow, but after a while I really enjoyed the links between one time and another. I also really loved the Australian references - different locations, opal cards, our weather and animals, our food, etc..! This helped me to connect to the characters.
At times I found the dark humour/ crass language challenging, but by the end I accepted that this is how some people think and speak - calling someone a c**t/b***h/dickhead didn’t have the same weight if I would have if I said it (cause I would probably mean it if I got to the point of calling someone that). If that makes sense??
I don’t think I have read many books from the perspective of a gay / bisexual man, and although I did find some of the scenes confronting after a few of them, they didn’t phase me as much. I am so glad the book lined up with the vote for gay marriage. It was such a huge thing, and I can’t imagine how that time would have felt for those a part of the LGBTQI+ community, and also within a community who are so strongly against you.
Overall I am glad to have read this book. I recommend listening to it as an audiobook. I think what would have made it a 5 star book for me would be to add some softened parts so I could adjust to the language / crass/dark humour, but I also understand that then it probably wouldn’t have reflected things accurately.
March 16, 2024
Hard one to review because so much of this felt like a real story, like my story. I'm sure 30-something-year-old Australian millennials who grew up Muslim and queer (especially Lebanese and Turkish ones) will read this book and feel like they are looking into a mirror. I saw my cousins in Jamal's as the police continually hounded them. I saw the 'we all know but won't speak of it' sentiment of Turkish culture regarding sin.
I saw the beauty too, of found family, of unbreakable familial bonds, of God and love, self-acceptance and love, of Sakr's origins as a poet feeling into the verse of this novel.
I saw the beauty too, of found family, of unbreakable familial bonds, of God and love, self-acceptance and love, of Sakr's origins as a poet feeling into the verse of this novel.
April 19, 2022
4.5 stars
Excellent prose and a thoroughly engaging story.
My only issue was the books use of time (?) - I didn’t realise till 100 pages in when it started referencing the Cronulla Riots that it wasn’t set in the present, and in other instances the book would go back in time to Jamals memories and it’d take me awhile to realise (maybe my reading comprehension needs to improve).
Excellent prose and a thoroughly engaging story.
My only issue was the books use of time (?) - I didn’t realise till 100 pages in when it started referencing the Cronulla Riots that it wasn’t set in the present, and in other instances the book would go back in time to Jamals memories and it’d take me awhile to realise (maybe my reading comprehension needs to improve).
April 8, 2022
It took me a while to really warm up to it, but by the time I finished this book I really loved Jamal and found so much to relate to in his story...I immediately wanted to read this again as soon as I finished to try and pick up things I missed the first time around!
March 5, 2022
"He was like most boys in the area, loud and brash, his body an announcement, always ready to make a ruckus, to be the centre of attention, to make a fool of himself chasing girls. Nothing like Jamal, who could spend a day without saying a word, trying to avoid notice, to become a hush."
So much about this book is superlative. Sakr is just a master of words - there are parts that so perfectly evoke what should be unsayable, sentences you want to read out loud to savour the sound, visceral descriptions that plunge you straight into a scene, and self-analysis so sharp the book alternates between hard to put down and hard to keep going. Sakr is a poet, and one with an unflinching capacity to look at himself and the world that created him, and, honestly, this book is something special.
Jamal has a lot going on - as a queer Arab with an estranged father and an often verbally abusive mother - the book follows his struggles to name and manage his trauma, to find a sense of belonging and to find the strengths in his family. This never feels like it is too much - the book positions everything around Jamal, so his world becomes ours. In the best way, this novel bites and opens up a discussion about the insidiousness of how prejudice and systemic exclusion deny communities the space to breathe - and yet, how they do so anyway.
Not everything worked for me. Some passages are less polished than others and sit awkwardly reminding the reader they are there to get us from A to B. The pacing is variable, with the middle, in particular, slowing down as Jamal reaches into himself.
