The Thirty Names of Night

A trans man struggles to confidently and publicly establish his own identity while dealing with the death of his mother, the constraints of his Syrian culture, and the expectations of his immigrant grandmother and immediate community. As if he's not dealing with enough, his own artwork has stagnated and his growing obsession with an illusive artist from the neighborhood seems to hold the key to it all. Many years ago, Laila Z, a famous Syrian artist disappeared leaving many to wonder if any of her works remain undiscovered. Our protagonist finds a journal of Laila Z's and the mystery he unearths with it will draw him into new circles to discover secrets about his family, his community, and himself.

This is a complex and intersectional show more story about the immigrant experience, art and self-expression, familial duties, and the expectations our cultures put on us to behave a certain way, especially when it comes to our gender presentation. There is so much richness and rarity here, offering a look for many into a world they will never experience. show less

The Thirty Names of Nights is one of those books that leaves you in tears (the good kind) and makes you keep saying to those around you (if they're the patient type) "thank G-d THIS writer was born to write THIS book NOW." It's peopled with the kind of complex, diverse individuals that show up far too rarely in contemporary fiction. The cast is multi-generational, mostly Syrian-American, living in post-9/11 New York City when immigrant hopes of being embraced as part of society-at-large have been flattened, particularly so for those of Arab descent.

The characters in The Thirty Names of Night are primarily Syrian-American, but each is uncomfortably conscious of a way they don't fit in: not just in society-at-large, but also within their show more traditional, tightly knit immigrant community. Social expectations fall particularly heavily on women—older, first generation immigrant women; the first women born in the U.S.; and the children of these women.

The novel's three themes—the power of art, the nature of love, and gender identity— weave together in a braid both beautiful and complex. A leitmotif of birds runs throughout, adding a layer of magical realism.

All I can say is "Buy this novel! Read it slowly and savor it. Become a part of the characters' lives and journey with them." This is reading of a rare richness. Don't miss it.

I received a free electronic review copy of this book from the publisher via Nat Galley. The opinions are my own. show less

3.5 I loved the Map of Salt and Stars and this has the same magical bent. It also has a similar past/present dynamic, only the past is in the form or a journal, conveniently found on the site of a building about to be demolished, but desperately needed in the heart of the NYC Muslim community. Laila Z is the journal's author - she was a Syrian immigrant at the turn of the century and an artist who has a lost work of a lost species of bird that could save the building if only it were unearthed. The narrator who has found the journal is in gender transition, lives with [his] Teta (grandmother) in the city and has been creating anonymous graffiti murals to help the building's cause. His mother, an ornithologist, and community activist died show more in a suspicious fire five years earlier, but her presence remains a character too. This discovery of the journal takes the narrator on a journey of self-discovery into the past as he tries to reason out Laila's story and the recipient of the journal entries who is only referred to as B_____ and was left behind in Syria. It is also a journey to save history and heritage. The 'first wave' immigration story is interesting and it dove-tails well with the narrator's present day alienation of being Muslim and trans, despite being a US citizen. There is beautiful bird imagery throughout and many pivotal 'magical' moments when a bird or a feather signify something important (if noticed and honored). The themes of family, community and acceptance are woven into the action, and it is ultimately a story or (re-)unity and hope. I think I would've liked it better had I read it rather than listened. The book's styling adds much to the story. show less

The storyline pulled together so beautifully at the end that I totally forgive it for my occasional confusion. Following the lives of three generations of Syrian Americans living in New York City, this isn’t your typical immigrant story. It’s the story of how a community has changed as progress tore apart the old community, but more than that it’s the story of learning self-acceptance for who you are, whether or not you were born into the right sex. As I watched Nadir rebel against his female body and came to the slow realization that his grandmother also cared for a female although remaining traditionally female, I had my first realistic view of what life for people who are uncomfortable in the role society places on them. I show more struggled with the gender-neutral pronouns, but the more I was immersed in the story the more it became normal. And most of all I found Joukhader to be a compassionate, caring author in making characters come to life. show less

The Thirty Names of Night - Joukhadar
4 stars

I’d finished this difficult book before I realized that I’d also read The Map of Salt and Stars by the same author. Thinking about both books together helps me to sort out my likes and dislikes as it pertains to this author. His writing is strongest when he deals with hard reality.

