Name: Hijab butch blues
Rating: 4.396551724137931 (29 reviews)
ISBN: 9791280559463

Lamya H.

Hijab butch blues

nhu ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

These rules are an act of love. The wisdom of creating these rules and her willingness to put our relationship on hold are all acts of love. The playfulness and humor in her tone is an act of love. Our hiding is an act of love. This gesture of care and tenderness from Liv, on this journey to introduce her as a friend to a family who loves me, is all so beautiful and tender and unfair that I feel as if my heart will break.			

fira

“No wonder Yusuf has it so hard the rest of his life. How do you live after that happens to you? How do you ever love anyone again? How do you trust anyone again? That’s what I think Yusuf’s story is about. Living with the consequences of trauma, of being abandoned.”

“You know what’s weird, though?” Manal says. “The introduction in the tafsir says that Surah Yusuf is about love. I find that so fascinating. What if we’re thinking about it from the wrong angle? What if this surah is about healing instead? What if this surah is about healing from being left? What if it’s about healing through love?”

Her smile is difficult to extract but worth it for the way it spreads across her face, the way that it crinkles her eyes. 

“They never instilled in us this idea that white people were superior to us. We grew up with stories about Malcolm X and the Black Panthers. If anything, I grew up feeling sorry for white people. But not too sorry.”

				“That’s so unfair! I grew up with my family reminiscing fondly about being colonized by the British!”

As if I’ve never held dear my feminist rage, never thought about how I feel so politically aligned with womanhood and yet hate inhabiting it, hate it when my body is read as such. 

The language God gave us hides meaning, adds meaning, and is constantly shifting beneath us, constantly creating our worlds and constantly creating us.

She’s white, she’s pretty, but this sense of being wrong has never left her, and she still carries herself like an outsider. I don’t understand how she manages to be brilliant and brash and insecure at the same time. I am intrigued.

It’s not like I’m hiding that I’m gay from this friend, it’s not that I don’t want to tell her. It’s just that the more I’ve grown into my queerness, the less I want to come out to straight people.

But I shouldn’t have worried. As soon as I enter my new friend’s sunny, cozy, plant-filled apartment, she greets me warmly, and the few people who are already there jump up to say hello before I’m fully inside the door. “I didn’t know you were coming! I’m so glad you’re here!” says one of the queer femmes whom I’ve been very intimidated by, and who has previously been hard to read. 

I’m not expecting her to dress up, so I show up in sweats and a raggedy T-shirt. But boy does she dress up. She looks dazzling in a red dress with a deep neckline that I can’t stop sneaking glances at. She tells me all about her childhood, asks about mine. Drinks a little and gets touchy-feely, grabs my hand and tells me my long skinny fingers are beautiful, perfect for…drawing. She holds up her palm to mine and compares our phalanges. “Doesn’t this feel like we’re on a date?” she giggles, tipsy and happy. And then goes home, to the boyfriend she lives with.

They’re easy, they’re predictable. Their rejection is preordained: so familiar that it makes the uncomfortable comfortable, normal, expected—even safe. With straight girls, I get to choose being rejected, I get to reject myself. 

I talk about this book of short stories I’m reading by a Pakistani writer. “Oh, is it Manto?” she asks, this white girl from Vermont, and my swooning intensifies. I’m having such a good time that I forget to check my watch and end up hanging out way later than I had planned.

On our walk to the theater, we talk about how national parks are a product of American expansionism and white supremacy—and guiltily admit to each other that we still want to visit every single one. 

I keep everyone at a bit of a distance, so it’s not as crushing when they do inevitably leave. And I stop using the word “best” to describe any of my friends.

I want to say more, to tell Manal about the many ways I make myself unleavable: listening to friends process their feelings for however long they need, even when I’m exhausted and sleepwalking between work and bed. Offering to water their plants and feed their pets while they’re gone. Staying overnight with them during breakups. Keeping them company before doctor’s appointments. Organizing birthdays and meal trains and baby showers. I want to list all these things for Manal, but in the easy silence that follows, I know she knows.