The book often feels as if we are speaking to a narrator through Jamal. Sometimes this gives the novel force and power - passages like this one are so powerful because they speak directly to the reader
But sometimes the novel feels more like a device than an immersive experience in its own right. I am conscious that Jamal himself decries the "elegant, spare novels" he was taught in school, and maybe I am holding the book to the wrong criteria, but I found myself little invested in the characters beyond Jamal - (with the exception of his brother who absolutely leaps off the page). I didn't quite buy, I think, that they were 'real', as opposed to devices to have a conversation around.
It's a pretty bloody amazing conversation though.
So much about this book is superlative. Sakr is just a master of words - there are parts that so perfectly evoke what should be unsayable, sentences you want to read out loud to savour the sound, visceral descriptions that plunge you straight into a scene, and self-analysis so sharp the book alternates between hard to put down and hard to keep going. Sakr is a poet, and one with an unflinching capacity to look at himself and the world that created him, and, honestly, this book is something special.
Jamal has a lot going on - as a queer Arab with an estranged father and an often verbally abusive mother - the book follows his struggles to name and manage his trauma, to find a sense of belonging and to find the strengths in his family. This never feels like it is too much - the book positions everything around Jamal, so his world becomes ours. In the best way, this novel bites and opens up a discussion about the insidiousness of how prejudice and systemic exclusion deny communities the space to breathe - and yet, how they do so anyway.
Not everything worked for me. Some passages are less polished than others and sit awkwardly reminding the reader they are there to get us from A to B. The pacing is variable, with the middle, in particular, slowing down as Jamal reaches into himself.
The book often feels as if we are speaking to a narrator through Jamal. Sometimes this gives the novel force and power - passages like this one are so powerful because they speak directly to the reader
"He wished now they had never read a word, never been drenched in the rape and coercion so often presented as normal in them. Get a man hard in his sleep and he will let you do anything, they promised. Waking up to a blow job was the best, who could say no to that? Forget consent. Forget about the risk of asking. For boys unsure how to be men, what could be more irresistible than the song that begins and ends with: You don’t have to be vulnerable."
But sometimes the novel feels more like a device than an immersive experience in its own right. I am conscious that Jamal himself decries the "elegant, spare novels" he was taught in school, and maybe I am holding the book to the wrong criteria, but I found myself little invested in the characters beyond Jamal - (with the exception of his brother who absolutely leaps off the page). I didn't quite buy, I think, that they were 'real', as opposed to devices to have a conversation around.
It's a pretty bloody amazing conversation though.
October 21, 2022
I have finished this book and I was left speechless by the end of it. I doubt that I could muster a single sentence or words that could do this book justice. However, I will try my best.
First of all, I would like to start off with how insane it is that this book is a debut novel from this author. I mean, that is just unheard of. I went into this book with zero expectations or zero knowledge about it, not expecting that I will love it at the end but here we are. The prose was lyrical, dazzling even and I was immediately hooked during the first few chapters mind you, not a lot of books can do that to me.
We cannot forget about our hero – our main character, Jamal. He is such a complex character and I hold him close to my heart. The growth that I have seen and read from this book is just heartwarming. I also appreciate how the author highlights the importance of family and all of those heavy topics that I prefer not to list out (it takes the surprise elements away). I was on the fence when I first discovered that this is going to involve religion matter but to my surprise, I quite like it as it does not really push it to your face nor does it have an agenda on its own. It was just there – existing on its own and somehow I felt seen.
I have never resonated with such a character but I do find bits of myself in him. I’m glad that in the end, he found closure despite all of the challenges he has been through. I just want to remind him and myself that it gets better. No matter how hard life is and how shitty it is – it gets better.
First of all, I would like to start off with how insane it is that this book is a debut novel from this author. I mean, that is just unheard of. I went into this book with zero expectations or zero knowledge about it, not expecting that I will love it at the end but here we are. The prose was lyrical, dazzling even and I was immediately hooked during the first few chapters mind you, not a lot of books can do that to me.
We cannot forget about our hero – our main character, Jamal. He is such a complex character and I hold him close to my heart. The growth that I have seen and read from this book is just heartwarming. I also appreciate how the author highlights the importance of family and all of those heavy topics that I prefer not to list out (it takes the surprise elements away). I was on the fence when I first discovered that this is going to involve religion matter but to my surprise, I quite like it as it does not really push it to your face nor does it have an agenda on its own. It was just there – existing on its own and somehow I felt seen.
