Uglies, Pretties and Specials' Review

Dear Reader,

I apologise for not informing you before now, but I'm currently on a rather serious blogging break as I'm trying hard to fully focus on my writing, though I have in fact plenty of great blog-post ideas waiting in my drafts folder. By the way, recently I was forced to get a twitter account. I'm not sure how long I'll keep it but you, dear reader, are welcome to follow me here, or add me @Bookaholic786. Today I received an e-mail from google informing me that I have quite a few comments waiting for my approvals and replies. So I thought I'd briefly pop back on to my blog for you dear reader, and update you also on what I've been reading lately.

So in the 24 hours of a day, the time that I have allocated to fictional reading has been occupied by the Uglies Quartet, a series by Scott Westerfeld (a new 'favourite writer'), recommended to me by John Green, (also a writer but unfortunately not a favourite). I'm finished with the first three books in the Quartet and have just started the fourth one Extras. But seeing how the central character in the last book is different to the first three, I thought I'd write some mini reviews for the ones I have read.       

Uglies

About three hundred years from now, in the much flooded North America, human civilization has dramatically changed. In a manner similar to The Hunger Games, our current industrialized age bought about its own ruin and downfall. In Uglies, humanity lives in small self-governing hi-tech cities, isolated and cut-off from the rest world, where it is mandatory to have plastic surgery on your 16th birthday to turn you from an ugly to a pretty. Looking out from her dorm window, Tally Youngblood has always looked forward to becoming a pretty and moving to New Pretty Town, at the centre of her city, where new pretties party all night and always have the best of everything. That is until she meets Shay, two months before they both turn 16. Drawn together by their cleverness and sense of adventure, they soon form a strong friendship. But Shay has rather heretical and radical ideas on what it really means to be "pretty" and "normal". So when Shay runs away, just a week before the operation, leaving Tally with cryptic instructions, Tally is blackmailed by Special Circumstances into following Shay across the wild; in order to find her and betray the rebel group known as "The Smoke"...    

There is not much more I want to say about this book, other than that reading this story was like flying a hoverboard over a rusty old rollercoaster, with so many twists and turns, which I never saw coming. It kept me hooked for hours on end. I was hardly able to do anything productive until I had turned the last page.

***  

Pretties

Life as a new pretty has been somewhat disappointing so far for Tally Youngblood, though she can't really put a finger on what's missing. And for some reason, her subconscious is haunted by the cruel-pretty faces of the grey suited specials. However, there is one thing she's really looking forward to, and that's joying a clique known as the Criminals (aka the Crims), which already includes her best friends Shay and Peris. But there's something about the Crims' tricky and enchanting leader, Zane. Unlike most pretties, he loves to hear stories from their ugly days and just being around him makes Tally feel more bubbly and clear-headed. And there's something about Zane that brings back memories from her past that she had thought the operation had gotten rid of permanently...

My opinions on this book are rather divided. I loved the running metaphor of the beautiful princess locked in the tower, and how the reoccurring dream was used to summarize and make sense of what was happening in the story. But the way the pretties spoke and their "pretty-talk" / happy-slang I found utterly annoying, because no one in their right mind would talk with that silly limited vocabulary. Then again, I think that's the whole point: they're suppose to be annoying and not in their right minds. And without giving away any major plot points; when I actually finished the book I was so full of despair, anger and frustration that I threw it across the room. I so badly wanted to go up to the author, take him by the shoulders, and shake him vigorously while yelling "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?????!!!!!!" This in itself is rather astonishing as I'm known to be a rather calm and "bubbly" person, more prone to smiling than yelling, especially at complete strangers.  But the mere fact that Westerfeld was able to provoke such emotions from me means that he is a really good writer. Because, in the few short days that it took me to get to this point, I head quite come to care for his characters.  

***  

Specials

I'm not going to write a summary paragraph for this book because, dear reader, if you haven't read this series already then a summary of this book would be a spoiler for the first two books. So instead I'll just tell you what I thought of it.

As you can imagine, I was rather reluctant to start this novel, given all that had happened by the end of Pretties. I wasn't entirely sure that I wanted to see what Tally would become next. But being the completionist that I am, I read it anyway. And I loved it. I will honestly admit that there were times when I was so aggravated with Tally and the author that I just had to close the book, wishing I'd never started the series. And yet, it was the the writing itself, the plot and the need to know what happens next, that kept bringing me back the moment I closed the book. Now I'm quite glad to say that it was well worth it in the end. Because the ending, the last few pages themselves, are so rewarding and so apt that Specials has found a home amongst my "special" favourite books.

