“The book evokes the sensory joy of pre-Nakba Acre—food, landscape, community. . . .This is also very much a book about being a daughter, and about being a woman.”—The London Magazine“An act of radical imagination.”—Guernica“A definitive work in the genre of Palestinian memoirs that will not only attract readers of Said or Kanafani, but also fans of Joan Didion, Hisham Matar, Ocean Vuong, or James Baldwin." —The New Arab"Traces exile and inheritance through a lyrical, intergenerational lens."—World Literature Today"A heart-breaking ode"—Enterprise“The experience of reading is brutal and tender at once, lyrical throughout, and impossible to turn away from.”—Rowayat“Sharp, inventive, stylish. . . .Few books manage to be so intimate and so geopolitical at once.”—Al Hayya Magazine"The more the reader delves into the story, Serhan becomes an artist of absence, memory and imagination, transforming estrangement into narrative and filling in the painful, silent gaps and historical ellipses with stories and understanding, transmuting her family and nation’s history in a way that offers the fragile promise of continuity grounded in knowledge."—Mada Masr"As Serhan unravels her family story piece by piece, a broader and more compelling narrative emerges, the one about roots, belonging, displacement and the persistence of lost homelands. . . . a remarkable work."—Ethical Space“Serhan’s memoir, crafted in magnificent prose. . . . is something which is truly cinematic in quality, whose delights and heartbreaks tumble out before the reader as naturally as images fall from a screen. . . . utterly vivid and compelling.” —Jhalak Review"A spellbinding memoir. . . .Serhan shows in no uncertain terms that the Palestinian memoir is Palestinian power; it is resistance, survival, and preservation." —Journal of Palestine Studies"A courageous memoir of exile over generations"—The Bookseller“Weaving together themes of sickness, statelessness, and intergenerational trauma with poignant, understated humor and grace, Serhan’s story moves through pre-1948 Palestine, modern day Cairo, and China at the brink of globalization. At each point, she navigates a world fraught with heartbreak, loss, and the innate human drive to hold onto our families, even long after they’ve fallen apart.”—Najla Said, author of Looking for Palestine: Growing Up Confused in an Arab-American Family“Mai Serhan's writing is unique, sincere, dark, funny and cuttingly tragic. Her memoir will stay with me for a long time. There are facets of Palestinian-ness — if you can define it as such a thing — that are so clearly identifiable to me and yet so rare to see in literature.”—Selma Dabbagh, author of Out of It and editor of We Wrote in Symbols: Love and Lust by Arab Women Writers“To accompany Mai Serhan across the times and spaces of injury and dispossession, to bear the pain of limbs and land lost, to weather the impossibility of return, to excavate the depths of all that we have and all that we have lost, is a salve on the open wound of what it means to be Palestinian. This brave and beautiful book is a gift and an invitation, to remember, to create, to persist, and most of all to love.”—Sherene Seikaly, author of Men of Capital: Scarcity and Economy In Mandate Palestine“Utterly gripping from its opening, Serhan’s lyrical prose pulsates with love, rage and longing as it traces her complicated relationship with her father, across borders and far from their origin home in Palestine. Deeply moving and urgent, it reminds us just how much Palestinians have lost through displacement while speaking to extraordinary bonds to land and family.”—Julie Wheelwright, author of Sisters In Arms: Female Warriors from Antiquity to the New Millennium"It is profoundly moving to read this intimate narrative, one thread in the vast tapestry of Palestine’s history. Told through the eyes of a second-generation Palestinian in the diaspora—those who inherit exile not through direct memory, but through its enduring aftermath. Though their Nakba may differ in form from that of their parents, its imprint is no less profound."—Maya Abu Al-Hayyat, author of You Can Be The Last Leaf