I have never resonated with such a character but I do find bits of myself in him. I’m glad that in the end, he found closure despite all of the challenges he has been through. I just want to remind him and myself that it gets better. No matter how hard life is and how shitty it is – it gets better.
February 12, 2022
I felt quite battered by this novel. Author (and poet) Omar Sakr wields his words with intensity, as he portrays the life of a young bisexual Arab Australian drowning in a weighty combination of family, faith, domestic abuse, racism, displacement, self-hatred, police brutality and homophobia. Sakr’s vivid depiction of the narrator Jamal’s life (which seems born from the author’s own first-hand experience), is initially gripping, the force of dysfunction across his sprawling Lebanese family palpable, the dark humor he uses as a weapon thrilling. But, although I wanted to love this novel, I felt it drifted. I felt Jamal’s quest for belonging was at first, absorbing, only to become exasperating, his friendships confusing, his relationships unsatisfying. I give full credit to Sakr for capturing such a brutally raw depiction of how difficult it is to navigate the conflicts between faith and sexuality, but I also felt thwarted in my wish to come away from Son of Sin with some deeper understanding of how that conflict may be resolved. Having said that, given Sakr's obvious lyrical talents displayed in this debut, I have no doubt he is an author to watch.
July 23, 2022
I am a fan of this authors poetry. I must say, I went into this with an idea of the kind of story it would be, but it turned out to be a completely different story. I wasn’t disappointed. This novel has a great sense of place in western Sydney. I grew up in the west, it was set in places I was familiar with, and with characters that I went to school with. A great insight into life as a queer Muslim young man in an immigrant Turkish and Lebanese family, and feels honest and it’s beautifully written. There were moments where the intensity was high and it had be on edge as you know where it’s heading, and you get a moment of false security before things hit the roof. I am looking forward to what Omar will come out with next. It’s a great debut.
"He was like most boys in the area, loud and brash, his body an announcement, always ready to make a ruckus, to be the centre of attention, to make a fool of himself chasing girls. Nothing like Jamal, who could spend a day without saying a word, trying to avoid notice, to become a hush."
"He was like most boys in the area, loud and brash, his body an announcement, always ready to make a ruckus, to be the centre of attention, to make a fool of himself chasing girls. Nothing like Jamal, who could spend a day without saying a word, trying to avoid notice, to become a hush."
June 14, 2022
A lyrical and brutally honest novel that follows Jamal Smith, a queer Arab-Australian growing up in a country wracked with racism, homophobia, and Islamophobia.
SON OF SIN is a not a story to be rushed, one that should be savoured but is so hard to walk away from, it did take me well over 25% of the way through to really make a connection with this novel.
There’s a lot of Jamal’s family members and I was getting a headache trying to remember how they were all connected to each other.
I’ve been left with a better understanding of the Lebanese community in Australia and Jamal’s experience as a reader is exhausting – I still feel dissatisfied by the conclusion.
Sakr’s writing is absolutely beautiful (let’s not forget he is a poet) and his voice is urgent and compelling.
SON OF SIN is a not a story to be rushed, one that should be savoured but is so hard to walk away from, it did take me well over 25% of the way through to really make a connection with this novel.
There’s a lot of Jamal’s family members and I was getting a headache trying to remember how they were all connected to each other.
I’ve been left with a better understanding of the Lebanese community in Australia and Jamal’s experience as a reader is exhausting – I still feel dissatisfied by the conclusion.
Sakr’s writing is absolutely beautiful (let’s not forget he is a poet) and his voice is urgent and compelling.
July 3, 2022
A strong debut novel with a great sense of place in Western Sydney and authentic characters. It’s episodic but the raw, muscular prose moves you forward. A great insight into life as a queer Muslim young man in an immigrant Turkish and Lebanese family, and feels honest. Poetic language sets this apart from other recent reads. It has stayed with me.