				And the truth is also that l love doing these things because I love these people. But in the quiet before Manal responds, I feel confronted anew with the flip side of this way of being with other people—a way that’s based in fear of people leaving, that prevents me from asking things of people in turn. That makes me recoil when others try to be there for me, even when I don’t ask.

What if my pseudonym is a whale that allows me to build and love and resist through activism and organizing, these new forms of fighting that have replaced the yelling and raging of my twenties? 

I’m building this world for people I know will fight for me, whom I fight alongside by marching at protests, fundraising for bail funds, organizing queer Muslim events that build community.

This is the world fourteen-year-old me couldn’t even begin to imagine. I’m already here.

Lamya H

When fourteen-year-old Lamya H realizes she has a crush on her teacher—her female teacher—she covers up her attraction, an attraction she can’t yet name, by playing up her roles as overachiever and class clown. Born in South Asia, she moved to the Middle East at a young age and has spent years feeling out of place, like her own desires and dreams don’t matter, and it’s easier to hide in plain sight. To disappear. But one day in Quran class, she reads a passage about Maryam that changes everything: When Maryam learned that she was pregnant, she insisted no man had touched her. Could Maryam, uninterested in men, be . . . like Lamya?
 
From that moment on, Lamya makes sense of her struggles and triumphs by comparing her experiences with some of the most famous stories in the Quran. She juxtaposes her coming out with Musa liberating his people from the pharoah; asks if Allah, who is neither male nor female, might instead be nonbinary; and, drawing on the faith and hope Nuh needed to construct his ark, begins to build a life of her own—ultimately finding that the answer to her lifelong quest for community and belonging lies in owning her identity as a queer, devout Muslim immigrant.
 
This searingly intimate memoir in essays, spanning Lamya’s childhood to her arrival in the United States for college through early-adult life in New York City, tells a universal story of courage, trust, and love, celebrating what it means to be a seeker and an architect of one’s own life.

A Memoir

Hijab Butch Blues

Romy

Absolute genius. This was flowing with information and in writing, sometimes almost lyrical even. The idea of linking one’s own story with the Quran was smart and I loved being educated on some part of it. This entire story was so heartfelt.

'A masterful, must-read contribution to conversations on power, justice, healing, and devotion from a singular voice I now trust with my whole heart' GLENNON DOYLE, author of Untamed When Lamya is fourteen, she decides to disappear. It seems easier to ease herself out of sight than to grapple with the difficulty of taking shape in a world that doesn't fit. She is a queer teenager growing up in a Muslim household, a South Asian in a Middle Eastern country. But during her Quran class, she reads a passage about Maryam, and suddenly everything shifts: if Maryam was never touched by any man, could Maryam be... like Lamya? Written with deep intelligence and a fierce humour, Hijab Butch Blues follows Lamya as she travels to the United States, as she comes out, and as she navigates the complexities of the immigration system - and the queer dating scene. At each step, she turns to her faith to make sense of her life, weaving stories from the Quran together with her own experiences: Musa leading his people to freedom; Allah, who is neither male nor female; and Nuh, who built an ark, just as Lamya is finally able to become the architect of her own story. Raw and unflinching, Hijab Butch Blues heralds the arrival of a truly original voice, asking powerful questions about gender and sexuality, relationships, identity and faith, and what it means to build a life of one's own.

I had been looking forward to reading this for a while and I’m glad I finally did. I’ve recently discovered my love for memoirs and this was no exception. I loved the narrative voice and I was almost immediately hooked on to the story. The writing was beautiful and managed to simply and concisely explore various issues and feelings within the queer experience. I thought the book was extremely relatable to me which made the reading experience that much better.

I loved following the author’s story, I think they did a really great job of expounding their lived experience. The book explores themes of self-acceptance, community, forgiveness, healing, etc, all through passages from the Quran. I loved how this was interwoven with the story in relation to what the chapter was about, or the particular issue the author wanted to discuss. I thought it was a really creative idea and it helped show how important the author’s religion is to them, how it contributes to her lived experience, and how it colors the way she sees and moves through the world. Additionally, as someone who was raised christian, it was really interesting for me to read these stories in islam, it was fun to note the similarities and differences between them and the bible stories I was taught. My favorite is the one right at the beginning, “Maryam” (not just because of the line “Maryam is a dyke.”) but also because I loved the way the author interpreted and related to that particular story.

