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3.72 AVERAGE
3.72 AVERAGE
This was heralded as a confronting read, but it's not my cup of tea - too much toxic masculinity, that I just didn't have the enthusiasm to pick through. To be honest, I probably wouldn't have finished it if I hadn't been on a plane, with nothing else to read. In particular, I found the last third of the book to be quite disconnected from the rest of the text. I wish I'd enjoyed it more, and am glad it exists, nonetheless.
dark
sad
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
For people not from Western Sydney, this book might be a little unsavoury, or perhaps even confronting but as someone from Western Sydney, the characters in this book are very very real. It is real.
This book really threw me back to high school. Bani Adam really reminds me a lot of my high school self, how I always thought I was better because I wasn't like the other Arabs or wogs in my year. But really I was as naive as them and lacked a lot of self-awareness just like Bani does.
I do love Bani's progression and character development in the third act. I love that he sets out to be more than a Punchbowl boy, that he learns his lesson, but I just also love his friendship with Bucky too. I find it so endearing.
This book really threw me back to high school. Bani Adam really reminds me a lot of my high school self, how I always thought I was better because I wasn't like the other Arabs or wogs in my year. But really I was as naive as them and lacked a lot of self-awareness just like Bani does.
I do love Bani's progression and character development in the third act. I love that he sets out to be more than a Punchbowl boy, that he learns his lesson, but I just also love his friendship with Bucky too. I find it so endearing.
The Lebs is a confronting, demanding, yet compulsively readable novel. It's a very real story of a marginalised community, which is focused on a tense, conflict riddled moment in Sydney in the early 2000s. Ahmad is both honest and authentic in the way he constructs this narrative, the culture of toxic masculinity that is presented is raw and unrelenting. But at its heart, The Lebs is a story about identity. In it, Ahmad considers in particular, how we are shaped by our cultural identity, what it means when that culture identity operates in opposition to others, and what happens when the expectations and by extension opportunities of your culture, are at odds with what you want for yourself, or who you feel you are. Although in some moments, its changes of direction felt a bit disconnected, ultimately I thought this was an excellent read.
Vivid, bleak and occasionally funny. This is a look into a kind of toxic masculinity that isn't often examined closely. It's not fun to read, but I'm glad it exists.
There are books that gently seduce you in, weaving their way into your consciousness without you really realising the impact. The Lebs is not one of those books. Ahmad's novel straps the reader in for a wild ride, the fast pacing and tone shifts working to convey the intensity of teen masculinity in a specific time, place and context. I found it an unforgettable read, the more so because it expects the reader to do the work of sorting out what all this means.
Ahmad's setting is a flashpoint in Australian society: Punchbowl Boys High in the early millennium. This is a time when the Sydney media was in a near hysterical state about "Lebanese gangs", coverage which had started well before the high profile gang rapes. Entire suburbs - Punchbowl, Lakemba, Bankstown - were frequently used as synonyms for chaotic evil in the Daily Tele and talkback. Prior to 9/11 this narrative was primarily racial rather than religious - with a dogwhistle implication that the violence of Beirut was caused by the violence of its young male inhabitants - but that shifted and broadened quickly after a Saudi terrorist living in Afghanistan became a global symbol. Of course my viewpoint - that of an Anglo-descended Sydneysider - is not the viewpoint of the book, although it obviously informs my reading.
Ahmad takes us into the quadrangles and classrooms of Punchbowl High, through the eyes of Bani Adams, who like most teens, feels desperately and secretly like he doesn't belong. Somewhere beyond the walls of his school prison, he's sure, is a white, literary community he belongs to. If this makes it all sound very emo, it really, really isn't. Ahmad punches his sentences out rapidly, capturing a sense of physicality. Sweat glistens off the page. Violence and desire and stress are all rendered on the bodies of the protagonists. Bani's shifting perspective can have a whiplash quality to it, as his moments of growth are punctuated by losing control, or at least allowing the tensions so inherent to any adolescence, let alone one crowded by global tension, explode.
But the book isn't really about Bani. I mean, Bani is our guide on this journey, but Ahmad isn't interested in overly pretending this isn't primarily a book about a community at a moment in time. The boys of Punchbowl High muck up, they get mad, they pray, they drink and then debate absolution. They scream anti-Semitic slogans and joke about the promiscuity of white 'Aussie' girls. They cruise for blow jobs, watch porn in class, defend their mothers and decide when and how to retaliate against FOB (Pacific Islander) conflict with Lebs. They navigate a community as rife with religious difference, different nationalities and varying power dynamics as any other. And they do that while trying to make sense of everyday, and not-so-everyday, hypocrisies stemming from living in a hostile culture. Most of all, the Lebs in this book, demand to be heard.
