As Long As the Lemon Trees Grow by Zoulfa Katouh (Focus: Syria)

14th Oct 2022 | Book Reviews | 0 comments

Set in 2011-ish blockaded Homs, squarely in the crosshairs of the Syrian military’s inhumane brutality, As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow navigates the struggles of everyday life and the difficult decisions that must be made with sensitivity and empathy. The story follows Salama, an 18-year-old pharmacy student-turned-emergency doctor, who has lost her family to the regime and is trying to find enough food and water to survive another day while volunteering at her local hospital. Through her work at the hospital, we are exposed to the horrors inflicted on the people of the city, men and women and so many children. The writer, Zoulfa Katouh, doesn’t hold back when it comes to demonstrating the extent to which the military go and the complete lack of mercy that accompanies their atrocities. Of course, this is a YA (Young Adult) book and that means a sparkle in the form of romance is expected – and it delivers in a tender and honest way in the form of the sensitive Kenan, all while respecting the Islamic morals that govern the characters’ lives. Light is also brought to the story in the friendship between Salama and her best friend/sister-in-law Layla, and I really enjoyed their moments of deep and supportive friendship. I also appreciated the reminiscing scenes that show us the beauty of Syria before the revolution/war, which has now been ongoing for over 11 years.

Before going into the aspects of this book that I would like to explore, I thought Zoulfa’s choice of names for her protagonists was sweet and worth mentioning for those who don’t speak Arabic (or those who got confused like me, but I might be the only one). Salama (سلامة) is quite a common name and means safety. Kenan, however, is not a name I have actually heard before. I spent the whole book reading it as كنعان (ken3an), but just listened to the beginning of an interview with the writer and heard her pronounce it كنان and realised it was a completely different name. When I looked it up, I discovered it means “cover” or “protection”, which is perfect for his character, of course!

Zoulfa’s intentions are very clear with this novel from the start. She wants to humanise the victims, those in Syria, alive and dead, and the refugees. In this pursuit I think she is wonderfully successful. She makes sure she portrays the interests and hopes that Salama has, like Studio Ghibli films and dreams of writing her own stories. At the same time, she explores the trauma caused by what Salama and the other characters have been through in a very tangible way that allows the reader to get a glimpse of their reality. I thought the character of Khawf in particular was a very clever way of bringing the reader into the battles going on in Salama’s subconscious. It was interesting that Zoulfa decided not to translate the word “khawf” for the majority of the book (unless I have forgotten that part), so only Arabic speakers would get the insight that the meaning provides. He was probably one of my favourite characters; he had a sinister feel to him but even his character developed as the story progressed – a reflection of Salama’s mental state and internal equilibrium at different points in the book. If you have read or seen the manga/anime Death Note by Tsugumi Ohba and Takeshi Obata, the image of Khawf in my mind was very reminiscent of Ryuk! I suspect that might not be exactly what was intended, but every reader brings their own experiences to a book!

Alongside the portrayal of trauma, I think perhaps one of the most important elements of Zoulfa’s book is in how she shows – in detail – the process that a person goes through from being safe and secure in their homeland to becoming a refugee in a strange country. She shows us those who choose to stay and those who choose to leave, in both cases giving their reasons in very tangible ways through their experiences. She shows us that there is nothing easy or negligible about abandoning everything you have known and loved, your childhood memories, your home, your treasured possessions, your family’s history, your dreams for the future, your land and country, to risk your life for the sake of arriving in a place where many will not welcome you and you will be at a disadvantage in many ways.

Finally, I appreciate that Zoulfa didn’t write perfect characters or characters who are passive victims. This would be so easy to do and it takes a lot of reflection and determination to not do that, especially when writing from the outside, which Zoulfa is in a way in that she has not lived in Syria in recent years and is not herself a refugee. However, without involving spoilers, there are some very questionable decisions made by more than one character and this only adds to the depth and texture of the story she is telling.

In her portrayal of both the trauma and the refugee experience, Zoulfa is patient. She builds it up throughout the book, adding layers through the perspectives of different characters, developments in the plot and the psychological and emotional battles that play out in Salama’s and Kenan’s minds as they face the horrors, but also the beautiful memories, of their homeland. While the writing is light enough that I finished this book in two days, the content is testing and not for the faint-hearted. But to do any less would be an injustice to the reality that Zoulfa chose to portray and I pray that her work will not only provide the “halal love story” so many Muslims are looking for, but also open many more hearts and minds to the human reality that continues to exist on the ground in Syria, beyond the proxy wars and refugee headlines, with hope and faith. May Allah bring them justice and peace and allow us to support them in the best way we can as is our duty.