2.75/5✨

DNF at 20%.

I feel like I played myself with this book. It sounded interesting when I requested it. But I was about 20% into reading it several months later and realized I barely had a clue what I was reading about.

I feel like this book has it its audience, but it’s not me. There wasn't really any plot, and the writing, while perfectly, was ambling. With books without much plot, I want to feel something, and with this one, I think I mostly just felt confused.

If you prefer character-driven stories told through short vignettes that weave a bigger picture and don’t mind that it might take a little longer to get to the point, maybe give this a try.

[Note: Check Trigger Warnings]

Absolutely devastating, sheds light on the lives of a people still reeling from conflict. Emotional and good story

Thank you World Editions for allowing me to read and review Where the Wind Calls Home by Samar Yazbek on NetGalley.

Published: 02/06/24

Stars: 3

Confused.

Where the Wind Calls Home had sentences that made sense working well together and sometimes there were a few sentences that were descriptive and pretty. I couldn't make them into a story. I had convoluted thoughts without any rationale.

I finally gave in and am declaring the book is written for a deep thinker. Reading this was not enjoyable; it felt like work. I was drained every time I picked the book up.

Recommend for those who enjoy Literary Fiction.

A surreal and intense read. It has been translated beautifully and captured the lyricism of Yazek’s writing. It wasn’t an easy read, however, and I would only recommend this to friends who like literary reads and have an interest in Syria and/or translated fiction.

A haunting and devastating story of life, loss, grief, and war. Exceptional prose carries the reader through paces of heavy emotions and turns. I would only recommend this book to those who are in a place to read about such heavy, but important topics.

Thank you Netgalley and world editions for this ARC in exchange of an honest review.

Where the wind calls home by Samar Yazbek a Syrian author and translated from Arabic. It is a story of war and loss people experience because of war. Ali is injured when a bomb goes off and it's his delirium like state where the story begins.

The prose is poetic, the storyline is dreamlike. There's no linear story here to make sense and it was confusing at times if things are happening in the present or the past. Ali's connection with nature was profound and I loved reading about it.

This is not my first Arabic translation book so from my experience this translation is done quite well that it doesn't really feel like it is a translation.

There isn't much story here but lot of steam of thoughts so might not be for everyone.

Short, powerful, heartbreaking. War! what is it good for? Absolutely nothing!
Once read, never to be forgotten.

“Where the Wind Calls Home” – Samar Yazbek (translated from Arabic by Leri Price)

“Don’t cry in front of a tree. See how the leaves tremble afterwards? Don’t cry in front of a tree. Listen to that sound… that isn’t the sound of leaves, that’s the sound of pain.”

My thanks to @netgalley and @worldedbooks for my free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review, and all those who took part in the #translatedgemsbook club and discussed it with me!

Ali, 19 years old, is lying under a tree, but he’s not sure where. There seems to be a funeral, but whose is it? He vaguely remembers an explosion earlier, so could it, in fact, be his? As he drags himself closer to the tree, drifting in and out of consciousness, we are shown vignettes and memories from his life as part of the Alawite, an ethnoreligious group in the Levant.

What this book becomes is a fascinating look at a culture and a time, told through a poetic, dreamlike lens from the author, herself an Alawite. Their rituals and rites are beautifully shown, revealing a part of the world that I had never heard of before, and it’s all wrapped in a story of love and duty, of heartbreak and loss, but ultimately ending on a feeling of hope.

A warning – I don’t think this will be for everyone. At times, it can be hard to follow the time shifts, and there is clearly a lot of symbolism and ideas that might require a bit of Goggling. Al least, it did for me. That said, fans of “Planet of Clay”, Yasbek’s previous work, will find another tale of youth in war and the destruction of Syria for the past 20 years. Well worth checking out, if you like your reads poetic and thoughtful.