***  

I don't really listen to music any more but there is this one song, In Between by Linkin Park, that quite reminds me of Tally Youngblood's situation throughout these three novels, a bit like a running theme, but one that she manages to overcome. If you, dear reader, are like me and not really interested in music, then for you I'll end this post with the lyrics from In Between.

Nida

In Between

Let me apologize to begin with
Let me apologize for what I'm about to say

But trying to be genuine was harder than it seemed
And somehow I got caught up in between

Let me apologize to begin with
Let me apologize for what I'm about to say
But trying to be someone else was harder than it seemed
And somehow I got caught up in between

Between my pride and my promise
Between my lies and how the truth gets in the way
And things I want to say to you get lost before they come
The only thing that's worse than one is none

Let me apologize to begin with
Let me apologize for what I'm about to sa
But trying to regain your trust was harder than it seemed
And somehow I got caught up in between

Between my pride and my promise
Between my lies and how the truth gets in the way
The things I want to say to you get lost before they come
The only thing that's worse than one is none


And I cannot explain to you
And anything I say or do or plan
Fear is not afraid of you
But guilt's a language you can understand

I cannot explain to you
And anything I say or do
I hope the actions speak the words they can

For my pride and my promise
For my lies and how the truth gets in the way
The things I want to say to you get lost before they come
The only thing that's worse than one is

Pride and my promise
Between my lies and how the truth gets in the way
The things I want to say to you get lost before they come
The only thing that's worse than one is none

an Old Letter

Dear Reader,

News Bulletin: I've recently updated my 2011 Reading Challenge page. So check it out. Despite my lack of reading during the exam period, I still seem to be on target :-). If you, dear reader, think my cause is worthy and would like make a safe and secure donation online, then there is a link to it in the side bar. --->   Please help me complete this challenge, it is all for a good cause. 

Anyway, now on to the main topic of this post: The Letter. If you've been following my blog for some times then you'll remember that around this time last year, I thought up an idea for a historical novel set in the early 1800's England. (If you don't remember, click here - it begins in the second paragraph of that post.) I've fully fleshed out the plot of this story and I've realised that it's actually not much of a romance at all. It's more like a Victorian story about the acceptance of change with a little tea spoon of romance to sweeten it up. ;-) Aside: by the way this ISN'T the " top-secret-novel-idea" that I spoke about in my last post.          

So yesterday, I was gazing at my calligraphy set when I got the idea that I should write a letter. I've always loved the dying art of letter-writing-for-pleasure, and this sort of correspondence features heavily in the historical story that I was talking about above. So, obviously, my mind put two and two together and I decided that I should write one of those letters that my main character Rosalind, would have written to my other main character, Lionel. And you, dear reader, are incredibly lucky as I present to you a 192 year old letter:     

The pen in the picture is the one I used to write the letter. 

The back of the letter, complete with fake wax seal. 

Those unfortunate fingers are mine!

And, finally, the letter itself.

Confession: At this early stage I didn't really know exactly what they would write to each other, so what is actually written here are the lyrics of a song that I felt fit a certain point of the story quite well. The song is called Taboo by Jonas and Plunkett. I can't seem to find those lyrics online now but if you're really interested , let me know and I'll add them to my next post. 

Anyway, I was quite upset to the lack of response to my Question of the Week, last week. but I'll try again today. If it doesn't work out then I'll stop. So this weeks Question: if you had to write a 'old style' letter, who would you write it to? If you think that's too personal then what would you write in your letter? Leave your response in the comments section below.   

That's all I have to say for now. I can't wait to read you're responses.

Nida 

Some Reviewing Part 1: Cranioklepty

Dear Reader,

At a moment of procrastination, curiosity overtook me and I began counting the number of books in my room rather than revising for an in-course assessment/test-thing coming up this Thursday. As it turns out, as yet I have 180 books in my 8ft.x8.2ft bedroom: 153 of which happen to be fiction ;-). (I haven't added to this number my vast collection of New Scientist and Poetry.com magazines) I know that by regular library standards these happen to a quiet a small numbers, but I'm not sure how this stands in comparison to regular 'bedroom' standards. Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter one way or another.