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June 21, 2022DNFing this
i really wanted to enjoy this, and i did love the cultural aspects — both the depiction of Muslim families and growing up in Australia. the plot just was not gripping enough to hold my attention :(
i really wanted to enjoy this, and i did love the cultural aspects — both the depiction of Muslim families and growing up in Australia. the plot just was not gripping enough to hold my attention :(
February 3, 2024
This is a meditation on identity.
Or perhaps it’s a meditation on finding your identity. Whichever, it is a meditative experience. Omar Sakr’s other published works are poetry. Son Of Sin is his first novel and his prose reflects his poetic style.
For example, this is a description of a sunset:
“…the sun was losing its purchase in the sky, and the spools of lavender and pink, orange and red, visibly changed with each passing moment; to see time was to sink into it, in the act of noticing.”
Jamal is at the centre of this novel and we get to know him both realistically and in abstract terms. We meet him as a teenager in the age of My Space where he observes the dynamics of his family, never really feeling part of what is happening around him, as ethnic families often have truths never based on facts.
“…what lay ahead of him was more of the same cutting comments, the staggered and warped back and forth of people who don’t know how to talk to each other without trying to win, to force the other to concede.”
He is also bisexual, and while this is only explored in several scenes, the alienation he feels hiding his sexuality is felt all the way through this superb novel. It is this silent aspect which places his lack of identity in perspective.
There is no plot driving this story.
I’ve often stopped reading a book if there’s an absence of story, but I found Son Of Sin a page turner. Perhaps as a gay man myself, I clearly recognise that feeling where ‘fitting in’ is natural for everyone but you. Like you were born on an alien planet where family members recognise what you are and find their own ways of discouraging you.
Jamal meets his father for the first time halfway through the book.
His dad lives in Turkey, hasn’t made anything of himself yet imparts his own brand of wisdom on Jamal. And while Jamal is now an adult, he is still drifting. Shame continues to haunt him, even as this trip was meant to put his past in perspective.
This is a novel of precise observation and sublime use of language, and has become a favourite of mine. One message I took away, and I’m paraphrasing here, is the idea that our identity is linked to memory, and memory fades.
Or perhaps it’s a meditation on finding your identity. Whichever, it is a meditative experience. Omar Sakr’s other published works are poetry. Son Of Sin is his first novel and his prose reflects his poetic style.
For example, this is a description of a sunset:
“…the sun was losing its purchase in the sky, and the spools of lavender and pink, orange and red, visibly changed with each passing moment; to see time was to sink into it, in the act of noticing.”
Jamal is at the centre of this novel and we get to know him both realistically and in abstract terms. We meet him as a teenager in the age of My Space where he observes the dynamics of his family, never really feeling part of what is happening around him, as ethnic families often have truths never based on facts.
“…what lay ahead of him was more of the same cutting comments, the staggered and warped back and forth of people who don’t know how to talk to each other without trying to win, to force the other to concede.”
He is also bisexual, and while this is only explored in several scenes, the alienation he feels hiding his sexuality is felt all the way through this superb novel. It is this silent aspect which places his lack of identity in perspective.
There is no plot driving this story.
I’ve often stopped reading a book if there’s an absence of story, but I found Son Of Sin a page turner. Perhaps as a gay man myself, I clearly recognise that feeling where ‘fitting in’ is natural for everyone but you. Like you were born on an alien planet where family members recognise what you are and find their own ways of discouraging you.
Jamal meets his father for the first time halfway through the book.
His dad lives in Turkey, hasn’t made anything of himself yet imparts his own brand of wisdom on Jamal. And while Jamal is now an adult, he is still drifting. Shame continues to haunt him, even as this trip was meant to put his past in perspective.
This is a novel of precise observation and sublime use of language, and has become a favourite of mine. One message I took away, and I’m paraphrasing here, is the idea that our identity is linked to memory, and memory fades.
March 27, 2022
A sexual awakening underscores bigger tensions – of faith, racism, tradition and shame – in a tender and candid first novel from the prize-winning poet.
You can check out my review on Sakr's debut for Guardian Aus here: https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2...
