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koreanlinda 's review for:
The Thirty Names of Night
by Zeyn Joukhadar
inspiring
mysterious
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
Wow. It was a hard read. There were a few reasons that I found the book difficult to read.
1. The sentences felt like they were translated from another language. I teach English to immigrant students, and reading this book reminded me of the extra mental effort needed when I am reading my students’ writing. I don't mean that Joukhadar’s writing is inadequate to be published as a book. The sentences were clear but somehow felt awkward to me. (I’m not judging the writing based on native-speaker supremacy. I am a non-native English speaker.) I also do not mean Joukhadar would have used Google Translate to write the book. I wonder how much they were thinking of the story in Arabic or another language in their head and wrote it in English. At the same time, I know for sure Arabic was involved in writing the book because Joukhadar is multilingual and that is how multilingual brains work.
2. There were too many mysteries. First of all, I did not realize it was a mystery story until well into the book. Two obvious ones from the beginning were the name of Nadir (revealed later) because it was crossed out for a while and the rare bird that he was in search of following his mother’s footsteps. Then it turned out the gender identities of many supporting characters were hidden. Then many relationships between them turned out to be hidden. Nadir’s house and the community building were full of mysteries. It also showed that many things went unspoken in Nadir's family and culture, adding to his sense of suffocation.
3. The book tried to cover too many themes. The main ones are coming-out/coming-of-age of a young trans person and grief (not just one but many different kinds). Geronticus Simurghus the rare bird seemed to represent multiple things: the center of the story’s mystery, Nadir’s mother, Nadir’s true self, the lost habitat of Syrian immigrants, etc. I remember two parts in the story that particularly drew me in: Nadir’s struggle to come out to his gender-binary Syrian community and his grief over his mother's death. I wish that Joukhadar had focused more on certain themes and dug deeper into those areas. The book covers a large patch of time and space from Syria in the 1920s to NYC in the present. I felt like opportunities to get deeper into certain themes and develop supporting characters were lost in the author’s attempt to stretch thin.
Although I have listed some challenges that the book posed to me, there is one thing I deeply appreciate. The book forced me to face my Islamophobia. I already had an aversion to Muslim culture and people due to the thick-laden Islamaphobic propaganda of the US government; in addition, my ill-rooted hatred of Islam religion and culture grew bigger while teaching ESL students from Arab nations. AFAB/women students always wore a hijab, and when they entered Zoom, the first thing they did was tuck in every corner to make sure none of their hair was seen on the screen. It reminded me of the patriarchal nature of their culture that heavily limits their freedom. Often they were taking the Zoom class from home because they had to take care of young children during the class. It was common to have students who were pregnant and dropped the class in the middle of the semester for delivery. The pressure to make babies was high, and the more children these students had, the less energy and time they had left to pursue education and careers.
One of my book club members shared a perspective that helped me. She pointed out the ways the characters in The Thirty Name of Night sought their own life path in the society and community they lived in. Of course, some characters conformed without fail, but some made cracks at the rigid heteronomy and gender roles and showed different ways of living to people around them. Khalto Tala, Laila’s aunt, stayed single after her husband died and led a life of entrepreneurship and independence. Ilyas, Laila’s husband, started his new life as a man in the US after leaving his disapproving parents behind in Syria. My group member's comment made me realize that it is not just my Muslim AFAB/women students who live under restrictions, but we all do. No matter where we are born, we live under pressure to conform to multiple norms and standards that are either universal or unique to our culture and family. We all go through the process of learning how to conform or building muscles to push against such pressure. That is an inevitable part of living, and in that process, we get to experience hardship that connects us with others.
After finishing the book, I listened to an interview with Zeyn Joukhadar on The afikra Podcast. I learned that Joukhadar wrote this novel while moving around Brooklyn and Queens due to an unstable housing situation. Perhaps his real-time moving and consequential sense of floating gave inspiration to the story of migrating birds and gentrified Syrian immigrants. At the end of the interview, Joukhadar expressed their wish for readers to accept his book with a mind open to multiplicity. He didn’t want his book to be about one thing/theme/topic that is clean and easy to market. He wanted his readers to see that the world we live in is layer over layer of various ideas and lives, like how every part of NYC contains the multiple histories of different communities that existed previously.
I confess I expected an easy read, an escape from the ever-so-stressful reality that I am living in the United States in 2025. Well, The Thirty Names of Night was a good reminder that there is no true escape in a book. It showed me that I can not hyper-focus on one issue, let it be LGBTQ+ rights, body autonomy, or immigration policy because they all overlap. We are pushed to think of them as separate issues; we are made to believe that we exist in different groups of people, but that is not true. My rights to live as who I am, make decisions about my body, and live safely in this (or any) country all reside in one body. It is the same for all members of our community. I take a deep breath and remind myself that we live in multiplicity, and that makes us One.
