Book Review: Fundamentally by Nussaibah Younis

 Nussaibah Younis’s debut novel Fundamentally follows Nadia, a young Iraqi woman navigating questions of faith, sexuality, and identity amid the turbulent social and political fabric of post-war Iraq. Running parallel to her story is that of Sarah, a British woman whose decision to join ISIS and travel to Mosul stems from her own misguided search for belonging and meaning. Through these intertwined stories, Younis explores the human need for purpose and the dangers of seeking absolutes in uncertain times.

What strikes me most about Fundamentally is Younis’s ability to balance serious, painful themes with gentle, ironic humour. Her writing captures the absurdities of daily life in Iraq in a way that feels both sharp and forgiving. She writes in a tone that is deeply Iraqi, wry but compassionate, bruised but unbroken. Having lived in Iraq until 2015, when a third of the country was under ISIS control, I found her depictions uncannily familiar. The checkpoints, the bureaucracy, the flicker of hope in every conversation, they all feel true, drawn from life rather than imagination.

Younis treats Nadia and Sarah as mirrors of one another, both seeking to define themselves in worlds that offer narrow paths for women. Nadia’s gradual awakening, questioning what it means to be a good Muslim, a good daughter, a free woman, feels painfully authentic, while Sarah’s journey serves as a distorted reflection of similar longings taken to a tragic extreme. In both arcs, the author refuses easy answers, allowing readers to see how faith and identity can be both sources of strength and prisons of expectation.

Her portrayal of international efforts in Iraq, especially UN programmes, resonates deeply. The portrayal of well-meaning professionals hampered by bureaucracy, miscommunication, and political compromise felt uncomfortably accurate. It reminded me of the years when UN agencies tried to impose solutions on a reality they scarcely understood. Younis writes of this dysfunction not with bitterness, but with weary clarity, as one who has witnessed the failures of good intentions firsthand.

What keeps the novel from sinking into despair is its narratorial rhythm. The prose flows naturally, textured with humour that glimmers even in dark moments. Younis has a gift for dialogue, her characters speak in a voice that feels lived-in, even when grappling with philosophy or faith. The result is a story that feels both intimate and universally human.

Fundamentally is not only a compelling debut but also a document of cultural self-examination. For readers who have known Iraq’s contradictions, its beauty and pain, this novel feels like a mirror held up to memory. For others, it opens a window into the personal struggles that survive beneath headlines and history.

#UN #Iraq #BookReview #Fundamentally #NussaibahYounis #fiction

                                                                                                                                Nadia Mohammed 

Book Review: Fatma Aydemir’s Djinns. Migration, Identity, and generational memory

 

A friend recommended and lent me her copy of Fatma Aydemir’s Djinns . Once I started, I was struck by how powerfully the novel was capturing the inner struggles of Kurdish-Turkish immigrant who was at the end of his migration journey in Germany towards permanent return to his home country in Turkey. Djinns presents multi-generational family novel that pulls readers into the intimate lives of an immigrant family in Germany, weaving together themes of displacement, identity, belonging, and generational memory.

The story begins with Hüseyin, the father, whose sudden death in their adopted home city forces his family to reckon not only with loss but also with buried histories and unspoken tensions. Each chapter shifts perspective to a different family member—first Hüseyin and Emine, the mother, and then their four children: Ümit, Sevda, Peri, and Hakan—before circling back to Emine, where a long-suppressed family secret is revealed. The structure allows Aydemir to paint a layered picture of how immigration, cultural hybridity, and personal trauma ripple through lives in distinct yet interconnected ways.

Characterisation and Voice

Aydemir’s narrative strength lies in her richly textured characterisation. Hüseyin embodies the older migrant generation, torn between the sacrifices of factory labor in Germany and nostalgia for a homeland that, politically and socially, never truly welcomed him. Emine, resilient yet weary, is the silent anchor of the family, balancing tradition with survival. Each of the children embodies a facet of the immigrant experience: Sevda clings to the conventional expectations of respectability, Hakan resents and mismanages his marginalization, Peri grapples with intellectual independence and estrangement from family, while Ümit explores his homosexuality in a community where such identity carries both danger and shame. By giving each child their distinct inner voice, Aydemir underscores how a single migratory journey splinters into diverging individual paths across a new cultural landscape.

Pop Culture and Everyday Life

German and Turkish pop culture weave in continuously across narratives, grounding the characters’ inner struggles with markers of their social setting. The recurrent references to music, television, fashion, and youth culture show how second-generation immigrants carve out identity by choosing—or resisting—the dominant cultural codes around them. These details enrich the story, situating questions of belonging not only at the level of language or religion but also in the banalities of what one watches, wears, or listens to. They provide an atmospheric counterpoint to the weightier reflections, revealing how cultural hybridity is lived day by day.