You can check out my review on Sakr's debut for Guardian Aus here: https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2...
June 29, 2022
Beautiful novel, stunning language, challenged my belief that characters in stories will always find happiness. Suspended me in a moment in time; a moment of discovery happening slowly and with difficulty. An excellent book!
April 24, 2022
I wasn't keen on this book initially, because there were so many family members and I couldn't fathom who was related to whom, but as it went on I became more involved in this story of a gay Muslim man in western Sydney and his trials to be accepted within his culture and particularly his family. It covered the period of the Cronulla riots and the gay marriage plebiscite with references to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. There were many words I had never come across before and he doesn't spoon feed us, if you want to understand you Google as you go along. I think at the end of it I had a slightly better understanding of the Lebanese Muslim community and their thinking, so it was certainly a worthwhile read. One passage which I found illuminating was this: "Unlike their parents who had been dragged to the other side of the world, Jamal's generation rarely left the area, let alone the country. None of them had been further than Queensland. They got married and moved into houses as close to their mothers as possible, making clusters of convenience and closeness. Jamal sometimes wondered if a map of Lebanon's villages before the war would match where families had ended up in Sydney, if they had unconsciously replicated a way of being that no longer existed."
It isn't hard to believe that the author is primarily a poet, his telling of the story is hard and even brutal, as well as showing us the vulnerability of a sensitive young man living in poverty in the same city in which I live, a society rent by racism, Islamophobia and homophobia. Special.
It isn't hard to believe that the author is primarily a poet, his telling of the story is hard and even brutal, as well as showing us the vulnerability of a sensitive young man living in poverty in the same city in which I live, a society rent by racism, Islamophobia and homophobia. Special.
Read
March 28, 2022Jamal Smith: what a name. All those Smiths and Macquaries and Bradleys and Grants – and how many of them named Jamal? The Jamals have Ahmad, jazz pianist – and Jamal Crawford, Jamal Idris and Jamal Woolard.
Protagonist, authorial avatar, young man’s portrait, Jamal Smith is in good fictional company, too: incongruous anglicisms as monikers range from Brian Castro’s Seamus O’Young to Zadie Smith’s Alex-Li Tandem. You’re probably thinking you’d like to be a Jamal, too, but Omar Sakr would discourage you. Being a Jamal is hard, he’d say.
“The social novel,” American critic Irving Howe wrote, “the Bildungsroman, the novel of manners – all place or locate their characters in a society palpable and populated, resembling (but how much and in what ways?) the actual world; all endow their characters with names such as actual persons might have … and all treat the self as a precious reserve or fragile hypothesis of individuality, while acknowledging that it is also a social creation formed through our relations with others.”
This is true – but how much and in what ways? Of Jamal, with his own “fragile hypothesis of individuality” and name “such as actual persons might have” (his Lebanese grandfather having subbed out the Khaddaj surname upon arrival in Australia), we get a few key details.
In Jamal’s neck of the (western Sydney) woods, everything that doesn’t begin with cars and end with money, after a due period of evaluation and deliberation, is usually deemed “gay”. The taboo is harder to face when embodied in a family member (notwithstanding that, in Jamal’s case, “bisexual” may be more accurate).
Self-sacrifice is the order of the day, in everything from one’s hidden sexuality to the money provided to family – as demonstrated by his friend Ilo, whose income, earned as a McDonald’s shift manager, “went to his parents to help pay the bills, or to give to their church […] he rarely had anything left over for himself”.
The environment is sacrificed too: local bus seats (“gum-blotted, cig-burned”), and a PE staffroom (burnt down “not once, not twice, but three times”, less as an act of vandalism than a civic attempt to ensure that the building gets renovated). After travelling to meet his estranged father in Turkey, Jamal’s return to Australia provokes a “deluge of memory and judgement”.
The reader’s judgement of Jamal’s story comes from knowing more about him than he does: his self-conception as a slight, effete, artistic being is constantly undermined; only the last descriptor is close to the truth (his friend Emir dubs him “a masc Leb”). While eating food from Lebanon that “looked like swamp water” and makes Jamal want to vomit, his mother Hala tells him that he should “just pretend” to like it, neatly summarising the skill Jamal is normally adept at.