This sort of lyrical, poetic writing just doesn’t work for me and I found it hard to relate to the narrative, poignant though it is. The book opens with a young soldier in the Syrian army lying wounded under a tree trying to remember what has happened and whether he’s dead or alive, as he can see himself being lowered into the ground in a coffin. We then read a series of vignettes of life in his village, the customs and traditions of an Alawaite community, his cultural and religious heritage, all filtered through a meandering and fractured stream-of-consciousness narrative. He reflects on his life and its meaning, and of existence in general. It’s all set against a background of the war in Syria, although it could be anywhere. The flashbacks and shifts in time and place I found tedious and I often lost concentration. Simply not my sort of book, sadly.

This is the first time I've read a novel translated from Arabic. It was very lyrical and very connected to nature.

Ali, finds himself injured in war, floating between living and dead and his spirit seems to drift to different memories. It's not always clear what's happening; it's not particularly linear in it's telling. I couldn't always connect with the author and his experiences but that isn't necessarily negative.

This is a short poetic read that I'd recommend if you're interested in translated fiction.

Beautifully written, a book I enjoyed while I was reading it, but found it hard to pick up again once I had put it down. A book to read when there are no other distractions in your life. I didn't finish it I'm afraid.

Where the Wind Calls Home by Samar Yazbek is an intense reading experience that offers a lyrical, non-linear narrative that flits between past and present. It offers a spiritual journey of the human spirit that aspires to transcendence, even when suffering, to break the chains that bind it to the fears and tragedies of society.

Ali, the protagonist of Where the Wind Calls Home, sees the world differently from others having formed from early in his life an intense relationship with nature, particularly trees. ‘Trees were simple, unlike people.’

As a boy, one particular oak tree became his sanctuary, a place from which he observed the clouds, and the mountains that surrounded his village. As he lingers between life and death, injured – probably fatally – by a bomb dropped in error on its own soldiers, his sole objective becomes to reach a nearby tree in search of that familiar sanctuary. He sees the tree’s presence as a sign that it will take care of him, that it is no coincidence he finds himself close to it.

Hallucinating because of his injuries, he relives moments from his life: the death of his brother, an arduous trek to a shrine with his mother Nahla, a visit to the palace of a local chief whose lavish lifestyle demonstrates how power and wealth has been concentrated in the hands of a few. These episodes give an insight into life in a rural village whose peaceful, albeit harsh, existence has been transformed by war: its menfolk killed leaving grieving families without fathers, sons, brothers.

Although any loss of life in war is devastating, it seems particularly tragic that a gentle soul like Ali, who harboured ambitions to follow a religious life, should be caught up in a violent conflict – ‘one of the many wars that humans are so busy inventing’. In fact, as we learn, his involvement results from an act of sacrifice. Ali recalls his mother’s anguish at not being able to view the body of Ali’s brother, so devastating were his injuries, and is determined she not should not suffer in the same way again. ‘Ali reflected that even if he didn’t survive, at the very least, he had to keep this promise to himself: to make sure his body stayed whole, so Nahla could see it and say goodbye to him…’

Where the Winds Calls Home has a dreamlike quality as Ali’s thoughts move, often imperceptibly, between past and present. There is striking imagery, particularly the presence of a mysterious ‘Other’ whose movements seem to mirror Ali’s own struggles to achieve his objective. It’s a heartbreaking story of the destructive impact of war and a reminder that seemingly intractable conflicts persist in many parts of the world.

This was a compelling read. It starts off as quite a discombobulating experience, and it becomes apparent that this is mutually experienced by reader and narrator. It isn’t always clear what’s real and what’s not, what’s real-time and what’s already past, if the narrator is dead or alive. This haziness only amps up the tension, deftly juxtaposed against sentences invested in the wonderment and serenity offered by nature.

As recollections and awareness thread together, a life takes shape. It becomes apparent that this affinity with the natural world is an important part of the narrator’s way of being. Treading gently on the mountains of their homeland as per traditions of old, caring and living off it, stories informed by their landscape from time immemorial, until things change for the worse in the wake of uprisings and civil war.

Their Alawite way of life is commandeered, the regime’s ideology infiltrating long established beliefs, their men and their livelihood absorbed into a costly war waged for the benefit of the privileged few. The book carefully records their beliefs and traditional ways of being against these losses and tragedies.

