West of the Jordan
by Laila Halaby
Summary
In this brilliant first novel, Laila Halaby immerses her readers in the lives, friendships, and loves of girls struggling with national, ethnic, and sexual identities. Mawal is the stable one, living steeped in the security of Palestinian traditions in the West Bank. Hala is torn between two worlds-in love in Jordan, drawn back to the world she has come to love in Arizona. Khadija is terrified by the sexual freedom of her American friends.. Soraya is unable to navigate the fast culture of California youth. Interweaving their stories, Halaby gives us a window into the rich and complicated Arab world.
Excerpt
My gray, ankle-length dress scratches me everywhere, no matter how I shift in my regular-class, no-frills seat. It tickles my bottom and has a scooped back and scooped front, so people can peek from all angles. I thought the dress would give me confidence--mostly covering me, but pretty--but instead I fold myself, hunch, and calculate whether a tiny airplane bathroom is big enough to hold me as I change my clothes.
Next to me a diabetic Syrian woman has talked nonstop since our Royal Jordanian flight left LAX. Her body fills her seat and creeps into mine as well. Hennaed tendrils sneak from beneath her flowered scarf. She has lived in Los Angeles for thirty years and says that she does not speak a word of English.
“Why should I bother?” she shouts, so close to me that I taste her egg breath.
“You might enjoy it more,” I suggest, trying not to inhale.
“Nothing to enjoy.”
“Then why do you stay?”
“My children and grandchildren are there.” She glares at
me and clutches a cardboard box with pictures of hypodermic
needles. “Can you please have a woman from the plane
come here.”
I pull my scratchy, gray shoulders up so they almost reach
my neck, stretch my arm up, and push the button for the
stewardess.
A slender, manicured finger pushes the button off and
green eyes peer into mine. “Yes?”
The Syrian woman sits silently.
“She wanted me to ring for you,” I say.
“What do you need, Auntie?” asks the stewardess, whose
name tag reads “Nadia.”
“I want you to know that I have to take these every day,”
she says, holding up the box of needles. “I don’t know how
to do it, so could you please get the plane’s doctor to come
and give me an injection.” She smiles, exposing two gold
teeth.
We stare at her. Nadia looks at me.
“We just met now,” I say in English in case she thinks we
are related.
“Let me see if I can find a doctor for you,” she says.
The Syrian woman faces forward and says in a loud voice
to no one in particular, “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Well, you should go then. They’re very close.” I point to
the lavatories, just two rows away.
“I couldn’t set foot in such a place!”
“Why not?”
“They’re filled with the smell of dirty pigs.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You would use the same toilet, breathe the same air, as a
strange man? I’d prefer exploding.”
The Syrian woman stares at my scoops. I turn away.
It is early evening when the plane lands, the sun a dull orange
on the runway. I stare out the window, brush my hair for the
third time, and rub some of the shininess from my face.
I have come back to Jordan to visit my dying grandmother—
my father’s mother—one last time.
Reviews
“Contemplative and lush, this coming-of-age tale resonates with the challenges of cross-cultural life”—Publishers Weekly
"This debut introduces readers to the rich and complicated lives of four [Arab and Arab-American] cousins...”—Library Journal
"Halaby’s writing carries the flavor of the lands she writes of, west of the Jordan-rich and imbued with sorrow”--Gelareh Asayesh, author of Saffron Sky: A Life between Iran and America
Author's Biography
Laila Halaby was born in Beirut, Lebanon, to a Jordanian father and an American mother. She speaks four languages, won a Fulbright scholarship to study folklore in Jordan, and holds a master’s degree in Arabic literature. This novel won the prestigious PEN Beyond Margins Award. She lives in Tucson, Arizona.