Read more:
https://www.smh.com.au/culture/books/...
Protagonist, authorial avatar, young man’s portrait, Jamal Smith is in good fictional company, too: incongruous anglicisms as monikers range from Brian Castro’s Seamus O’Young to Zadie Smith’s Alex-Li Tandem. You’re probably thinking you’d like to be a Jamal, too, but Omar Sakr would discourage you. Being a Jamal is hard, he’d say.
“The social novel,” American critic Irving Howe wrote, “the Bildungsroman, the novel of manners – all place or locate their characters in a society palpable and populated, resembling (but how much and in what ways?) the actual world; all endow their characters with names such as actual persons might have … and all treat the self as a precious reserve or fragile hypothesis of individuality, while acknowledging that it is also a social creation formed through our relations with others.”
This is true – but how much and in what ways? Of Jamal, with his own “fragile hypothesis of individuality” and name “such as actual persons might have” (his Lebanese grandfather having subbed out the Khaddaj surname upon arrival in Australia), we get a few key details.
In Jamal’s neck of the (western Sydney) woods, everything that doesn’t begin with cars and end with money, after a due period of evaluation and deliberation, is usually deemed “gay”. The taboo is harder to face when embodied in a family member (notwithstanding that, in Jamal’s case, “bisexual” may be more accurate).
Self-sacrifice is the order of the day, in everything from one’s hidden sexuality to the money provided to family – as demonstrated by his friend Ilo, whose income, earned as a McDonald’s shift manager, “went to his parents to help pay the bills, or to give to their church […] he rarely had anything left over for himself”.
The environment is sacrificed too: local bus seats (“gum-blotted, cig-burned”), and a PE staffroom (burnt down “not once, not twice, but three times”, less as an act of vandalism than a civic attempt to ensure that the building gets renovated). After travelling to meet his estranged father in Turkey, Jamal’s return to Australia provokes a “deluge of memory and judgement”.
The reader’s judgement of Jamal’s story comes from knowing more about him than he does: his self-conception as a slight, effete, artistic being is constantly undermined; only the last descriptor is close to the truth (his friend Emir dubs him “a masc Leb”). While eating food from Lebanon that “looked like swamp water” and makes Jamal want to vomit, his mother Hala tells him that he should “just pretend” to like it, neatly summarising the skill Jamal is normally adept at.
Read more:
https://www.smh.com.au/culture/books/...
May 11, 2022
3.5**
As someone who enjoys Omar’s poetry, this was one of my most anticipated reads of the year. This was not a bad debut.
I enjoyed the second half of the book more, but overall it was a decent story. It felt like a little ode to Western Sydney, and the characters felt a little close to home. My only issue with this book was the lack of cohesiveness between the beginning, middle, and end. It jumps in time quite a bit and doesn’t really connect as well as it should. It even felt like it was missing a middle part.
But as always, keen to read more of what Omar writes in the future.
As someone who enjoys Omar’s poetry, this was one of my most anticipated reads of the year. This was not a bad debut.
I enjoyed the second half of the book more, but overall it was a decent story. It felt like a little ode to Western Sydney, and the characters felt a little close to home. My only issue with this book was the lack of cohesiveness between the beginning, middle, and end. It jumps in time quite a bit and doesn’t really connect as well as it should. It even felt like it was missing a middle part.
But as always, keen to read more of what Omar writes in the future.
September 4, 2022
I was introduced to Sakr at Adelaide Writer's Week earlier this year.
This novel is about growing up in Australia belonging to two minority groups. Jamal Smith grows up in the Sydney suburb of Liverpool as a gay Muslim. The title doesn't refer to his sexuality, rather that his parents had consexual sex and 9 months later, well, you know the story. However Jamal's father wants nothing to do with either of them.
The story is well crafted and well told and shows what so many young people worldwide are going through.