Interestingly, the narrator is named Ali and the spiritual aspects of his journey amidst the cycles of time echoes his own affinity with the divine during his lifetime, untethered from more earthly concerns, a sacred connection particularly with the tree atop the venerated shrine atop his mountainous homeland below the wind. Despite trauma and destruction, his struggle ends on a hopeful note as he returns to a place he so longs for.

WHERE THE WIND CALLS HOME was first published in Arabic as Maqam Al Rih in 2021, and translated into English by Leri Price (2023). My thanks to @worlded @netgalley for this complimentary copy.

Sadly not for me. Great plot/concept but the writing style isn’t my cup of tea. It’s very stream of consciousness and repetitive with more telling than showing. I DNFd at 30% (50 pages) after feeling bored and not wishing to continue but based on the glowing reviews, plenty of other readers will enjoy more than me!

The title “Where the Wind Calls Home” piqued my interest because I was interested in reading Samar Yazbek—a highly praised, Syrian author—and wanted to read about a place that I know very little about. So it is with great disappointment that I announce from the outset that I wasn’t a fan of this novel. I generally don’t post negative reviews, but I think that it’s important that the right readers know about this book and those who aren’t fans of styles such as stream-of-consciousness, avoid it and allow this book to enjoy praise from the right crowd.

The structure of the chapters are as follows: Ali, a soldier who is disoriented and confused about whether he is dead or alive, observes what is around him and what he thinks is happening. This content is written in stream-of-consciousness. Then there’s a shift in the timeline via a flashback in which Ali reflects on a part of his life in the past: an event and/or a certain person or people who are part of that memory, and at times it’s unclear why this flashback is important to the narrative. Presumably, the flashbacks are to give the reader a more comprehensive understanding of Ali—who he is, his history, and how he has come to be a soldier in the present. Flashbacks aren’t written in stream-of-consciousness. After the flashback, the reader is returned to the present where we return to stream-of-consciousness.

The content written in stream-of-consciousness (the present timeline) is focused on nature, how Ali interacts with nature, his surroundings, the supposed “Other,” where Ali is, how he got there, and if he is dead or alive. These sections are extremely repetitive and considering what—traditionally—stream-of-consciousness is meant to signify, “solipsism, the philosophical doctrine that nothing is certainly real except one’s own existence” which we the readers don’t even know for certain because we’re always held in a state of not knowing whether Ali is dead or alive is ineffectual as a writing style (David Lodge, “The Art of Fiction”). One could argue that Ali’s stream-of-consciousness is meant to reflect his state of mind, but the writing style is ineffective because it never gives the reader a better understanding of who Ali is and would have been better used in the flashbacks.

For me, the stream-of-consciousness sections weren’t effective because they ultimately didn’t add anything to the plot or character development. It ended up feeling like Ali was just incoherently rambling. Perhaps that was when he died? But wait, did he actually die? Was he able to climb the tree and jump? This kind of anything-could-be-reality but also anything-could-be-Ali’s-imagination story without a more concrete division between the two and highlighting why Ali disassociates with others, lives in his own world, and feels closer with animals and natural elements I felt was a missed opportunity for readers to truly connect with Ali and feel empathy for him. Instead, I just felt a bit cold. Alternatively, if the lack of clear division between the anything-could-be-reality and anything-could-be-Ali’s-imagination could have been better implemented to tell a different story that, again, focused on Ali’s deeper understanding of who he is and his place in the world, but even those moments as they are in the story now feel only touched on but never studied.

Overall, the narrative felt fractured and two-dimensional/too surface level, especially since the narrative timeline written in the past was more engaging and informative but only towards the end, and to expect readers to commit to a short novel that doesn’t provide a solid plot and/or character development for more than half the book is asking a lot, in my humble opinion. While it’s clear that readers are meant to slowly learn about Ali through the flashbacks, I felt that the timeline in the past still didn’t offer us insight to who Ali was but rather who everyone else in his life was and what he had experienced in life, but nothing about who Ali is at his core. Yet towards the end, the flashbacks were the driving force of the story.

I am aware that my reading of this novel could be an issue with the translation. I’m also aware that is my own individual reading experience and that my opinion is clearly the unpopular one. So let me conclude with this: If you’re a reader who enjoys reading: translated fiction; stream of conscious, shorter fiction where plot, character development, or lyrical/prosaic writing are lacking; and/or war stories, then this could be for you!

