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I went into this book expecting not to enjoy it. Growing up in western Sydney around the kinds of boys the main character, Bani, calls ‘Lebs’ made me weary and reluctant to dive back into a world I was never really comfortable with.
But I am so glad I picked this book up. MMA’s writing is so unapologetically authentic and accurate that it felt almost triggering at times. The harsh and vivid language made me cringe in the same way it did when I was growing up. From the homophobic and racist slurs to the brazen sexual imagery, it felt like I was back in high school and I both appreciated that and hated that at the same time.
The main character, Bani, is easy to empathise with. His rejection of hypermasculinity and pursuit of the arts serves as an intentional contrast to the violent machismo of his classmates. He is a poet not a commoner, a lover not a fighter, but despite all of this, he knows he is still a ‘Leb.’ It is this tension between 'who we want to be' and 'who we are' that carries the novel, and as a second generation Australian Muslim, I found Bani’s messy journey with his identity painfully relatable.
I do wonder how other readers will deal with the novel’s imagery and language - particularly readers that aren’t familiar with this side of western Sydney. But it’s worth the read, even if (and perhaps because) it’s confronting.
But I am so glad I picked this book up. MMA’s writing is so unapologetically authentic and accurate that it felt almost triggering at times. The harsh and vivid language made me cringe in the same way it did when I was growing up. From the homophobic and racist slurs to the brazen sexual imagery, it felt like I was back in high school and I both appreciated that and hated that at the same time.
The main character, Bani, is easy to empathise with. His rejection of hypermasculinity and pursuit of the arts serves as an intentional contrast to the violent machismo of his classmates. He is a poet not a commoner, a lover not a fighter, but despite all of this, he knows he is still a ‘Leb.’ It is this tension between 'who we want to be' and 'who we are' that carries the novel, and as a second generation Australian Muslim, I found Bani’s messy journey with his identity painfully relatable.
I do wonder how other readers will deal with the novel’s imagery and language - particularly readers that aren’t familiar with this side of western Sydney. But it’s worth the read, even if (and perhaps because) it’s confronting.