This novel is about growing up in Australia belonging to two minority groups. Jamal Smith grows up in the Sydney suburb of Liverpool as a gay Muslim. The title doesn't refer to his sexuality, rather that his parents had consexual sex and 9 months later, well, you know the story. However Jamal's father wants nothing to do with either of them.
The story is well crafted and well told and shows what so many young people worldwide are going through.
December 14, 2023
It took a little bit to adjust to the rhythm of Sakr’s writing and the jumps between times and place, which sometimes felt like a strange fever dream. The writing and story itself is beautiful and moving.
Jamal struggles to reconcile his identity as a bisexual man within his religion and community. As does his family, who all have their own struggles and contradictory lifestyles to what is accepted within their faith. It’s ultimately a story about flawed and dysfunctional characters tying to find their place in a harsh world.
I really enjoyed the imagery and prose of Sakr’s writing and the relationships between the characters. I felt like you could tell that it was based on his own experiences, and felt very grounded in reality.
Jamal struggles to reconcile his identity as a bisexual man within his religion and community. As does his family, who all have their own struggles and contradictory lifestyles to what is accepted within their faith. It’s ultimately a story about flawed and dysfunctional characters tying to find their place in a harsh world.
I really enjoyed the imagery and prose of Sakr’s writing and the relationships between the characters. I felt like you could tell that it was based on his own experiences, and felt very grounded in reality.
December 16, 2023
Poetry often drops me into a place or a feeling, holds me there for a moment, and then it’s over. Sakr’s writing is poetry, but it for me could not sustain a cogent narrative over the course of a novel. I was often disoriented by the temporal shifts and volume of characters.
Sakr does a masterful job however of creating feeling and painting a vibrant scene. His snapshots into of as a bisexual Muslim man growing up in Australia were at once devastating and uplifting
Sakr does a masterful job however of creating feeling and painting a vibrant scene. His snapshots into of as a bisexual Muslim man growing up in Australia were at once devastating and uplifting
June 13, 2022
Check out my Booktube review: Click here
It's Pride month, so why not embrace some books that celebrate all things LGBTQ+?
This book brings us the story of a man, Jamal Smith, who is struggling to come to terms with his sexuality and how he can fit within his community. While I wanted to embrace the journey, I founded the storytelling disjointed and I didn't enjoy the lack of punctuation for dialogue. For me, it ruined the fluidity of the story.
The first part of this book, when Jamal is a teenager, is definitely the most engaging. I felt the story fell apart as Jamal grew, and this is where the disjointed story line felt like it kicked in. While the author intended to drag me into Jamal's extended family, so I could appreciate and experience everything from his point of view, I struggled to do that with this book. There was something not working for me. Something that did not wring true.
What I did enjoy is this novel is set in Australia, with references that were familiar to me. That grounded this novel for me somewhat, but not enough to make this an enjoyable read, and I did think I would have enjoyed this more.
It's Pride month, so why not embrace some books that celebrate all things LGBTQ+?
This book brings us the story of a man, Jamal Smith, who is struggling to come to terms with his sexuality and how he can fit within his community. While I wanted to embrace the journey, I founded the storytelling disjointed and I didn't enjoy the lack of punctuation for dialogue. For me, it ruined the fluidity of the story.
The first part of this book, when Jamal is a teenager, is definitely the most engaging. I felt the story fell apart as Jamal grew, and this is where the disjointed story line felt like it kicked in. While the author intended to drag me into Jamal's extended family, so I could appreciate and experience everything from his point of view, I struggled to do that with this book. There was something not working for me. Something that did not wring true.
What I did enjoy is this novel is set in Australia, with references that were familiar to me. That grounded this novel for me somewhat, but not enough to make this an enjoyable read, and I did think I would have enjoyed this more.
September 18, 2024
Maybe 3.5 🤔 this is really tough to rate! I liked it, the story was really interesting, covered themes that I usually don't come across, written in an unusual way. The djinns inclusion was my favourite so disappointing that it never really went anywhere and wasn't really a key part to the story.
Overall it left me feeling quite sad for a lot of the characters and a bit of a downer.
Overall it left me feeling quite sad for a lot of the characters and a bit of a downer.
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