The Uproar by Karim Dimechkie is a difficult book to characterize. On the one hand, it is funny and very timely as it tackles questions about immigration, being a good person, expectant parenthood and the love people feel for their companion animals. On the other hand, it is intensely frustrating because the protagonists – Adjoua and Sharif - make stunningly bad choices without seeming to recognize the potential consequences.

Both Adjoua and Sharif are advocates for social justice – she is an author, and he is a social worker. They learn that their unborn first child has leukemia and will require medical treatment for at least the first two years of her life. Adjoua’s obstetrician advises them to rehome their elderly much beloved dog to avoid the risk of infection. This proves to be a nearly impossible task since the dog weighs 150 pounds and has multiple health and dietary problems in addition to an intense hostility toward all other non-human creatures.
When Sharif places the dog with a Haitian immigrant who is a client at his social service agency, bad things happen. The immigrant’s teenage son inadvertently mistreats the dog, Sharif finds out, and while rescuing the dog, inadvertently injures the young man. Recriminations ensue that involve Adjoua’s former lover, her parents and Sharif’s employers. The couple fall into choices and opportunistic solutions that are counter to their beliefs about themselves and their worldview.

Even though the novel critiques idealism, it does not insist that all ideals are meritless. Dimechkie deftly treats the complexities of trying to “do good,” without succumbing to cynicism.

Thank you to NetGalley and Little, Brown and Company for the ARC in exchange for this review.

4 stars – Sharp, timely, and quietly unsettling

The Uproar really surprised me. I picked it up not fully knowing what to expect, but it pulled me in with its sharp observations and morally complex characters. The story centers around a seemingly small incident involving a dog, but it spirals into a layered exploration of race, privilege, and public outrage.

What I appreciated most was how Dimechkie doesn’t spoon-feed you any easy answers—every character feels flawed and human, and I found myself shifting perspectives as the story unfolded. It made me think, and sometimes squirm, which I always take as a sign of powerful writing.

The pacing dipped here and there, but overall it was a smart, engaging read that stayed with me. Definitely recommended if you like thought-provoking fiction that tackles current issues without being preachy.

Sharif is accused of assaulting a Haitian teen, as he struggles to clear his name, he questions his life choices.

Karim Dimechkie’s Uproar is an extraordinary read that I totally enjoyed, and it turned out to be… not what I was expecting, at all!

I found it hilarious, frustrating, and even infuriating at times—particularly with Sherif’s naivety, which made me want to slap some sense into him. Initially, I considered giving the book four stars because of this frustration. However, just when I thought the story was winding down, it took an unexpected turn that completely shifted my perspective.

The narrative cleverly mirrors the chaotic dynamics we see in social media and news today, prompting me to question my own perceptions of reality and the biases shaping my opinions. It was a transformative experience—I found a self-awareness I didn’t have before.

I found the ending deeply satisfying, providing me closure in a way few books have manages to achieve. And the writing is masterful, with a pace and narrative style that kept me hooked throughout.

I’m grateful to Little, Brown and Company for the free copy of this book; it’s one I’ll be thinking about for a long time.

If you’re looking for a thought-provoking and emotionally charged novel, Uproar is a must-read!

4 stars

A fable about loss of innocence, The Uproar is a disturbing and sharp-edged social thriller. I’m glad I read it, and I never want to read it again.

The Uproar isn’t a challenging read in terms of prose; the language is well composed but everyday and easy to digest. It is, however, a challenging read in terms of the uncomfortable feelings and ideas it forces the reader to sit with.

Much of the book reads like a modern-day nightmare: While attempting to do good by both his family and the community he serves, a social worker (Sharif) finds himself accused of a terrible crime (assaulting a poverty-struck Haitian immigrant teenager). Trying desperately to clear his name, save his marriage with his pregnant wife, and help the clearly troubled teen who has accused him, Sharif is forced to question whether his bleeding-heart liberal ideals are realistic—and how far he’s willing to take those ideals when adhering to them would seem to threaten his family, livelihood, and reputation.

In terms of its themes, this book is really affective; as I followed Sharif’s story I found myself guiltily starting to doubt my own ideals. As an animal lover, I especially felt a lot of guilt over my initial reaction to Sharif’s predicament with his wife’s dog Judy, which serves as the inciting incident in the family’s following troubles. Judy is described as an 8-year-old, huge (150 lbs), smelly, partly incontinent, dog-aggressive, cat-hunting, expensive-food-and-meds-requiring, stair-incapable bully breed mutt that was slated for euthanasia seven years ago (whereupon he was rescued by Sharif’s wife). Judy needs to be rehomed for the duration of Sharif’s soon-to-be-born daughter’s leukemia treatment, but no friend who has met Judy is willing to watch him again, and all the no-kill shelters are full. My immediate thought, on reading this dilemma, was that Judy’s humans had already given him seven years of borrowed time, and he was never going to find a unicorn foster or forever family willing to put up with him. Reader, how ashamed I felt as I kept reading! While Judy seemed like a lost cause at the beginning of the novel, by the end he was one of the main positive lights in Sharif’s life, providing unconditional doggy love and comfort that I should never have initially discounted. Shame on me; please boo me now.

While the beginning and the middle of the book are a stressful nightmare, the ending is an absolute gut punch. This novel isn’t just a critical view of liberal hypocrisy, it’s a devastating analysis of the psychic toll of living under both late stage capitalism and the microscope of social media. The only downside is that the book threatens to push the reader into despair, which I think needs to be guarded against. Imperfect implementation doesn’t mean that ideals are all hollow and worthless. Perfection may be impossible, but improvement is not; cynicism says more about us and the disappointments we’ve faced than what’s actually possible to achieve.

If you liked Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid, you’ll like The Uproar by Karim Dimechkie.

In the vein of Tony Tulathimutte's Rejection, Chinelo Okparanta's Harry Sylvester Bird, and Kiley Reid's Such a Fun Age, I found The Uproar propulsive, provocative, and brilliantly discomfiting - I couldn't tear myself away. Dimechkie built the tension to an almost unbearable level, and his ending surprised me and didn't surprise me at the same time. I can't wait to stock this.