All in all, I thought the book was really insightful. The author weaved the various parts of her identity together seamlessly, and it really left me with more understanding of myself and my identity as a queer person, and insight on navigating my own various intersections. Definitely a book worth reading and rereading.

bel 

I had been looking forward to reading this for a while and I’m glad I finally did. I’ve recently discovered my love for memoirs and this was no exception. I loved the narrative voice and I was almost immediately hooked on to the story. The writing was beautiful and managed to simply and concisely explore various issues and feelings within the queer experience. I thought the book was extremely relatable to me which made the reading experience that much better.

I loved following the author’s story, I think they did a really great job of expounding their lived experience. The book explores themes of self-acceptance, community, forgiveness, healing, etc, all through passages from the Quran. I loved how this was interwoven with the story in relation to what the chapter was about, or the particular issue the author wanted to discuss. I thought it was a really creative idea and it helped show how important the author’s religion is to them, how it contributes to her lived experience, and how it colors the way she sees and moves through the world. Additionally, as someone who was raised christian, it was really interesting for me to read these stories in islam, it was fun to note the similarities and differences between them and the bible stories I was taught. My favorite is the one right at the beginning, “Maryam” (not just because of the line “Maryam is a dyke.”) but also because I loved the way the author interpreted and related to that particular story.

All in all, I thought the book was really insightful. The author weaved the various parts of her identity together seamlessly, and it really left me with more understanding of myself and my identity as a queer person, and insight on navigating my own various intersections. Definitely a book worth reading and rereading.

A punch to the gut that somehow healed me.

Hopeful!!! I have been kind of taken by the concept of having a subject/book/text to study as a way to process life and lessons and morals so this scratched a certain itch. Pairing stories from the Quran that she interprets through her own queerness is not only helpful for me since idk anything abt any foundational religious texts but it’s also sooooooo what being 21 and a lesbian is all about!!!!!! Why wouldn’t you take fundamental moral narratives and analyze them through your own experiences of the world!!

Bailee Strong

I don't think anything I can say about this book will do it justice. It's been on my to read list since it came out, and it was waiting for me at my local library when I was ready to get back into memoirs. I definitely recommend it to fellow white queers; we could all stand to make our feminism and our queerness less white. In other words, I am reminded, as I often am, how important intersectionality is.

Jonnie

Damn. It had me crying, had me smiling and left me thinking during&after each chapter. 

It’s one of those books that’s best digested slowly to get its full effect. Brilliant. 

Kierce

Damn. It had me crying, had me smiling and left me thinking during&after each chapter. 

It’s one of those books that’s best digested slowly to get its full effect. Brilliant. 

I really enjoyed this book! A lot of the way the author articulated their experiences really spoke to me, as well as the complexities of gender with queerness. Will have quotes to pull later.

Elizabeth

part 3 was definitely my favorite esp. "yusuf", "hajar", and the last essay, "yunus". wow .. i felt so fucking seen in that last one. 

i don't think i was expecting to feel so intensely as i read on. having read this and minor feelings -- two memoirs that touch on the feelings/consequences of being racialized and alienated, and not having the language to express those feelings -- back to back, i'm left with even more time to ruminate on all the ugly parts of my upbringing and how they still seep into how i think and act now as a young adult. 

what i found interesting about the reading experience was definitely the structure of the readings/anecdotes. i found myself recognizing so many of them that i was taught as a child to internalize and practice in daily life (albeit the catholic version, lol), and with an already fractured relationship to my religion, reminiscing on all these teachings just whip me right back. 