Themes of Freedom, Identity, and Belonging

At its heart, Djinns examines the negotiation between tradition and personal freedom. The novel humanizes dilemmas immigrants and their children often face—torn between collectivist family expectations and the promise of individualism offered by Western culture. Issues of gendered expectations, sexual identity, and generational misunderstanding recur, highlighting the invisible but palpable presence of “djinns,” or unspoken burdens, in the family’s shared life. The revelation of the lost child—invisible yet always shaping family dynamics—mirrors the suppressed traumas of displacement itself, suggesting that every migrant family carries similar hidden wounds.

Through elegant prose and shifting perspectives, Aydemir avoids reducing her characters to stereotypes of assimilation or alienation. Instead, she presents them as complex, flawed, and painfully real individuals negotiating survival and selfhood in a Germany that offers both opportunity and exclusion.

Djinns is both intimate family drama and sharp social commentary. It is a novel about silence and secrets, about pop music and political trauma, about the private costs of migration and the resilience of those who live it. For readers interested in immigrant narratives, intergenerational struggles, and the intersections of culture and identity, Aydemir’s work offers a poignant, intelligent portrait that lingers long after its final page.

 

Keywords: Fatma Aydemir, Djinns, book review, Kurdish-Turkish immigrants, Germany, immigrant family, intergenerational trauma, pop culture, identity, homosexuality, belonging, personal freedom, cultural hybridity, migrant literature. 

The Importance of Hiring Cultural Consultants in Film: Lessons from Controversies in Netflix’s Arab Character Portrayals

Hiring cultural consultants in film production is more important than ever. These experts help ensure that different cultures and identities are represented accurately, respectfully, and authentically. By involving cultural consultants early in the process—be it in script development, casting, or production design—filmmakers can avoid common pitfalls such as stereotypes, cultural inaccuracies, and portrayals that could offend or alienate audiences.

Misrepresentations not only perpetuate harmful biases but also deepen misunderstandings about the communities depicted. Cultural consultants enrich storytelling by offering nuanced perspectives and helping films resonate with diverse viewers. Moreover, their involvement prevents costly backlash and damage to a production’s reputation by identifying sensitive issues before they reach the screen.

Recent controversies in Netflix films featuring Arab characters highlight why cultural consultancy is essential. Over the past five years, several productions have drawn criticism, illustrating how important it is to approach cultural representation with care:

1. Mary (2024) – This film about the Virgin Mary caused upset for casting mainly Israeli actors, while not including Palestinian representation. Many criticised the film for “Palestinian erasure” and questioned its historical accuracy regarding Arab Christian heritage. Given the ongoing political tensions in the region, this casting decision was viewed as insensitive, underscoring the need for filmmakers to be acutely aware of cultural and political contexts.

2. Perfect Strangers اصحاب ولا اعز(2022) – An Arabic-language Netflix film that sparked controversy in the Arab world for tackling themes such as homosexuality and extramarital relationships. Many viewers felt these topics clashed with prevailing conservative social norms, leading to strong backlash. This case shows how cultural consultants can help navigate delicate subjects respectfully, fostering dialogues that consider the values and sensibilities of the affected communities.

3. King the Land (2023) – Although this is a South Korean drama available on Netflix, it featured an Arab character whose portrayal drew criticism for reinforcing stereotypes. The character appeared as a partygoer wearing traditional Arab clothing while drinking alcohol, which many audiences deemed an offensive cliché. This example emphasises that even productions from outside the Arab world benefit greatly from informed cultural input when including diverse characters.

These examples demonstrate clearly that without cultural consultants, films risk misrepresenting peoples and cultures, alienating audiences, and inviting public criticism. Cultural consultants support filmmakers in crafting stories that are not only more truthful but also more meaningful and respectful, helping to break down simplistic stereotypes and foster inclusion.

Cultural consultants play a vital role in the filmmaking process, especially in portraying complex and often misunderstood cultural identities such as those of Arab communities. The controversies involving Netflix’s Arab characters over recent years serve as a powerful reminder that thoughtful, informed cultural guidance is essential to creating films that honour the richness of real-life experiences and contribute positively to cultural dialogue.

Book Review: There Are Rivers in the Sky by Elif Shafak

Elif Shafak’s There Are Rivers in the Sky is impressively researched, connecting the lives of three characters—Arthur from the 19th century and Zaleekha and Narine from today—through the recurring theme of water. The story moves between the deciphering of cuneiform and the recent Yazidi massacre, aiming to tackle two major moments that have changed our world.

Shafak’s writing is often poetic, sometimes beautifully so, though the constant focus on water as a symbol can feel a bit forced. The plot can be slow and, at times, a little tedious, much like a river that winds its way forward with no hurry, which some readers may find frustrating.