  

So, on to the main topic for today: Cranioklepty: Grave Robbing and the Search for Genius by Colin Dickey. First things first, despite the fact that this book is about stolen skulls, I greatly enjoyed reading it and absorbing all this morbid information about musical and medical geniuses, told in such a humorous and entertaining prose. Despite the vast cast of persons whose tales are related intimately, Colin Dickey's voice and unique manner of writing still shines through. I now know more more about Joseph Hayden, Joseph Carl Rosenbaum, Sir Thomas Browne, Beethoven, Rokitensky, Mozart and Louis Pierre Gratiolet than I would have cared to know just a few months ago. But more than anything, this book is about the evolution of the science and study of the concious in the universally revolutionary 19th century; how we perceive the norms of society, and how this changes over time related through four or five well researched anecdotes. 

But there are some things in this book that were far more relevant to me personally. For example, here is a  quote from the book that I particularly like, from a passage about Sir Thomas Browne:

"...There had been no contradiction between a man of science and a man of religion. They provided different means to the same goal: understanding the works of God."

Those two sentences summarise the majority of my beliefs quite eloquently. But you, my dear reader, are welcome to disagree with me, I'm not here to force my opinions/beliefs on anyone.     

Anyway, that is all I have to say about this book for now. Until next time with another Book, another Blog, another Review.

Nida

P.S. - Recently I've gone back to listening a lot to one of my old favourite bands Jimmy Eat World. So I thought I might share the video of one of my favourite songs by them, Always Be. Enjoy. Or not (it might not be your time of thing at all).  

Poetry Post

Dear Reader,

It's the first week of November and because I said that I will be posting regularly now (same as before - once a week) I decided it was high time for another blog post. Problem is, I don't really have anything new to say. I've  been trudging through the same, albeit exteremly interesting, book for the past 2 weeks: Cranioklepty: Grave Robbing and the Search for Genius by Colin Dickey. So I'm not even able to write a review yet.  

In the end (which was about exactly 7 minutes ago!) I decided to write about one of the things I'm quite passionate about. Poetry. If you, my dear reader, have not even the tinyest bit of interest in poetry, then I give you premission to not read this post. Don't worry, I won't hate you for it (this is being written with a benevolent smile on my face, just in case you don't believe me).  

As far as hobbies go, I think poetry is a good one to have. Even the Prophet Muhammad (SAW) was a fan. In Women around The Messenger, by Muhammed Ali Qutb, it states that the Prophet (SAW) "did not compose poetry, but as an Arab, naturally loved refined and truthful poetry, the sort that avoided exaggeration and triviality in words and meanings ... [the Prophet (SAW)] appreciated the positive impact that poetry can have on the mind." In fact, one of his (SAW) favourite poets was a women called Al-Khansa, whose best work was a beautiful eulogy that she wrote on the death of her brother, Sakhr. Which reminds me, in an earlier post I mentioned my favourite stanza from Percy Shelley's poem To a Skylark. Again, despite the differences in time and culture, his words seem to speak true, where our "sweetest" poems are those that are derived from the "saddest" thoughts and experiences.

But as far as favourite writers go, there is always Thomas Hardy; better known for novels like Tess of the d'Urbervilles, The Mayor of Casterbridge and The Return of the Natives, (all of which I have read, by the way) set in a semi-fictional place called Wessex. But I still like his poetry the best. It's so often depressing but mostly meaningful and exquisite. My favourite is the poem Convergence of the Twain but it's a fairly long poem. The Darkling Thrush is my second favourite and is a much shorter poem:

I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter’s dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.

The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.

At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.

So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware

This poem was written at the turn of the 20th Century: going from 1899 CE to 1900 CE was a big thing at the time! But what I like most about this poem, aside from the vivid and contrasting imagery, is that despite the death of an era, a century, there is still Hope, even for the "old birds".




For a reason I cannot possibly fathom, I'm not much of a fan of modern poetry, but much rather prefer Victorian, 17th and 18th Century poetry. Some of my favourite poets include William Blake (London being my favourite from Songs of Experience), Robert Browning (My Last Duchess and Love Among the Ruins), Sir Walter Scott (Lady of The Lake and some parts of Marmion), Christina Rossetti (Remember),  Mary Ann Evans/George Eliot (In a London Drawingroom), William Wordsworth (Composed upon Westminster Bridge, 1802 and Daffodils)  and John Keats (To Autumn). You know, I've also noticed that I have a tendency to like poems related to the contrasts, especially between the countrysides abundant beauty and cramp city life, but also poems about Nature in general.


