A wonderful story. I say wonderful mainly in reference to the way the ancient story of Rawiya parallels the present-day story of Nour and her family... because Nour’s story is obviously tragic in itself. Although it’s fiction, I think it raises some necessary awareness of the obstacles refugees face in war-ridden countries, especially Syria. It may just be the most beautifully-written descriptive book I’ve ever read. The way Nour’s synesthesia and inner thoughts are blended with the maps and poetry, I mean, truly beautiful. And it’s all told from the perspective of a young adolescent girl... such an interesting perspective. The first few chapters were a bit slow, that’s my only qualm.

Everything about this book resonated with me, from the modern story of Nour escaping a war-torn Syria to Rawiya's adventures 800 years before. I loved the side-by-side telling of these two stories, and enjoyed the parallels between them. The characters were developed nicely, and Nour's synesthesia made her a compelling character that gave me a glimpse into what it might be like. This was an easy add to my favorites shelf. Very well done.

A truly beautiful book with two stories about finding one's way to their home. Such gorgeous prose and wonderful characters.

Docked a star because it took me 80 pages to get into it.

3 stars. I was in absolutely the wrong headspace for this book, but I can't deny that it was fairly well-written. I liked the lyricism that really takes you back to oral storytelling traditions (that Joukhadar acknowledged was purposefully done in the afterword). The biggest downside for me was that Nour's voice kept taking me out of the story because her words conflicted with her age that the book was telling me. It didn't feel as real as it could have. Because of this - unlike most people here - I actually preferred Rawiya's story in comparison.

“Do you think there’s a place in the world where nobody has ever put their feet?” “I think there are more of them than the other way around.” Demands to be Felt. Zeyn Joukhadar’s A Map of Salt and Stars is a dual-timeline narrative merging historical fiction that follows 12-year old Nour whose family escapes war-torn Syria to be plunged into a harrowing journey across the Middle East and a fantasy-laced fable that follows the mapmaking journeys of Rawiya. Right at the outset, the narrative is striking. I’ve had to pick this read up three times before finally committing it - which is, in equal parts because I felt that the writing and the story were like a force that demands to be experienced fully for how beautifully it is written (the way I felt that Strange the Dreamer, which is my favourite book of all time, demanded to be experienced fully when I first read it) and because I was completely intimidated by it. And coming to the end of this read, I think I was right to be - there was a weight that I felt to this read that went beyond the heavy subject matters; a density I had to really plod through. Written in Strokes. But through and through is the most stunning prose - prose to be caught off guard by; prose to be taken by. The writing is so beautiful and in a story fraught with the themes of war and displacement, and loss and grief, it stands starkly different, almost contrasted against the mass of it. Thick, defiant strokes that feels like a call to be noticed for all of the beauty that co-exists with the hurt, the mess. And how fitting it is that our heroine, Nour, loves storytelling and her own story is told in a way that feels like a profession of so. An Ode to Storytelling. And it is in this profession of love for storytelling that I felt that much of my appreciation for the story lied (laid?). Nour’s Baba left her, in his passing, with the echoes of the stories he used to tell her and it is this storytelling legacy that he leaves her with and Nour’s love of it that I feel carries her through. From the dual-narrative that is Nour’s story placed side by side to the story she grew up listening to, to the way storytellers are celebrated in their being distinct, impactful characters in both Nour and Rawiya’s journeys, I feel that A Map of Salt and Stars is most wondrously, an ode to storytelling.

The Map Of Salt and Stars by Zeyn Joukhadar ⁣ ⁣ This is a book I heavily misjudged in the beginning and even though I absolutely loved the plot, I couldn‘t really get into it and finish it. By coincidence I found the audiobook on my favorite app @scribd and I was mesmerized. @laracid voice is a gift and I absolutely could not stop listening to and the affecting way she tells this amazing story.⁣ ⁣ The book speaks about two young girls. One is Nour who left the US to go back to Syria after her father passed away. This proved to be the worst time since it was also the beginning of the civil war and they couldn‘t just go back to the US anymore. So, they have to flee from Syria to Jordan to Egypt to Morocco. While they‘re fleeing we read about Rawiya, a story Nour‘s parents used to tell her a lot. 800 years before, Rawiya, dressed as Rami, goes on a journey as an apprentice of the map maker al-Idrisi to chart the globe, walking the same route as Nour and her family.⁣ ⁣ My favorite part of the book is how little the West actually learns about the impact of Muslim scholars, such as al-Idrisi, whose maps were considered the most accurate in the world for many centuries! The author’s note is almost as interesting as the book itself but too short unfortunately. ⁣ ⁣ Definitely a must read AND must hear!⁣ ⁣ PS: There is a new copy with the author‘s new name @zeyn_joukhadar. Get that one if you can!

What is mapmaking but the telling of stories of the lands where we have travelled and the places that have shaped us? This is what I think about constantly as I read Jennifer Zeynab Joukhadar’s The Map of Salt and Stars, a story of adventure embedded into a story of loss and escape. The main narrative, a tale of refugees forced to leave Syria when their home is destroyed, is bleak but powerfully poignant today, as populism demonizes those coming to our borders seeking refuge. The tale within the tale, of a grand mapmaking adventure, is magically mystical—but it does more than mirror the main narrative. It reminds us that we are defined by the places where we travel, where we seek shelter. Mapmaking is but a way to articulate how we have been shaped by these spaces. — — — One of the most powerful sentences, one that made me pause and breathe deeply, in Joukhadar’s novel is only four words long: “I smell burnt cumin.” How much of our memories of tragedy, of loss, of heartbreak, are hidden in these small, passing, visceral, sensory reminders? It is remarkable how a scent, word, a sound, a frisson of touch, can take us back to a time gone by. It is profound that sometimes our only way to process tragedy is through these sensory markers: they are a map to our pasts, drawn across our bodies. ( Originally published on inthemargins.ca)