In spite of my opinions, I’m very happy to see that others loved “Where the Wind Calls Home” written by Samar Yazbek, translated by Leri Price, and published by World Editions. Many thanks to World Editions and NetGalley for giving me the opportunity to read an ARC of “Where the Wind Calls Home” in exchange for an honest review.

Where the Wind Calls Home by Samar Yazbek and translated by Leri Price is heart-achingly beautiful. Ali loves the wind and nature and only wishes to follow the same path as his beloved saint. He does not quite fit into society and shies away from expectations. Outside Ali's bubble, things are changing. Other groups are forming and organizing and imposing different orders through intimidation and violence. The novel is centered on Ali who is dying under a tree. We pass dreamlike from the present to the past and back again, ever intermingling. It made me wish we could create a better world for all the Alis.

Price is an excellent translator and has done a tremendous job supporting the ambiance of the novel through her word choices.

This was the first fiction by Samar Yazbek I have read. I previously read her non-fiction تسع عشرة امرأة and have tremendous respect for her work.

The story of Ali, who, while struggling to understand where he is in the present after what might have been a bomb that explodes next to him, is remembering momentous episodes in his life in small mountainous village in Syria in the run up the the civil war that ravaged the country.

While essentially an anti war novel, it is also a nuanced and tender exploration of what it means to be a sensitive soul living in those conditions, and what it takes to keep it the way it is while your reality constantly tries to toughen it. It is also an homage to mothers, with a particularly memorable quote being: "the curse of mothers was not merely their love, but the ropes with which their love binds its object".

While I can't say I enjoyed this book, I am happy I read it and experienced it. It reminded me of Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun in some ways, with more softness and care. The indictment of war is doubly powerful when it touches people who just can't understand or comprehend it.

The writing was great, and while the parr dealing with Ali's current state were a bit complex and dreamlike, it was worth persevering.

Recommend it to anyone interested in recent Syrian history, and anyone who needs a reminder what corrupting effect war can have, especially on a country that is already somewhat corrupt.

My thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for the opportunity to review this book ahead of publication, in return for an honest opinion.

The Syrian war was still a distant crisis in Ali’s impoverished mountain village, but its presence was made real by the new Graveyard of Martyrs, a reality that was replicating throughout the region. Ali was nineteen when he was recruited to protect the homeland, by the same man who had recruited his brother. Before the bomb exploded, Ali wanted only to study with the old village sheikh and commune with nature where his heart and soul lived. But that was before. Now, Ali’s body is damaged as he lies under an oak tree, piecing together what happened, drifting in and out of consciousness, in and out of the past and present in a rolling wave, questioning why his youth is now spent in these few meters between a bomb and an oak tree, what he will be after.

Told in beautiful, deeply moving prose, this story is about a family and village dragged into a battle that is not theirs, a cause that need not affect them. It is a quiet and devastating story of one young man’s introspection in the long moments before his death. A profound and necessary read.

Thank you to World Editions and NetGalley for providing this eARC.

A devastating story about war and family, about religion, submissiveness and human connection with nature.

Using dreamlike, poetic language, the author tells a story about a young man now -- torn apart by a bomb, trying to climb a tree in hopes of surviving -- and before -- snippets of important moments in his life, before enlisting in the army. I loved reading about this village and all the connections between these ordinary people living in circumstances that shouldn't be as ordinary as they are.

"...in the same way that they reused food, soil, rocks, everything, even grief."

I found some parts of the 'now' perspective redundant. Him constantly slipping between life and death made a lot of his thoughts and actions repetitive, which, consequently, made me a bit bored and drowsy at times. But once I came to the realization that these repetitions are a product of him dying, I grasped how brilliant it all is. From that point onward, I reveled in his fascination with nature and his persistence. The story of the main character is, ultimately, miserable. He is misunderstood from his childhood and surrounded by death. Even though his birthplace provided beautiful moments, it is also, and unfortunately, a tragedy in itself.

"He realised that the curse of mothers was not merely their love, but the ropes with which their love binds its object."