One of the few modern poets that I do like, however, is Imtiaz Dharker. I came across her work while doing my GCSE's. And though I've read quite a bit of her poetry now, I still think that the following poem is the best one she's written:


Blessing

The skin cracks like a pod.
There never is enough water.

Imagine the drip of it,
the small splash, echo
in a tin mug,
the voice of a kindly god.

Sometimes, the sudden rush
of fortune. The municipal pipe bursts,
silver crashes to the ground
and the flow has found
a roar of tongues. From the huts,
a congregation : every man woman
child for streets around
butts in, with pots,
brass, copper, aluminium,
plastic buckets,
frantic hands,

and naked children
screaming in the liquid sun,
their highlights polished to perfection,
flashing light,
as the blessing sings
over their small bones.


I've often contemplated over the idea that we privileged humans, more often than not, forget to appreciate the simple but important things/blessings in our lives. There is far too much to discuss on the topic of this modern fanaticism for materialism, too much for this one post. But I think Imtiaz Dharker's poems brilliantly brings a bit of perspective into my everyday equation. That's probably why I find myself repeatedly going back to it.


Nevertheless, fortunately this modern time is not completely lacking in talent. Take Tim McIlrath for example, from the band Rise Against. Though he's not a technically a poet, his lyrics are akin to poetry. Here are some of my favourite lines:

from The Good Left Undone:

In fields where nothing grew but weeds,
I found a flower at my feet,
Bending there in my direction,
I wrapped a hand around its stem,
I pulled until the roots gave in,
Finding there what I'd been missing...

Inside my hands these petals browned,
Dried up, fallen to the ground
But it was already too late now.
I pushed my fingers through the earth,
Returned this flower to the dirt,
So it could live. I walked away now.

from The Dirt Whispered:

She got down on hands and knees,
One ear against the ground,
Holding her breath to hear something,
But the dirt made not a sound tonight.

Echoes of songs still lurk on distant foreign shores,
Where we danced just to please the people that only ask for more,
So it goes
But still we give ourselves to this
We can't spend our lives waiting to live...

The postcard says wish you were here
But I'd rather I was there, 
Holding on to the simple things before they disappear,
That's what I meant
But that was then, and this is now
I'll make it up to you somehow...


You have to agree, there is something simple but explicitly elegiac and graceful about these lyrics.

Since I've been writing about poetry, this post would not be complete without mentioning Shakespeare and John Milton. Rather than go into lengthy odes about these two literature celebrities, which would probably bring back your nightmares from high school English classes, I'm just going to present you with some small sampling of my favourite piece of Shakespeare's work.


Sonnet 130 by Shakespeare


My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
   And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare   
   As any she belied with false compare. 

I'll leave it to you, my intelligent reader, to make what you want of these two poems. Aside: from of all the Sonnets that I've ever read in my life, these two are my favourite.

Anyway, because I've had a few poems published in anthologies here and there, I consider myself a somewhat amateur poet. So here is a treat for you, dear reader: some of my own poetry that has been deemed worthy of publishing:

Precious Rain 
©2007

Thick pearl grey fluff
hovering above us

outlined by white

where the gold sun dare to shine.

The thousand tears

fall from the saphire sky.

Bitter but sweet

the wind blows by.

Confining others

for me it's no matter.

Pitter-patter

and pitter-patter

the droplets kiss:

the emerald leaves

the gemmed flowers

the paved floors

for hours and hours.

It feels so soft 

upon my skin

the water beads

falling within.

It's all gone

only some remain

nestled on petals

like diamons on a chain.

Age in Laughter 
©2008


Spring are the tears of the newly born

pattering down by passing clouds of morn

with strength to sprout through iced soil

that which remains of Winter’s toil

leaving behind the sound of innocence torn,

Spring are the tears of the newly born

Summer is the speed of sweat trickling

casting a shadow little more than trifling

down the backs of a multitude of flowers

as the days lengthen, hours by hours

rich with youth in melodious giggling,

Summer is the speed of sweat trickling

Autumns are a drop of ripened browns

dew in evenings around cities and towns

there the orange and blazing red of trees

golden honey stolen from laboured bees

where wary chuckles hide knowing frowns,

Autumns are a drop of ripened browns

Winter is a frigid mask of the pool

where night is when we all play fool,

dormant in death nature seems to lie

time passes in the whisper of a sigh

a snigger filled with writhing pain

until Winter gives way to Spring again...