when i was a kid i remember having a picture book version of the bible that i would read over and over again, never getting tired of the way these readings and teachings were presented to children. i think my main takeaway from reading this memoir is that my relationship to queerness and religion still makes me feel like a child needing more guidance. i feel some nostalgia when i read and absorbe these readings, yet when i read this book, i'm also reminded of how traumatized i am by my personal religious experience. i really felt so seen. sometimes i wish i could have a healthier relationship with religion/spirituality that isn't so dictated by the routine and rules that i was forced to conform to growing up, and a lot of that mirrors my own experience with gender (roles). 

serafin

part 3 was definitely my favorite esp. "yusuf", "hajar", and the last essay, "yunus". wow .. i felt so fucking seen in that last one. 

i don't think i was expecting to feel so intensely as i read on. having read this and minor feelings -- two memoirs that touch on the feelings/consequences of being racialized and alienated, and not having the language to express those feelings -- back to back, i'm left with even more time to ruminate on all the ugly parts of my upbringing and how they still seep into how i think and act now as a young adult. 

what i found interesting about the reading experience was definitely the structure of the readings/anecdotes. i found myself recognizing so many of them that i was taught as a child to internalize and practice in daily life (albeit the catholic version, lol), and with an already fractured relationship to my religion, reminiscing on all these teachings just whip me right back. 

when i was a kid i remember having a picture book version of the bible that i would read over and over again, never getting tired of the way these readings and teachings were presented to children. i think my main takeaway from reading this memoir is that my relationship to queerness and religion still makes me feel like a child needing more guidance. i feel some nostalgia when i read and absorbe these readings, yet when i read this book, i'm also reminded of how traumatized i am by my personal religious experience. i really felt so seen. sometimes i wish i could have a healthier relationship with religion/spirituality that isn't so dictated by the routine and rules that i was forced to conform to growing up, and a lot of that mirrors my own experience with gender (roles). 

Lindy

Would probably have liked this more when I was twenty.

This memoir follows a queer nonbinary Muslim as she navigates herself into young adulthood/adulthood. They make sense of their religious upbringing in a way that is beautiful and made me reflect deeply on the religious teachings of my youth. She reflects on figures in the Quran and uses their stories to make sense of her own. They also talk about their God being nonbinary just like themself. 

It's an easy, beautiful read. Highly recommended. 

Krys C

This memoir follows a queer nonbinary Muslim as she navigates herself into young adulthood/adulthood. They make sense of their religious upbringing in a way that is beautiful and made me reflect deeply on the religious teachings of my youth. She reflects on figures in the Quran and uses their stories to make sense of her own. They also talk about their God being nonbinary just like themself. 

It's an easy, beautiful read. Highly recommended. 

Cloudface

This was an absolute gem and I’m so glad I read it. The author writes about her experiences as a queer Muslim immigrant in short, beautifully written passages, drawing connections between her own life and passages from the Quran. Although I am not Muslim, I have grappled with the contradictions between my own queer identity and the religion I was raised in, so the author’s experiences resonated deeply with me. I also felt a strong connection with her childhood, her realization that she was queer, and the slow journey she took toward accepting herself and allowing herself to be vulnerable enough to be loved by others. In my opinion this book should be essential reading, not just for queer people but for all people - everyone has something to gain from the words within it. I’ve been on the verge of tears ever since I finished reading it, and I can’t wait for it to come out in print so that I can buy a copy and annotate it.

Inez

Thank you NetGalley and the publisher to grant me an ARC for this book.

I am never a fan of memoir but this book gave me a pleasant first time I cried. This book taught me things that I didn't know I needed to know, things that were left unasked or unspoken because I thought it was taboo, things that only stayed in the back of my mind because I was scared someone might judge me for asking such an issue. This book became my friend because it offered so many stuff that I was too scared to say it out loud.

I can't exactly write down how amazing this book is, but I want to make sure that I genuinely adore this book. Some parts are thought-provoking that I want to read it repeatedly so I grasp the whole idea, some parts hit close to home that I need to step back for a while to breathe.

This book makes me feel like I have a friend. I cannot wait for it to be released so I can purchase it and kiss it because I love it that much.

Hijab butch blues

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