It was a difficult book to read. There is so much pain and so much beauty. It was overwhelming. It is a split timeline story, alternating between the contemporary story of the Syrian-American, transgender Nadir and the early 20th century diary of a woman named Laila Z. Initially Nadir and Laila’s stories are linked by the identification of a rare (possibly mythical) bird. The stories become more tightly linked show more as the book progresses. As usual, I preferred the historical storyline. But, there’s no denying that the contemporary plot was the most compelling. My first observation of this book’s content is that it could easily have been a generational story told with old fashioned consecutive plotting. I’m so tired of this split timeline storytelling.

The contemporary story is the first person account of an unnamed (later, called Nadir) young person. It’s an interior monologue, sometimes a one-way conversation with the narrator’s deceased mother. The ghostly presence of the mother is taken as fact by the narrator. By the end of the first confusing chapter a few things are clear. This young person is dealing with more than one person should have to bear. Their mother’s death seems to have been an accident, but possibly the result of a hate crime. They are the sole support of an ailing grandmother. They are in physical and emotional pain struggling with gender identification. In the midst of all this, they discover the notebook/diary that connects the two storylines.

It is the notebook of an early 20th century bird artist, relatively unknown, mysteriously disappeared, and whose art is receiving 21st century attention. Also there’s a rare bird, identified by only three people. The existence of this bird becomes a quest for the contemporary characters. Interesting, but it’s very nearly buried under the more important concerns of this book. There are many, many birds in this book. They appear in unusually large numbers. They appear in unlikely places. In some way the birds are symbolic, a bit magical.

This book features two of my favorite things; the visual arts and ornithology. An aspiring artist in one timeline investigates the mystery of Laila Z, the bird artist of the previous century. The connection is there, but it matters little to the story. The presence of the ‘ghost’ mother was a believable element of magical realism, but the over abundance of birds in every situation became an unnecessary distraction. It felt overly contrived.

The real power of this book is Nadir’s coming of age story. It’s a painful journey through grief, financial stress, and racial discrimination. More than anything it’s a personal, very honest, coming out story. That would have been enough. show less

My review will be published on April 19, 2020

The Thirty Names of Night by Zeyn Joukadar is going to be a difficult book to review. If you've read the blurb above then you know that at its core, this book is about Syrian Americans: their history, their struggles, their victoria and defeats, their humanity and so much more. But it's also about a few other things. And this is why I think it's difficult to review. It's not hard to write about because it's wanting in any way.

This novel is beautiful. Joukadar's writing is more like poetry than prose and each sentence is like the brush strokes in an impressionist painting. I had to keep reading to uncover more of the image I was being guided through.

There are several themes in this book. show more Probably one of the most important ones is identity. It's complex in this story. There is the identity we have from a cultural perspective, and from a personal connection with our family and friends. There's also the identity that comes from within us. Who am I? And what makes me who I am? Gender roles, historical significance, culture, Society, normas... there is so much that plays into who we are. Joukadar has taken a complex issue and broken it down so beautifully that it's impossible to stop reading.

This book is also about connections in a way. We are connected ... again ... to our histories and our culture but there are connections all around us that we don't necessarily see day today. We forge bonds with the people around us, the belongings that we cling to and the tasks we give ourselves

This book is written by an "Own Voices" author... and it's so gloriously evident. the main character is a trans boy who is on a journey towards his a name... an identity. Sometimes harsh and visceral, often touching and thought-provoking, this journey is remarkable. show less

This was a treasure of a read. The split narrative reminded me of a tapestry and the way the ornithological symbolism was woven throughout was lovely. There was so much depth to this novel that I know it will end up being a reread for me, maybe even later this year.