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4.39 AVERAGE
4.39 AVERAGE
4.5 stars
Dancing in the Mosque is the memoir of a rebel. Homeira Qaderi rebelled against the Taliban's expectations for women, teaching young children secular education behind the backs of her oppressors. Dancing despite the danger. She rebels against the patriarchal expectations of her husband who despises her independence and willpower. She rebels against acceptance that her son is lost to her.
This is written in two interwoven ways. Part of this memoir is traditional, Qaderi writing about her childhood and young adulthood under Russian occupation then Taliban rule. She navigates life while hiding in basements from bombs and tanks and then avoiding violence under the Taliban's gender-based prejudice. The second element of this memoir is a letter to her son. She was forced to lose custody of her only child when she was divorced by her husband. Believing that her husband's family tell her child that she is forever gone, she writes to him letters about her life and experiences. These letters are this memoir. How much she clearly misses her son.
“Do not believe them! I haven’t died. I am living a life of exile, in a place that has its own beauty, its own laws, and its own problems. But to my eternal pain, it does not have the most important element of my being, of my soul. It does not have you.”
So, she is not just writing this memoir to share with the public, but in the hopes that her son will one day read her words and know her side of the story.
My heart was tangled around Homeira's in so many instances during this memoir. She is a fighter and her personality and fire come through in her prose. Her hopes for her country and for her family. Reading this was an incredibly emotional experience.
“But, Siawash, I want you to be a rebel, to grow up to fight the antiquated, brutal ways of that land. My son, nothing can diminish this sense of motherhood in me. Let your uncle Jaber refer to you as “his son,” but you and I both know the truth.”
content warnings for: violence, war, child sexual abuse, pedophilia, self-immolation/suicide, forced marriage, polygamy, divorce, forced parent/child separation, grief.
Dancing in the Mosque is the memoir of a rebel. Homeira Qaderi rebelled against the Taliban's expectations for women, teaching young children secular education behind the backs of her oppressors. Dancing despite the danger. She rebels against the patriarchal expectations of her husband who despises her independence and willpower. She rebels against acceptance that her son is lost to her.
This is written in two interwoven ways. Part of this memoir is traditional, Qaderi writing about her childhood and young adulthood under Russian occupation then Taliban rule. She navigates life while hiding in basements from bombs and tanks and then avoiding violence under the Taliban's gender-based prejudice. The second element of this memoir is a letter to her son. She was forced to lose custody of her only child when she was divorced by her husband. Believing that her husband's family tell her child that she is forever gone, she writes to him letters about her life and experiences. These letters are this memoir. How much she clearly misses her son.
“Do not believe them! I haven’t died. I am living a life of exile, in a place that has its own beauty, its own laws, and its own problems. But to my eternal pain, it does not have the most important element of my being, of my soul. It does not have you.”
So, she is not just writing this memoir to share with the public, but in the hopes that her son will one day read her words and know her side of the story.
My heart was tangled around Homeira's in so many instances during this memoir. She is a fighter and her personality and fire come through in her prose. Her hopes for her country and for her family. Reading this was an incredibly emotional experience.
“But, Siawash, I want you to be a rebel, to grow up to fight the antiquated, brutal ways of that land. My son, nothing can diminish this sense of motherhood in me. Let your uncle Jaber refer to you as “his son,” but you and I both know the truth.”
content warnings for: violence, war, child sexual abuse, pedophilia, self-immolation/suicide, forced marriage, polygamy, divorce, forced parent/child separation, grief.
challenging
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
This was honest writing. Lots of love and respect to the author for having the courage to put her life on paper. The collective stories of Afghan women are so familiar to me. Yet reading this one saddened me even more.
One tiny note. I've noticed that every time Homeira spoke of her ex-husband, she'd narrate some of his brutal actions, and then she says "But he is a good man and I respect him" or something to that effect. I believe her, I just wished she'd narrate some examples too that made him a good man. Nonetheless, it's not easy to write such personal anecdotes for the world to read. And for that, hats off!
Ps. Just one of these days, I hope I read a happy memoir\or even fiction written by an Afghan woman, for Afghan women.
One tiny note. I've noticed that every time Homeira spoke of her ex-husband, she'd narrate some of his brutal actions, and then she says "But he is a good man and I respect him" or something to that effect. I believe her, I just wished she'd narrate some examples too that made him a good man. Nonetheless, it's not easy to write such personal anecdotes for the world to read. And for that, hats off!
Ps. Just one of these days, I hope I read a happy memoir\or even fiction written by an Afghan woman, for Afghan women.
emotional
informative
reflective
sad
slow-paced
I am dumbfounded and just cannot imagine the life the author has...It is really moving yet sad.
challenging
dark
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Content Warnings
Moderate: Pedophilia, Sexual assault, Sexual violence, Violence, War
challenging
emotional
informative
reflective
sad
medium-paced
“I heard that they’ve asked you about your mother and that you cried when told your mother is dead. Do not believe them. I haven’t died. I’m living a life of exile in a place that has its own beauty, it’s own laws, and it’s own problems. But to my eternal pain it does not have the most important element of my being, of my soul - it does not have you.”
I hadn’t heard of Homeira Qaderi until I read this book. Her pen flows with beautiful prose, almost too beautiful to be describing harrowing circumstances; with love for a son she’s estranged from at the time of writing this book; and a story about a life lived under numerous occupations, varying forms of oppression and brutality and as is so often the case with political, social and theological forms of oppression, various forms of the patriarchy.
Qaderi has a captivating voice throughout most of the book, and is able to transport you a time and place filled with nostalgia in the vein of Susan Abulhawa and Nawal el Saadawi. You don’t just read this book, you live in it. The anxiety of being caught by the Taliban, the infuriating hopelessness of being resigned to the fate of living almost as captors of one half of the society, the joy in the smallest things, the normalcy of war, the warm tingling of first love - you feel it all and more.
However, towards the end of the book, I felt this magic start to wear off. The ending itself felt cut short and the same tone that I loved in the many chapters before, did not last through to the last few. It felt like the ending was decided and we were rushing to it. As always with personal stories and memoirs, it is hard to criticise this without criticising a life lived. But I wish there was a rounder ending to this journey she took us on, or at least a forecasting to the future.
Having said all this, this was a great book I would recommend to anyone!
I hadn’t heard of Homeira Qaderi until I read this book. Her pen flows with beautiful prose, almost too beautiful to be describing harrowing circumstances; with love for a son she’s estranged from at the time of writing this book; and a story about a life lived under numerous occupations, varying forms of oppression and brutality and as is so often the case with political, social and theological forms of oppression, various forms of the patriarchy.
Qaderi has a captivating voice throughout most of the book, and is able to transport you a time and place filled with nostalgia in the vein of Susan Abulhawa and Nawal el Saadawi. You don’t just read this book, you live in it. The anxiety of being caught by the Taliban, the infuriating hopelessness of being resigned to the fate of living almost as captors of one half of the society, the joy in the smallest things, the normalcy of war, the warm tingling of first love - you feel it all and more.
However, towards the end of the book, I felt this magic start to wear off. The ending itself felt cut short and the same tone that I loved in the many chapters before, did not last through to the last few. It felt like the ending was decided and we were rushing to it. As always with personal stories and memoirs, it is hard to criticise this without criticising a life lived. But I wish there was a rounder ending to this journey she took us on, or at least a forecasting to the future.
Having said all this, this was a great book I would recommend to anyone!