The novel seems to favour Arthur’s story, probably because there’s so much information available about him and the whole idea of Western explorers in the Middle East has a certain romantic pull. Zaleekha’s character, on the other hand, doesn’t sit easily alongside Arthur and Narine; she feels out of place, neither fully connected nor as well-developed.

It’s also hard to ignore the confusing handling of Zaleekha's background. Her name, supposedly given by her Iraqi mother from Nineveh, actually isn't Iraqi or common in the region, which feels off for anyone who knows the culture. Her personal story is murky, too: her separation from her husband is meant to be about her loving another man, but the book skirts any mention of queerness, leaving questions about her true self.

The sudden romance between Zaleekha and Nen comes from nowhere and feels unnecessary—it wouldn’t matter if Nen were a man or a woman, and it doesn’t affect the plot. The moment where Zaleekha blames her aunt for organ harvesting, and accuses her uncle of ‘dirty work’, is also confusing; we’re told there was more involved, but never find out what. That lack of clarity is frustrating.

It also feels clichéd that the British character is made out to be the main villain behind these terrible acts, which seems like an easy way to appeal to anti-Western readers rather than exploring the real complexity behind these events.

All that said, Shafak deserves credit for the serious research and for wanting to keep Mesopotamian stories alive. While the novel doesn’t always succeed in bringing everything together, it’s a passionate effort to remind us of the layers of history and the importance of not letting them fade away.

Refugee Week: rambling

I was thinking of the coming refugee week and somehow did not feel good about it. I was asked to deliver a Skype session to secondary school about Arabic language and culture. I felt excited about it because speaking about language and culture is one of the favourite things I like to do. When I learned that the session would be held during Refugee Week, I felt disappointed and angry. Why they connect refugees with learning Arabic or the Middle East? There are tens of refugee communities from all parts of the world who have settled in the UK during various times. Refugees are not just Arabs and they are not women only. 

Too much attention has the same negative impact as lack of attention. So I decided to apologise for this session. When I first moved in here, I was happy with that attention given to me as Iraqi but when the same questions of how I managed to become me had been repeated by different people, I started to hear the questions which those people thought of but did not dare to ask. If these questions slipped off their tongues, they would try to hide their patronising meaning with more complements of how special I was. 

Too much attention has the same negative impact as lack of attention when one knows they do not deserve it. 

As I sitting in the train contemplating the moving images outside of trees, I tried to process my anger, my frustration and deep pain. I held my phone, my favourite writing device these days, and started writing whatever came to my mind. This is it. 

When you watch a circus monkey does smart stuff, you look at with so much admiration and give it the biggest applause you can. But in fact at the back of your mind you are thinking "how monkeys are doing that? They are animals and they are not supposed to be able to do that" and you continue clapping. Monkeys may fail to see what is hidden behind your clapping but people do. 

Think of how refugees from what you know now as the Middle East have been put on display in all those events meant to "celebrate" refugees or make them feel "welcomed". Think that most of the attendants clapping their hands as one particular refugee speaks of her struggles,  how she finally ended here and how she is restarting her life. You clap harder but at the back of your head you are thinking "how did she made it. She is not supposed to". You may mean well with your judgement and do not mean to harbour patronising thoughts. 

That refugee with a shy smile, the first welcoming clap was a tone of joy. Then she starts talking, struggling for words to express the rushing thoughts in her mind. She wants to give you the best show, worthy of the time, effort and probably money, you have spent to be there. She needs to play  some smart tricks that makes you wonder "how can she do that?!" While approaching yourself for thinking "she is not supposed to be able". 

She thinks she needs to be articulate, able to make sense of the very nonsense in her life, the unfairness of accidents in hers and her people's lives. She did not choose to be born in that jungle. She might have chosen to leave and restart somewhere else. The accidents of her existence in that place at that particular time allowed her one way out. It has its price. The smart tricks she needs to play to be welcomed and accepted. Otherwise she would be "wooed off the stage". Who wants to watch a dumb boring performer who can't master one trick! So she needs to do her smart trick of eloquence and articulation. The rest of us unable to master the same trick should be shipped back to the jungle they came from and allowed back here when they have something entertaining to say or do.

Beauty and Body Image

A friend posted on Facebook wondering if she was the only woman who never had manicure. I commented that I never had one as well. Some time ago I would have said this loud and proud and would never thought that I needed to change this attitude. 

At that time, I was not interested in how I looked. Back in Iraq, I never cared for makeup, accessories, or even fining colours that suited my skin tone. I used to hate shopping. At that time, I had unhealthy body image as all around me would highlight weight gain, urging me to lose weight to be more attractive. I was unmarried and beauty standards in Iraq recommended slim bodies. My family, friends and colleagues would always highlight that over-weighted women were not attractive to men. Of course, nobody cared for the health issues coming with weight, as most men there enjoyed having bellies shaking as they walked. overweight was a health problem for men, maybe, but for women it made them unmarriageable. 