Review by Linda (Any Pronouns) in March 2025
Personal essays on DefinitelyNotOkay.com
Artwork on Instagram @KoreanLinda
1. The sentences felt like they were translated from another language. I teach English to immigrant students, and reading this book reminded me of the extra mental effort needed when I am reading my students’ writing. I don't mean that Joukhadar’s writing is inadequate to be published as a book. The sentences were clear but somehow felt awkward to me. (I’m not judging the writing based on native-speaker supremacy. I am a non-native English speaker.) I also do not mean Joukhadar would have used Google Translate to write the book. I wonder how much they were thinking of the story in Arabic or another language in their head and wrote it in English. At the same time, I know for sure Arabic was involved in writing the book because Joukhadar is multilingual and that is how multilingual brains work.
2. There were too many mysteries. First of all, I did not realize it was a mystery story until well into the book. Two obvious ones from the beginning were the name of Nadir (revealed later) because it was crossed out for a while and the rare bird that he was in search of following his mother’s footsteps. Then it turned out the gender identities of many supporting characters were hidden. Then many relationships between them turned out to be hidden. Nadir’s house and the community building were full of mysteries. It also showed that many things went unspoken in Nadir's family and culture, adding to his sense of suffocation.
3. The book tried to cover too many themes. The main ones are coming-out/coming-of-age of a young trans person and grief (not just one but many different kinds). Geronticus Simurghus the rare bird seemed to represent multiple things: the center of the story’s mystery, Nadir’s mother, Nadir’s true self, the lost habitat of Syrian immigrants, etc. I remember two parts in the story that particularly drew me in: Nadir’s struggle to come out to his gender-binary Syrian community and his grief over his mother's death. I wish that Joukhadar had focused more on certain themes and dug deeper into those areas. The book covers a large patch of time and space from Syria in the 1920s to NYC in the present. I felt like opportunities to get deeper into certain themes and develop supporting characters were lost in the author’s attempt to stretch thin.
Although I have listed some challenges that the book posed to me, there is one thing I deeply appreciate. The book forced me to face my Islamophobia. I already had an aversion to Muslim culture and people due to the thick-laden Islamaphobic propaganda of the US government; in addition, my ill-rooted hatred of Islam religion and culture grew bigger while teaching ESL students from Arab nations. AFAB/women students always wore a hijab, and when they entered Zoom, the first thing they did was tuck in every corner to make sure none of their hair was seen on the screen. It reminded me of the patriarchal nature of their culture that heavily limits their freedom. Often they were taking the Zoom class from home because they had to take care of young children during the class. It was common to have students who were pregnant and dropped the class in the middle of the semester for delivery. The pressure to make babies was high, and the more children these students had, the less energy and time they had left to pursue education and careers.
One of my book club members shared a perspective that helped me. She pointed out the ways the characters in The Thirty Name of Night sought their own life path in the society and community they lived in. Of course, some characters conformed without fail, but some made cracks at the rigid heteronomy and gender roles and showed different ways of living to people around them. Khalto Tala, Laila’s aunt, stayed single after her husband died and led a life of entrepreneurship and independence.
After finishing the book, I listened to an interview with Zeyn Joukhadar on The afikra Podcast. I learned that Joukhadar wrote this novel while moving around Brooklyn and Queens due to an unstable housing situation. Perhaps his real-time moving and consequential sense of floating gave inspiration to the story of migrating birds and gentrified Syrian immigrants. At the end of the interview, Joukhadar expressed their wish for readers to accept his book with a mind open to multiplicity. He didn’t want his book to be about one thing/theme/topic that is clean and easy to market. He wanted his readers to see that the world we live in is layer over layer of various ideas and lives, like how every part of NYC contains the multiple histories of different communities that existed previously.
I confess I expected an easy read, an escape from the ever-so-stressful reality that I am living in the United States in 2025. Well, The Thirty Names of Night was a good reminder that there is no true escape in a book. It showed me that I can not hyper-focus on one issue, let it be LGBTQ+ rights, body autonomy, or immigration policy because they all overlap. We are pushed to think of them as separate issues; we are made to believe that we exist in different groups of people, but that is not true. My rights to live as who I am, make decisions about my body, and live safely in this (or any) country all reside in one body. It is the same for all members of our community. I take a deep breath and remind myself that we live in multiplicity, and that makes us One.
Review by Linda (Any Pronouns) in March 2025
Personal essays on DefinitelyNotOkay.com
Artwork on Instagram @KoreanLinda
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal death, Xenophobia, Death of parent, Classism