Bots of this are particularly hard to read as a member of a family of educators. The failures of Punchbowl High are not the focus of the book, but they are criminal. I felt bile in my throat at times, as (some) teachers, principals and most of all an entire education systems completely failed to give a crap, leaving an entire generation without anything resembling an education. There is savagery in this portrayal, of an institution more prison than school, and more concerned with corralling and going through the motions than any outcome. It contrasts sharply with later experiences Bani has with boxing, where teaching occurs.
Reading a couple of the mainstream reviews on this did my head in. I started to wonder if they had read the same book that I had. For starters, they found the book funny, which, well I can admire the humour, wasn't a term I would have chosen for my own reading. But then, they both suggested that a particular line – voiced by a female character – that blamed gang rape victims for being promiscuous was "going too far". I was a little bewildered, did this mean that so many of the other sentiments voiced by characters – kill all Jews, for starters – was just AOK? It implied to me that they thought somehow Ahmad was telling a morality tale here, shaping characters for his audience to identify with and learn from. And that somehow, these characters had to fit within a mainstream left narrative about what is and isn't acceptable. It didn't help that one also argued that the boys' religiosity wasn't credible, not only misunderstanding the culture portrayed, but perhaps unaware that it is a different culture.
It was particularly irksome to me because of the denouement of the book (which is slightly clumsier in construct than the rest) comes with savage exposure of some artsy theatre types, who arrive to create a play in the west, while showing only interest in their own reactions to it. Ahmad forcefully contrasts Bani's distress at a slogan the others barely notice, with their passionate interest in sexist comments: exactly the sluts attitude, actually. In entirely unsubtle ways – and the book is not about subtle, so that's not a criticism – we are shown how unable white Sydney is to just listen, be aware, sit with or try to understand this part of it. This is all reflected through Bani's journey: his realisation of what it means to be of a culture, and how to understand the ways it empowers, not limits you.
But while I'm tempted to leave that as a nice pat ending the review, it might suggest a nice pat ending to a book which is not at all into that. This book is a challenge to understand, to avoid filters. Much of the content is confronting, but some of it is amazingly tender, particularly the portrayal of Bani's gentle, devout father; the solace he finds in boxing, and the teaching that comes with it; and the even the deep commitment of the boys. This isn't a condemnation or a celebration of a culture, it is a demand that we stop trying to make judgments through our filter and listen, learn and engage.
Ahmad's setting is a flashpoint in Australian society: Punchbowl Boys High in the early millennium. This is a time when the Sydney media was in a near hysterical state about "Lebanese gangs", coverage which had started well before the high profile gang rapes. Entire suburbs - Punchbowl, Lakemba, Bankstown - were frequently used as synonyms for chaotic evil in the Daily Tele and talkback. Prior to 9/11 this narrative was primarily racial rather than religious - with a dogwhistle implication that the violence of Beirut was caused by the violence of its young male inhabitants - but that shifted and broadened quickly after a Saudi terrorist living in Afghanistan became a global symbol. Of course my viewpoint - that of an Anglo-descended Sydneysider - is not the viewpoint of the book, although it obviously informs my reading.
Ahmad takes us into the quadrangles and classrooms of Punchbowl High, through the eyes of Bani Adams, who like most teens, feels desperately and secretly like he doesn't belong. Somewhere beyond the walls of his school prison, he's sure, is a white, literary community he belongs to. If this makes it all sound very emo, it really, really isn't. Ahmad punches his sentences out rapidly, capturing a sense of physicality. Sweat glistens off the page. Violence and desire and stress are all rendered on the bodies of the protagonists. Bani's shifting perspective can have a whiplash quality to it, as his moments of growth are punctuated by losing control, or at least allowing the tensions so inherent to any adolescence, let alone one crowded by global tension, explode.
But the book isn't really about Bani. I mean, Bani is our guide on this journey, but Ahmad isn't interested in overly pretending this isn't primarily a book about a community at a moment in time. The boys of Punchbowl High muck up, they get mad, they pray, they drink and then debate absolution. They scream anti-Semitic slogans and joke about the promiscuity of white 'Aussie' girls. They cruise for blow jobs, watch porn in class, defend their mothers and decide when and how to retaliate against FOB (Pacific Islander) conflict with Lebs. They navigate a community as rife with religious difference, different nationalities and varying power dynamics as any other. And they do that while trying to make sense of everyday, and not-so-everyday, hypocrisies stemming from living in a hostile culture. Most of all, the Lebs in this book, demand to be heard.
Bots of this are particularly hard to read as a member of a family of educators. The failures of Punchbowl High are not the focus of the book, but they are criminal. I felt bile in my throat at times, as (some) teachers, principals and most of all an entire education systems completely failed to give a crap, leaving an entire generation without anything resembling an education. There is savagery in this portrayal, of an institution more prison than school, and more concerned with corralling and going through the motions than any outcome. It contrasts sharply with later experiences Bani has with boxing, where teaching occurs.
