This review contains spoilers.
Non-spoiler summary - this is a fictionalised account of trying to deradicalise women who were tricked and trafficked into becoming brides for fighters in ISIS. It is very well written, told from the perspective of a female British academic who has traded academia to work on the deradicalisation programme for the United Nations, who meets a young woman from London who is now in a camp for former ISIS brides in Iraq. The story explores their tentative friendship during the labyrinthine process of leaving the camp and returning to the UK.
It's a very moving, witty, challenging and memorable book and I thoroughly recommend it.
++++++ Spoilers follow ++++++
This is a work of fiction that has such a ring of authenticity about it the author, Nussaibah Younis, has added in a disclaimer at the back to say that no, she did not work for the United Nations when she worked in Iraq, and no, there are no internment camps for women who were trafficked into forced marriages to ISIS members in Iraq. Although similar camps do exist in other countries, and women have been left trapped, imprisoned and stateless after being deprived of their home citizenship.
However, Nussaibah did work in Iraq for a NGO and was advising the Iraqi government on how to deradicalise women who had joined, or were coerced into joining, ISIS. She is also a British academic who grew up in the UK, like Nadia the primary protagonist in the book. Whether there are any other similarities between her and Nadia would be an intensely personal question to ask, given Nadia's sexual experiences and her apostasy.
The different relationship Nadia and Sara, the other main character in the book, have with the religion they were brought up in was another very authentic element to the book. Nadia meets Sara in the camp where women who were married to ISIS fighters are being held. After a while it becomes apparent that Nadia's rebellion against the strictures of her religion left her open to her naivety being exploited in almost exactly the same way that Sara's idealism and wanting a more fervent version of her faith led to her being trafficked into a life of sexual slavery.
Nadia's journey from a teenage true believer through to an apostate adult is an interesting look at natural deradicalisation. What is equally interesting is the way Sarah clings to her faith, despite being repeatedly married off to short-lived ISIS cannon fodder soldiers. She doesn't lose her faith despite the personal atrocities she experiences and resists the deradicalisation programme. She still wants the dream she had of a religious utopia to be possible, despite the reality she found herself in, and she doesn't want to let that dream go.
The book's setting in the world of the UN also, sadly, feels very true. Nadia has to deal with competing internal political priorities. Some of the tangential storylines and prejudices expressed by the motley cast of supporting characters seem to be drawn from real life, even if the hypocrisy and corruption are dialled up to eleven. There are arguments between empire-building heads of department as they struggle for greater personal control of resources. The people needing help are the lowest priority of jaded career UN workers, many of whom seem to have ended up in Iraq by accident and are just serving their time until they can take another placement somewhere else.
Meanwhile, we have Sarah and Nadia, slowly becoming friends despite everything. When it becomes apparent that Sarah will never be repatriated to Britain, and also apparent that she probably doesn't want to go back, they have to find an alternative place of safety. It all gets very messy and tense towards the end of the book, which kept me gripped until I had finished the story.
This is my favourite fiction book so far this year and probably since I read Jennie Godfrey's The List of Suspicious Things last summer. It has a lot to say about religion, global geopolitics, fixing the problems of failed states, and human connection. It is profoundly hopeful, despite the many reasons the characters have to despair. And that, I think, is its most endearing quality.
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