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A review by rainbowbookworm
Forest of Noise: Poems by Mosab Abu Toha
challenging
dark
emotional
informative
sad
5.0
I picked up Forest of Noise because, as someone who grew up in a U.S. colony, I empathize with those who bear the weight of colonialism. While my experiences and my country’s history pale in comparison to the horrors Gaza has endured for three-quarters of a century, there’s a shared understanding of what it means to live under the yoke of oppression. What I discovered in this collection wasn’t just poetry—it was part memoir, part chronicle, and most importantly, a plegaria.
In Spanish, plegaria translates to "prayer," but it carries a deeper connotation. It isn’t a memorized or recited prayer but a fervent, secular plea, a raw and vulnerable cry for help or understanding. Mosab Abu Toha’s Forest of Noise is exactly that: a plegaria without a prayer, a deeply personal and urgent plea to witness, to feel, and to respond to the daily atrocities inflicted upon Gaza. Through this book, Abu Toha opens a window into his life and trusts the reader to grapple with its realities.
Toha’s words create striking, unforgettable images that illuminate the devastating impact of this siege. In the opening poem, “Younger Than War,” he writes, “ants’ ears hurt with each bullet.” It’s not about scientific accuracy—it’s about perspective, showing us that even the smallest creatures in Gaza cannot escape the onslaught. In Gaza Notebook (2021–2023), he writes, “Frying pans miss the smell of olive oil,” a line that captures the loss of everyday normalcy in a place where survival has overtaken routine. These vivid, poignant vignettes pack a powerful emotional punch, making each poem a window into resilience and pain.
I listened to the audiobook, beautifully narrated by the author, while annotating my printed copy. By the end, my book looked like a neon hedgehog, tabs marking nearly every other page, with lines highlighted and passages bracketed throughout. But even with all my notes, I feel like this is a book that grows with each re-read—its truths are too vast to fully absorb in one sitting.
I read this collection in the aftermath of a ceasefire announcement, as bombings continued despite it. I read it knowing that this ceasefire, like so many before it, wouldn’t bring peace to Gaza because, since the Nakba, peace has been an unimaginable luxury for Palestinians. I read it while clinging to a shred of hope, not just for rebuilding what has been destroyed but for a future where Palestine and Palestinians can live free of oppression.
This is a collection I’ll carry with me, not only because of its artistry but because of its urgency. Abu Toha writes from the rubble of his home, his life, and his country, offering us not just poetry but a plegaria—a plea for recognition, justice, and solidarity. My hope, as I recommend this book, is that readers will take up the call and respond in whatever way they can, whether through advocacy, amplification, or simply bearing witness.
To read Forest of Noise is to acknowledge the reality of Gaza and its people—and to be changed by it.
In Spanish, plegaria translates to "prayer," but it carries a deeper connotation. It isn’t a memorized or recited prayer but a fervent, secular plea, a raw and vulnerable cry for help or understanding. Mosab Abu Toha’s Forest of Noise is exactly that: a plegaria without a prayer, a deeply personal and urgent plea to witness, to feel, and to respond to the daily atrocities inflicted upon Gaza. Through this book, Abu Toha opens a window into his life and trusts the reader to grapple with its realities.
Toha’s words create striking, unforgettable images that illuminate the devastating impact of this siege. In the opening poem, “Younger Than War,” he writes, “ants’ ears hurt with each bullet.” It’s not about scientific accuracy—it’s about perspective, showing us that even the smallest creatures in Gaza cannot escape the onslaught. In Gaza Notebook (2021–2023), he writes, “Frying pans miss the smell of olive oil,” a line that captures the loss of everyday normalcy in a place where survival has overtaken routine. These vivid, poignant vignettes pack a powerful emotional punch, making each poem a window into resilience and pain.
I listened to the audiobook, beautifully narrated by the author, while annotating my printed copy. By the end, my book looked like a neon hedgehog, tabs marking nearly every other page, with lines highlighted and passages bracketed throughout. But even with all my notes, I feel like this is a book that grows with each re-read—its truths are too vast to fully absorb in one sitting.
I read this collection in the aftermath of a ceasefire announcement, as bombings continued despite it. I read it knowing that this ceasefire, like so many before it, wouldn’t bring peace to Gaza because, since the Nakba, peace has been an unimaginable luxury for Palestinians. I read it while clinging to a shred of hope, not just for rebuilding what has been destroyed but for a future where Palestine and Palestinians can live free of oppression.
This is a collection I’ll carry with me, not only because of its artistry but because of its urgency. Abu Toha writes from the rubble of his home, his life, and his country, offering us not just poetry but a plegaria—a plea for recognition, justice, and solidarity. My hope, as I recommend this book, is that readers will take up the call and respond in whatever way they can, whether through advocacy, amplification, or simply bearing witness.
To read Forest of Noise is to acknowledge the reality of Gaza and its people—and to be changed by it.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Animal death, Child death, Death, Genocide, Gun violence, Hate crime, Physical abuse, Racism, Torture, Violence, Xenophobia, Blood, Grief, Religious bigotry, Medical trauma, Death of parent, Murder, Colonisation, War, Injury/Injury detail