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A review by archytas
The House of Rust by Khadija Abdalla Bajaber
adventurous
emotional
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
"Being is to be alive, awake—to believe, not to roll under the world as it is. Are you alive if you do not question the world? If you do not go to war with yourself in deciding how to acquaint yourself with it or challenge it?"
This is a complex, dense and often challenging read, but it also provides rich rewards in a magical, imaginative story of the coming of age of a difficult, stubborn young woman who yearns and fights for more than she is offered.
The first half of this novel leans toward the magical, as Aisha undertakes an epic sea journey with a talking cat to rescue and bring home her father. She must use her wits, her beloved knife and her faith to brave the sea, supported by creatures who live in their own, often arcane, interconnected city of spirits. Mombasa is a character here - with its calls to prayer, its witchcraft, its fisherman and wedding singers, and our cast of talking animals give us the feel of a city of multiple communities.
The second half leans more towards realism, as upon her return, Aisha's problems do not magically disappear. Her family struggles to reshape into something stronger, and she faces a crushing expectation of marriage, to which the most likely alternative is a vulnerability terrifying to her grandmother. Aisha is single-minded and stubborn, often blind to those around her. She refuses to cow to the selflessness demanded of women, to be cowed by her uncertain social status into accepting bargains she does not want. She often subverts our expectations of a heroine, refusing to follow even a hero's script.
House of Rust captures the exquisite pain of growth. The bittersweet mix of grief and relief that accompanies making your own way, even when that means leaving pieces of yourself, images of who you might have been, behind. The way that growing up also changes your dearest relationships. Those around her all struggle, in some way, with how to restrain themselves from protection, which becomes constraint - including a mysterious, possibly formerly malevolent, creature who has lost his power for his people in his fear of his own power.
There is some social commentary here and a sharp picture of a specific community replete with colorism and snobbery as well as communal support and sustaining faith in Islam.
I'm still not entirely sure of all that was going on. This is possibly partly because this is written for a local audience—for those who know and love this culture, with a reasonable expectation that outsiders will keep up or not. But also, much of the meaning is in ellipses, and riddles abound in the text. Even the characters frequently misunderstand each other. It would be a rewarding re-read for a restful and curious brain, and one I will list for when I have retired or have a long holiday.
This is a complex, dense and often challenging read, but it also provides rich rewards in a magical, imaginative story of the coming of age of a difficult, stubborn young woman who yearns and fights for more than she is offered.
The first half of this novel leans toward the magical, as Aisha undertakes an epic sea journey with a talking cat to rescue and bring home her father. She must use her wits, her beloved knife and her faith to brave the sea, supported by creatures who live in their own, often arcane, interconnected city of spirits. Mombasa is a character here - with its calls to prayer, its witchcraft, its fisherman and wedding singers, and our cast of talking animals give us the feel of a city of multiple communities.
The second half leans more towards realism, as upon her return, Aisha's problems do not magically disappear. Her family struggles to reshape into something stronger, and she faces a crushing expectation of marriage, to which the most likely alternative is a vulnerability terrifying to her grandmother. Aisha is single-minded and stubborn, often blind to those around her. She refuses to cow to the selflessness demanded of women, to be cowed by her uncertain social status into accepting bargains she does not want. She often subverts our expectations of a heroine, refusing to follow even a hero's script.
House of Rust captures the exquisite pain of growth. The bittersweet mix of grief and relief that accompanies making your own way, even when that means leaving pieces of yourself, images of who you might have been, behind. The way that growing up also changes your dearest relationships. Those around her all struggle, in some way, with how to restrain themselves from protection, which becomes constraint - including a mysterious, possibly formerly malevolent, creature who has lost his power for his people in his fear of his own power.
There is some social commentary here and a sharp picture of a specific community replete with colorism and snobbery as well as communal support and sustaining faith in Islam.
I'm still not entirely sure of all that was going on. This is possibly partly because this is written for a local audience—for those who know and love this culture, with a reasonable expectation that outsiders will keep up or not. But also, much of the meaning is in ellipses, and riddles abound in the text. Even the characters frequently misunderstand each other. It would be a rewarding re-read for a restful and curious brain, and one I will list for when I have retired or have a long holiday.