Al-Shaykh introduces us to her mother at the start of the book as a woman she barely knows, someone who abandoned her and her sister when they were small, and who appears mostly as a chaotic force. Although the prose is restrained, her hurt shines through. In an act of courage, love, creativity and skill, she then switches voice, to tell her mother's story in her own words.
A very different picture emerges from this, of a girl raised in rural poverty, then treated as a servant to a wealthier family in Beirut. A strong-willed girl denied any schooling or literacy, she steals time to herself at the cinema, remains terrible at housekeeping, and flirts with the gorgeous young toff in the neighbourhood. Their burgeoning attraction - Romeo and Juliet-style passion for these teenagers - is not enough to stop her child marriage to her widowed brother-in-law at the age of fourteen or the birth of her first child a year later. Nor are those things enough to stop the love affair. In the end, forced to choose between the possibility of freedom or custody of her daughters, she chooses herself - and, having done so barely looks back.
Neither Hanan nor her mother come out of this story as saints. Kamila is impetuous, self-centred and desperately hungry for love. Through her eyes, we see the hurt inflicted by Hanan's rejection and disinterest, her application of judgements from a world of difference.
But really, this book is a celebration of survival, and in that, a deep condemnation of a society that denies women education and autonomy. Kamila's selfishness feels earned - she has no reason to assume that anything will come to her if she does not take it. Kamila loves stories - the cinema is her obsession, and her attraction to her lover is, in part, that he reads to her and loves literature. Hanan recognises this shared passion as they reunite. Her mother draws, sings, and tells stories - in yet another act of rebellion, she adopts the image of a rose and a bird as a signature, rather than malformed letters that convey her illiteracy. But she cannot write down what her mind sees.
Hanan also obliquely explores the ways in which judge mothers who do not fight for custody. Kamila knows that she will not get more custody than her husband allows. To leave is to surrender her children, and the difficulty of this decision is drawn out. Having made it, she gets on with her life, seeking to keep the girls in it, but eschewing legal processes she would never have won. I was uncomfortably aware of how easy it is to focus on what she did not do rather than on those who made her choose in the first place.
What the book does well, is wonderful, and the voice is engaging, polished and varied. It does, however, have some pacing issues (common in family biographies, I think, where cutting out detail must be painful). The middle section drags a little, and it becomes hard to keep track of when things are occurring at times. It is not, however, the kind of book that needs to be perfect. It is pretty good just the way it is.