Aside: Age in Laughter was one of my more obscure poems, written in response to a poem written by my friend Codename: Pixie, called Disappearance of Innocence. 

I, the Wind

--> -->
©2006

I am like the cool wind
on a hot summers day

I lift your spirit 

I lighten your heart

I blow off some of your burden

while I seductively stroke 

my finger through your hair

and then

I am gone.

And you try so hard

to grip me in your grasp

only to find you can't

So you try so hard

to dwell upon those memories 

linger upon those feelings

of cool

while you wait for my return.

Yet you seem to ignore

the glass of iced water

right in front of you

which can cool you much better than I?

Like Hamlet 
©2010


Like the sun clinging to the clouded sky

Before it plunges into the earth,

I dither on a horizon

Waiting for my ghost,

Like the tumultuous sea of North,

I’m calm and then I soar

And hidden in my madness

A pain I had not before,

Like the wind wafting over a rose

I kiss my lover’s breath,

Then push it further from me

And see it through to death.


Aside: as you can probably tell, Like Hamlet is one of my more recent poems. I wrote it when I was re-reading Hamlet by Shakespeare. I normally don't re-read plays and much prefer to watch them. But I had just finished reading Ophelia by Lisa Klien, where Klien re-writes the play from Ophelia's perspective (one of the only two female characters in the play). That's why I ended up re-visiting a lot of Shakerspeare's work last year.

Make sure to leave a comment to let me know what you think of my poems, and if by some miracle you like one of them, let me know which one.


Nida

what Have I been Up to lately?

Dear Reader,

So due to my recent blogging break, you might want to ask "dear writer, what have you been up to this past week or so?" (If you don't want to ask this question then tough! I'm going to answer it anyway.) And to answer your very polite question I'm going to give you a sort-of-reverse-chronological list, i.e. latest item first.  

1) Recently, in the spirit of Ramadaan, I've started co-writing another blog called IslamBites - which basically explains this wonderful religion in bite-size chunks. You should definitely go check it out, then let me know what you think. Any suggestion? (There is also a link to it in the side bar somewhere --->)

2) Some time during this last week, Allah Subhana-Watallah has been incredibly gracious and showered me with inspiration. So I've been doing a lot of writing lately, working mainly on the sort-of-untitled BIG ONE. Now, I have no idea what the writing rate of professional novelists is but on Wednesday I wrote a total of 2,786 words and on Friday I got 1,372 done. I'm kind of proud of myself with that, considering the fact that the last time I was doing any serious writing was back in April. When I opened the word document at the beginning of this week, it told me that I had around about 18,000 words. Now, Alhumdulillah, I've got exactly 26,377 words, and that's not counting the stuff I have written in my note books - the stuff that I still have to go over and type up.  

3) I've also submitted some work to be published in The Guide to Nerdfighting (TGTN) and received positive replies. Subhanallah, all profits from TGTN will be going to a charity called Book Wish Foundation which provides books and education in developing countries. As soon as I find out, I'll let you know when and where it can be bought.

4) I've been listening to this man called Sami Yusuf. Maybe you've heard of him. I just can't seem to get enough of his Nasheeds and songs lately. Here is one that I've become quite addicted to, but it's not out yet so I can't listen to it 24/7 on my phone. (Hehehe - see I've learnt how to embed videos into my blog now, lucky readers.)

5) About exactly 10 days ago, I was incredibly busy redoing my CV and writing cover letters, with the help  of my most wonderfully-amazing friend, (who I think does not wish to be named). I'm applying for this dream job of mine and Inshallah, I'll let you know what happens.

6) In addition to all that, the most important thing that I've been doing lately is reading The Sealed Nectar: A Biography of the Prophet SAW.  Now, not to be blasphemous or anything, but this delightfully-glorious book is even better than The Lord of The Rings (which happens to be right at the top of my favourite books list). It has action, adventure, loss, love, intrigue, hardships, loyal friendships, betrayals and a million other things. And to think that all this actually happened in real life. (No wonder I've had a recent surging increase in Faith.) Because I have this beautiful blue-and-gold pocket-size version, I've been reading it every waking-non-busy-second of my life. And because of that, the book is an appalling state - the title is almost completely worn away. Here is a picture if you don't believe me. (Unfortunately you can't see the state of the pages.)

