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bethanwx's review
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
4.25
A heartfelt memoir of the impressive Mohsin Zaidi looking back at his relationship with his sexuality as he grew up.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Racism and Homophobia
31smithe's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
4.75
joshna_1's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
medium-paced
5.0
crissyh's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
medium-paced
4.75
helen's review against another edition
5.0
Incredibly moving, insightful and uplifting memoir.
Zaidi writes about the sense of unbelonging he felt from growing up in a Muslim Pakistani family in a hostile England, from being a working class East Londoner at Oxford University, and from being a criminal barrister with brown skin, frequently mistaken for his clients. The only real sense of belonging he feels for a long time is within his religiously conservative family, which is why he struggles to come out to them as gay because he knows for certain that it will create a huge rift.
This is a compassionate and forgiving love letter to his parents, particularly his mother. He helped me to understand why his parents felt the need to cling to their traditional view of family. Not all of their attitudes are tied to religion or culture - they also stem from their experiences in a council house in 80s Britain in the face of economic and racial exclusion.
It deals with heavy subject matter, including bullying, racism, internalised homophobia and suicidal thoughts, but it's also uplifting and funny. He finds community with his friends, and hope in the changing attitudes of younger people. And he finds romantic love with the man who is now his husband.
To give an example of the humour in the book: Zaidi recounts an event for parents of LGBT South Asians which turns into a bragging contest about how successful their children are and his mum whispers to him "Shall I drop the Oxford bomb?".
Favourite quotes:
"Although I had never yelled at my parents at that moment I wanted to. I held back, reminding myself how isolated they must feel. I'd left my community, but I had found another. They did not have this option. They couldn't tell some of their siblings, their living parents, nor their network of friends. I had an instinctive need to protect them, which made it difficult to get angry."
Zaidi writes about the sense of unbelonging he felt from growing up in a Muslim Pakistani family in a hostile England, from being a working class East Londoner at Oxford University, and from being a criminal barrister with brown skin, frequently mistaken for his clients. The only real sense of belonging he feels for a long time is within his religiously conservative family, which is why he struggles to come out to them as gay because he knows for certain that it will create a huge rift.
This is a compassionate and forgiving love letter to his parents, particularly his mother. He helped me to understand why his parents felt the need to cling to their traditional view of family. Not all of their attitudes are tied to religion or culture - they also stem from their experiences in a council house in 80s Britain in the face of economic and racial exclusion.
It deals with heavy subject matter, including bullying, racism, internalised homophobia and suicidal thoughts, but it's also uplifting and funny. He finds community with his friends, and hope in the changing attitudes of younger people. And he finds romantic love with the man who is now his husband.
To give an example of the humour in the book: Zaidi recounts an event for parents of LGBT South Asians which turns into a bragging contest about how successful their children are and his mum whispers to him "Shall I drop the Oxford bomb?".
Favourite quotes:
"Although I had never yelled at my parents at that moment I wanted to. I held back, reminding myself how isolated they must feel. I'd left my community, but I had found another. They did not have this option. They couldn't tell some of their siblings, their living parents, nor their network of friends. I had an instinctive need to protect them, which made it difficult to get angry."
richytofu's review against another edition
4.0
When I saw the title of this memoir, I assumed it was ironic. A tongue in cheek sarcastic remark: “yeah of course I’m totally a dutiful boy, a dutiful gay Muslim boy”. I thought the whole book would show someone coming to terms with their true identity and letting go of their incompatible roots as part of the process of growing up. That’s usually what happens to people who go through what Mohsin went through. I’ve thought about similar things, of cutting off people close to me who I think won’t support me as I appear to change my beliefs and lifestyle.
What I didn’t expect was that the title, and the whole book, was totally sincere in its use of the adjective “dutiful”. Mohsin tries so hard to maintain his relationship with his parents, even through their apparent crisis in having a gay son. I suppose his story is a rarity. Nevertheless it’s important to hear a story about never giving up on family.
What I didn’t expect was that the title, and the whole book, was totally sincere in its use of the adjective “dutiful”. Mohsin tries so hard to maintain his relationship with his parents, even through their apparent crisis in having a gay son. I suppose his story is a rarity. Nevertheless it’s important to hear a story about never giving up on family.
yonpoponyo's review against another edition
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
5.0