A review by emily_mh
Where the Streets Had a Name by Randa Abdel-Fattah

emotional reflective medium-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? A mix
  • Strong character development? Yes
  • Loveable characters? Yes
  • Diverse cast of characters? Yes
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? No
Most of the narrative in this book takes place over one day, where Hayaat and her friend Samy attempt to travel to her Sitti Zeynab’s village to retrieve some soil for her. This journey fully details the reality of the apartheid state of “Israel” and what life looks like for Palestinians living in the West Bank. Hayaat and Samy are at the mercy of the whims of fully-armed Israeli soldiers throughout their travel; run-down transportation, an arbitrary ID system, and urban planning constructed solely to further separate Palestinians compound their challenge. They are chased, smuggled, and threatened, yet remain steadfast in their mission.

Despite a good chunk of the story taking place in one day, the plot and characters feel grounded, and this is for two reasons: adequate space given for the set-up and resolution, and the use of retrospection. Abdel-Fattah ensures we get to known the characters and their lives before sending them on their journey, and once that journey opens up the plot and character threads, she makes sure she spends enough time at the end resolving these. Furthermore, throughout the story Hayaat, whose first person perspective we are reading from, reflects back on key moments in her life that give more context to the plot and characters.

I enjoyed reading from Hayaat’s POV. I think she was a very realistic 13 year-old. She’s processing a past trauma in this story that left her face scarred and her best friend murdered. Hayaat is haunted by this event, and during the narrative is learning how she can continue to live her life while honouring this trauma and her related emotions. There was some really powerful development here, especially relating to the grief over her loss. Hayaat ends up in a place of hope for her future.

I also really loved Sitti Zeynab’s character. Her story was gut-wrenching, and to see it reflected in Hayaat’s was gut-wrenching, too. I loved the respect and love Hayaat had for Sitti Zeynab, and also the humour Sitti Zeynab brought to the story.

While this book obviously has a focus on the impact of colonisation and apartheid, it also reminded me of the poem “We Teach Life, Sir” by Rafeef Ziadah. Because amongst the traumas they experience, Hayaat and her family exhibit joy and connection. Whether it’s the hospitality Hayaat’s mother shows to guests, strangers getting to know one another for the short time they’ll spend together on the bus, beautiful wedding traditions, or holding each other in their grief and anger, they taught life.
Abdel-Fattah’s writing style in and of itself was really poignant. There are some quotes I want to share as examples of this:

“I want to tear our papers and identity cards into a million tiny pieces and throw them to the wind so that each piece of me can touch my homeland freely, the wind lifting me over checkpoints, bypass roads, settlements and the Wall.”

“‘I realised then that even those capable of love and kindness can be unjust. And even those who are the victims of injustice can be cruel and incapable of love.’”

“‘I’m sorry for what happened to your family and your people, but why must we be punished?’”

“‘They started on the trees,’ her voice became a whisper, ‘and it was the most terrible thing of all.'”

“‘My life has been all politics,’ she whispers as she touches the pile of photographs of my aunts and uncles on her bedside table. ‘I do not watch the television for politics because it is in every breath I take. It is here in this apartment, in the empty chairs that should hold my children who were forced to scatter around the world. It is here in the mint leaves floating in this cup of tea beside my bed. Mint leaves that should have been picked from the garden bed in my home, not bought from Abo Yusuf's store. It is in the olives I eat from somebody else's tree and the patch of sky I am told I must live under.’”

“I am thirteen years old and I know what blood is. I know what loss is. I know the smell of a corpse. I know the sound of people screaming in terror as they run away from a tank. I know the dusty clouds left behind a frenzied bulldozer.”

I just have a couple of final notes! The first is that this is definitely more upper-MG than it is YA - I am saying this to set expectations for future readers. Also, there was some unchallenged fatphobia in this book, which I want prospective readers to be wary of.

Rep: Muslim Palestinian MCs and SCs, Palestinian SCs
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