Reading a couple of the mainstream reviews on this did my head in. I started to wonder if they had read the same book that I had. For starters, they found the book funny, which, well I can admire the humour, wasn't a term I would have chosen for my own reading. But then, they both suggested that a particular line – voiced by a female character – that blamed gang rape victims for being promiscuous was "going too far". I was a little bewildered, did this mean that so many of the other sentiments voiced by characters – kill all Jews, for starters – was just AOK? It implied to me that they thought somehow Ahmad was telling a morality tale here, shaping characters for his audience to identify with and learn from. And that somehow, these characters had to fit within a mainstream left narrative about what is and isn't acceptable. It didn't help that one also argued that the boys' religiosity wasn't credible, not only misunderstanding the culture portrayed, but perhaps unaware that it is a different culture.
It was particularly irksome to me because of the denouement of the book (which is slightly clumsier in construct than the rest) comes with savage exposure of some artsy theatre types, who arrive to create a play in the west, while showing only interest in their own reactions to it. Ahmad forcefully contrasts Bani's distress at a slogan the others barely notice, with their passionate interest in sexist comments: exactly the sluts attitude, actually. In entirely unsubtle ways – and the book is not about subtle, so that's not a criticism – we are shown how unable white Sydney is to just listen, be aware, sit with or try to understand this part of it. This is all reflected through Bani's journey: his realisation of what it means to be of a culture, and how to understand the ways it empowers, not limits you.
But while I'm tempted to leave that as a nice pat ending the review, it might suggest a nice pat ending to a book which is not at all into that. This book is a challenge to understand, to avoid filters. Much of the content is confronting, but some of it is amazingly tender, particularly the portrayal of Bani's gentle, devout father; the solace he finds in boxing, and the teaching that comes with it; and the even the deep commitment of the boys. This isn't a condemnation or a celebration of a culture, it is a demand that we stop trying to make judgments through our filter and listen, learn and engage.
THE LEBS will never be the kind of book that could say I enjoyed reading, but it was engaging and held my interest.
His high school life portrays a picture that makes for confrontational reading. It’s a depressing picture of youths who seem to have little care for themselves or each other. There are no lifelong friendships to be made here; it’s about survival and dealing with the actions of peers whose opinions are as uninformed as the narrator’s at times.
I do wish there was greater focus on Bani’s family and the influence they had on him. We learn much later in the book he comes from a large family, but they are rarely mentioned We learn that his father decided to move the family from inner city Sydney, away from what he considered bad influences on his children, but only discover at the end his wider family are not as law abiding as I assumed.
At the end I was cheering for Bani as he makes some powerful discoveries about himself and how he is perceived. Bani is curious, and even when being mocked, he still plugs away, asking questions and trying to understand. But what of those he went to school with? All I can see are groups of people whose understanding is unlikely to budge from those formed in their youth, and that’s disappointing.
His high school life portrays a picture that makes for confrontational reading. It’s a depressing picture of youths who seem to have little care for themselves or each other. There are no lifelong friendships to be made here; it’s about survival and dealing with the actions of peers whose opinions are as uninformed as the narrator’s at times.
I do wish there was greater focus on Bani’s family and the influence they had on him. We learn much later in the book he comes from a large family, but they are rarely mentioned We learn that his father decided to move the family from inner city Sydney, away from what he considered bad influences on his children, but only discover at the end his wider family are not as law abiding as I assumed.
At the end I was cheering for Bani as he makes some powerful discoveries about himself and how he is perceived. Bani is curious, and even when being mocked, he still plugs away, asking questions and trying to understand. But what of those he went to school with? All I can see are groups of people whose understanding is unlikely to budge from those formed in their youth, and that’s disappointing.
A compelling read, raw and it feels very real. It would only be confrontational or shocking if you know nothing about how teenage boys act in groups, or if you live in a monocultural bubble. The book loses some momentum in the third part: the boxing writing is a vivid example of the form, but the plot about arts work drags on a bit as the narrator struggles to form a new identity in his post-school life. The evisceration of a very white arts community could be read as a foundational story for Sweatshop, especially given the admission in the acknowledgements that the Bucky character is based on Peter Polites. The narrator's final realisations, particularly that it's not possible to form a post-racial identity or fully escape one's heritage, plus the final scene with Bucky, make it all worthwhile. Definitely worth reading.
The first chapter is an introduction to the culture Bani Adams lives in. It’s a representation of the culture around him, and the different attitude he has to it.
The book is an exploration of the humanity in Bani Adams. A person trying to be better but their environment being a difficult and uncertain ground to stir around. Especially without the adequate support to embark on a different tradition from the one Bank is exposed to.
This is confronting and raw, it’s a book to read when you’re down for something like that
The book is an exploration of the humanity in Bani Adams. A person trying to be better but their environment being a difficult and uncertain ground to stir around. Especially without the adequate support to embark on a different tradition from the one Bank is exposed to.
This is confronting and raw, it’s a book to read when you’re down for something like that