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A review by camillatd
The Thirty Names of Night by Zeyn Joukhadar
challenging
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.5
The Thirty Names of Night is a rich, expansive, heart-opening novel. Our (initially) unnamed narrator is grieving his mother, seeking meaning in his art, and attempting to untangle a family secret. The novel moves between two voices: the present-day narrator and the artist Laila Z, whose journal entries he uncovers. With each diary entry he reads, our narrator comes closer to understanding his mother’s life and death, but he also comes closer to understanding (and embracing) himself and his transness. Joukhadar really masterfully weaves together past and present, creating a striking narrative of family, migration, and intergenerational queerness. Both timelines and narrators felt equally crucial to the story, which I think is really hard to achieve in a novel. I felt so connected to these characters and so invested in their journeys.
While this novel contains a lot of pain (from gender dysphoria to grief to racism and xenophobia), it’s full of love and beauty. The novel is rich with symbolism, birds and ghosts and paintings and flowers and secrets, scenes that took my breath away.
This was another book that allowed me to sit in the wise grief/wise joy that I’ve been reflecting on since I read Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar: “I hope that when there is laughter, it’s laughter made wise by having known real grief—and when there if grief, it is made wise by having known real joy.”
This is a novel about community, and how caring for each other and making art is a form of resistance. Moving from Syria to New York City to Dearborn, Michigan, the story explores how community ties are enshrined in structures, but how they also transcend buildings, places, and cities. Joukhadar also crafts a moving narrative of queer resilience across time and place. The novel’s cast of predominantly queer and trans characters carve out space and community and love and family for themselves, in deeply queer and deeply beautiful ways. Queer and trans people have always been here, and we always will be.
While this novel contains a lot of pain (from gender dysphoria to grief to racism and xenophobia), it’s full of love and beauty. The novel is rich with symbolism, birds and ghosts and paintings and flowers and secrets, scenes that took my breath away.
This was another book that allowed me to sit in the wise grief/wise joy that I’ve been reflecting on since I read Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar: “I hope that when there is laughter, it’s laughter made wise by having known real grief—and when there if grief, it is made wise by having known real joy.”
This is a novel about community, and how caring for each other and making art is a form of resistance. Moving from Syria to New York City to Dearborn, Michigan, the story explores how community ties are enshrined in structures, but how they also transcend buildings, places, and cities. Joukhadar also crafts a moving narrative of queer resilience across time and place. The novel’s cast of predominantly queer and trans characters carve out space and community and love and family for themselves, in deeply queer and deeply beautiful ways. Queer and trans people have always been here, and we always will be.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Transphobia, Grief, Dysphoria, and War
Moderate: Death, Homophobia, Sexual content, Transphobia, and Fire/Fire injury