The pen has 2 purposes: 

a) to show you the size of it by comparison and b) to actually hold the dog-eared cover down.  

7) And to top it all off; I still have my summer job! where I will be working till the 10th of September. :-(

Anyway, so now you see that even though I'm suppose to be on holiday, I have been incredibly busy. But true to my word, Inshallah, I will try to blog more regularly from now on.

Until next time...

Nida

Love and Loving Islam

Dear Reader,

I could claim that I did not blog last week because I was oh so busy with my revision, but that won't be entirely true. As part of my upbringing and my in-built what-ever-you-may-call-it, I have always deemed it better to tell the truth - as you might have already guessed. So, in truth, I just forgot. It's an inherited disorder, this forgetting, passed directly from mother to daughter.

But never mind, all excuses and apologies aside. What I really want to blog about today is this extraordinarily ordinary autobiography that I've just finished reading, Love in a Headscarf by Shelina Z. Janmohamed. I can't seem to stop going on and on and on about it to whoever comes within 2 meters of me. So I've decide to write down all my thoughts, just to get it out of my system once and for all.

Reading this book has completely changed my life. Okay, okay, I know that's a bit too overly dramatic. Nothing overtly radical happened, like all of a sudden deciding to wear a headscarf. Hold on a moment - I already wear the hijaab! Let me re-phrase. Reading this book has subtly changed my perspective of life. And I didn't even realise it until after I had turned the last page and began looking... no, seeing the world that I live in. It also...:

1. made me ask question about my own cultural values and traditions, and how much they seem to differ from the teachings of Islam.
2. gave answers to some of the questions above. But also answered questions I hadn't thought to ask.
3. reminded me of the stories I vaguely remember being told to me in childhood. Reading about them with adult's eyes, I felt a surge of rediscovery within in, seeing deeper in to those simple stories, recognising ways of applying them to my own life. 
4. most importantly, increased my understanding of Islam and what it truly meant to be a Muslim, a servant of Allah (swa). 

I was about two-thirds of the way through the book when it clicked that this story isn't just about the conventional romantic love that the title brought to mind. It's about all of the kinds of love one encounters in one's life, only through the eyes - or rather the heart - of a muslim woman. It's about the Love of the Divine, the love for the Divine, the love for one's parents and friends, the love for humanity, all human kind and justice ... the love for yourself. And Shelina's journey to find love takes her from the London suburbs to the highest peak in Africa and to the Ancient city of Petra; all of which is, surprisingly enough, approved and encourage by the Holy Qur'an.   

Another reason why I absolutely adore this book is because, simply put, I can relate to it. I know exactly what it's like to grow up a British Asian Muslim woman. I have also experienced being torn between my "multiversal" identities. And to top it all off, I'm at exactly same point in life as Shelina was when she begins her story. 

And since I'm writing about the beginning, I would also like to mention how hilarious the book is to begin with. Although the humour is maintained throughout the prose, as the story progressed, it also became more mature, with sections of deep insightful thought. I felt as if I was also growing older with Shelina, watching as she increased in experience, confidence and wisdom. It feels like Shelina and I have been good friends for a long time. And as with all my other good and great friends, I remember her in my prayers, wishing her the best of luck with whatever she's doing right now.     

And because of this connection and relatability, Shelina success story has instilled in me a secret hope that maybe, one day, I'll find my 'one' as well. There is something quite Austen-esq about it all. 

For some unfathomable reason, I was reminded of the song "You've got the love" by Florence and The Machine, when I read this book. Only the love in the song has taken the form of the Divine Love, "with a capital l", that Shelina talks a lot about. As yet I haven't worked out how to upload a .mp3 clip onto a blog, or even a video. So, for now, here is the link to youtube for the song - if you which to hear it.   

Maybe I'm being a bit obsessive, maybe I'm completely biased, but I believe that everyone, not just Muslim men and women, should read about Shelina's incredible and inspiring journey. It's a stand for feminism if nothing else. Well, no matter, the second sentence of the book made me promise not to keep this story a secret and that's exactly what I'm doing. I've even brought three or four copies of the book to distribute amongst my friends after exams.    

Anyway, I must get some shut-eye now (seeing as it is 1:20am) if I want to be even remotely conscious during the last official day of my academic year.  

Nida