I’ve been hearing great things about Hijab Butch Blues since it was published, so I’m very glad my book club chose it and I had an excuse to finally read it. Now, I’m here to join that chorus of positive reviews.
This is a thought-provoking and readable memoir that follows the author from feeling out place as a queer South Asian high schooler in a Middle Eastern country to immigrating to the United States. Throughout, she weaves in stories about the Quran, relating them to the question and challenges she’s facing—often in very different ways than traditional interpretations.
As a teenager, Lamya felt less alone by learning about the stories of different figures in the Quran. She began to see the ways she could connect to their stories as a queer person, finding new angles into these narratives. As a young adult, after she comes out and begins fighting for feminist causes, she continues to find inspiration in the Quran and community in queer and feminist Muslim groups. Queerness and religion are often presented as being at odds with each other, so I appreciated reading about the two intertwine in Lamya’s life.
This was a surprisingly readable and immersive book for how much meaty content it covers. I’m excited for the book club discussion, because there is so much to talk about: racism, homophobia, and Islamophobia; dating and not-dates with straight girls; loneliness and letting people in; immigration and living somewhere you feel unwanted. Despite that, it was a pretty quick, accessible read.
Reading Hijab Butch Blues felt like getting to hear all of someone’s best anecdotes, woven together with thoughtful reflection and juxtapositions. One chapter that really stood with me described Lamya watching in horror as so many of her women friends and family members got into abusive relationships and wouldn’t leave, something she swears she would never let happen to her. By the end of the chapter, as she struggles against red tape and hostile immigration bureaucracy, she realizes her relationship with the U.S. is essentially abusive, but she can’t bring herself to leave. Where would she go? Another essays discusses the concept of “queer indispensability:” the strategy of many queer people to become so good, so useful, that we make ourselves “unleavable.”
This definitely lived up to all the positive reviews I had heard of it, and I think it’s safe to say it’s a new classic of queer memoirs.
Content warnings: homophobia, d-slur, suicide ideation, graphic description of cutting