Being stubborn and rebellious woman, I resisted any attempt to make myself attractive. I felt that any attempt to make myself beautiful meant that I was inviting men to check me out and consider me as potential wife. I remember rejecting gold jewelleries as a neighbour advised my mother that women who wore gold were more attractive to men. 

For years I rejected makeup, accessories and body-shaping clothes. I wore Turkish-designed clothes for Muslim women like an overcoat and was satisfied that it did not show any of my body features. 

When I moved to England, I had to change the way I dress as my overcoats were not practical for London life. The stack of clothes I brought with me did not make sense and were extremely uncomfortable for London commute and the long walks I wanted to explore the city. 

I started shopping for jeans and tops. I was comfortable with wearing jeans and body-fit tops as the notion that my clothes could have sent unintended messages to bachelor men was not valid in England. My continuous trips to Oxford Street for window shopping before selecting an item to buy helped me develop a taste, consider what suited my body-shape and what it did not. For the first time in my life, since I could remember, I enjoyed shopping, in spite of the fact that I did it alone, with no girl friends to ask for their advice. 

The joy did not only come from the variety of options available or all body shapes and heights (I can't be more grateful for petite jeans!) It was liberating to shop with my own satisfaction in mind. When I started shopping, I was looking for my practical clothes, and gradually I built a style that I was comfortable with. 

The most difficult job was shopping for bras. In Iraq, in conservative families like my own, it was recommended that the mother would do the shopping of bras and underwear for her unmarried girls. When the girl got married, her husband would do that for her during the first years of their marriage. This was because most of the shops selling these items owned by men and had men to do the sales. Most girls would refrain from working in such shops as it would damage their reputations. (This was before building all the shopping centres where women could have better shopping experience, but it is still the practice in the outskirts of cities where no shopping centres are available).

Here, away from the eagle-eye of judgmental men in Iraq, I could do the shopping myself. It cost me several bras before understanding shapes and sizes, but it was worth it.

This whole shopping experience helped me to understand my body from the outside as much as from the inside. The biology classes I took in school (yes, I studies science in secondary school!) helped me to understand how my body worked. But the independent shopping experience helped me understand my body and develop healthy body image.

Company, the musical 2019

The classical American musical Company gets a gender-swap treatment in London theatres. But does the play need this treatment? Some may think not really. But let's think it over.

In an interview, Jonathan Bailey who played the anxious gay groom Jamie, says that if the musical has been maintained in its old version, nobody would care about a bachelor playing around with women in Manhattan. By turning it to a story about woman hitting mid-30s, the story has made more sense and can relate to women’s experience as they hit 35 when all their friends remind them of the biological hour.

As someone who got married at the age of 40, I saw the play brilliant in a different way.  

The 1970 musical tells the story of a bachelor, Robert, who is afraid of commitment and searches among his married friends for an answer why he should get married and settle down. When the play first came out I 1970, women had been still struggling for equality in the workplace, public life and also private life. The idea that women might be living the life of a bachelor was not common. Art did not bring many examples of female characters going through similar struggles as the one Robert were experiencing. Society was still pressuring women, in spite of the second wave of feminism of the 50s and 60s, to become housewives. In the musical the female characters did not show the depth that males did.

In the contemporary treatment of gender swap, Bobby, a 35 years old woman whose friends are urging her to settle down while she can't find a reason to do so. She spends time with each couple and gets to see that marriage is not really all happy time with another person around all the time. Bobby tells her friends that she would like to commit and there are three men she is considering them as potential husbands. The three girls of the original musical have been turned to males in the contemporary Company: physically attractive flight attendant, the serious and committed who gets engaged to someone else, and the worldly New York’s lover.

In addition to Bobby, two couples have their characters swapped as wives take leading roles in their marriages, which was unthinkable of back in the early 1970s. Susan in the original play was southern belle, and Peter was Ivy league. In the new treatment, it is Peter who is ‘southern belle’, showing feminine traits while Susan looks more masculine.

The play takes inclusiveness and diversity beyond the mixed-race marriages to include gay relationships. The engaged couple become soon-to-be married gay couple Paul and Jamie.

In the night club scene, originally Joanne invites Robert to have an affair which leads to Robert’s realising that he needs to commit; in the contemporary play, Joanne offers Bobby a cigarette which she refuses. Joanne tells Bobby that she needs to be brave and embrace life, instead of just watching it. The scene ends with Bobby realising that she is ready to commit.

The play does not end with Bobby settling down. It ends with her knowing what she wants, wishes for it and the hope that her wishes come true, as she managed to blow out all her candles. 

Nadia