3.60 average · 227 reviews
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I don't think it's possible for me to write a review worthy of this book, but I'm going to try:
Yara Zgheib, the song of your novel has branded my soul. This is an ode to what we cannot touch, yet desperately and painfully yearn for: respect, equality, a home that is no longer home, an unreachable partner, the dangling carrot of a better future.
Sama and Hadi, after all they sacrificed to get where they wanted to be, are separated and are worlds apart. Zgheib not only tells us this, but shows us through empty beds and hand-gripped phones. They long for one another, for the home they once knew, for a country that will love them as they love it, and for the boundless freedom of birds. Even with this daunting theme of separation looming over the whole narrative, connectivity is still palpable. Sama, Hadi, and their newborn son, Naseem, gaze and will gaze upon the same sky no matter where they are. Though antsy, caged birds now, looking skyward longingly, they will not be forever. Sama will return to Hadi. Naseem will escape the confinement of his incubator. They, as a family, will fly beyond the borders of the country that rejects them.
Hope is imminent and that is what the ending signifies. Though I was initially disappointed by the ending, in actuality, it makes the most sense for their family. Why remain in the US when its government does not appreciate what immigrants have to offer, even after a couple centuries of building off their backs? It's no longer about the "American dream" for Sama and Hadi, but rather the dream—the one that will carry their new family forward. This novel shows us that looking forward—or skyward as Zgheib suggests through the avian motif—is what life is about. Drastic setbacks are thrown our way, especially for Syrian refugees in the case of this novel, yet looking toward the future, no matter where it occurs, can provide hope in the most dire of circumstances.
Returning to the avian motif, Zghein creates with it a sense of connectivity and fluidity about the whole novel that powerfully rejects the separation felt by Sama and Hadi. Hadi wants to fly home to his wife and child. Sama wants to fly outside the US once she makes the painful realization that it does not want her. Naseem is wanted to fly beyond hospital and live to see his future. Zgheib constantly refers to the sky, which is its own dominating force to be perceived by anyone in the world. Zgheib sprinkles in information about birds that perfectly reflects the experiences of Sama, Hadi, and all Syrian refugees. A perfectly executed motif that is both impactful and easy to understand.
Zgheib's writing is easily readable by all audiences. She simultaneously employs poetic language and does not exclude any readers with an arrogant eloquence. Her eloquence is certainly present, it just comes naturally and fits well with the narrative.
This novel is so poignant that I cried during the first fifty pages (and for seemingly every page beyond that) and knew very early on that this would be a 5-star read. No Land to Light On is easily one of the best novels I've read in my lifetime thus far. It leaves me wondering where this book has been all my life and also with an unfortunately new awareness about Syrian refugees.


Lobster
Guillaume Lecasble
"She slipped Lobster between her breasts."
That is all.