4.5* rounded up.

Home Fire is the candidate I support to win the Booker Prize. Well, I only read 4 nominees until now so it is not a definite opinion. However, it is highly unlikely that I will make too much of an advancement in my reading of the longlist until the shortlist is published so it will probably remain on top for a while.

If you read a few reviews you will realize that the novel is based on Antigone. Unfortunately, I cannot add anything on the subject as I have no knowledge of this classic story and I would feel like a fraud to comment on it after only reading the Wikipedia summary.

The novel is divided in 5 sections, each focusing on the experience of one character. At its core, it is the story of a British family of Pakistani origin and their struggle to live in their adoptive country in the shadow of the terrorist threat, especially because of their troubled history.

I did not ponder too much how it must be for a normal Muslim family abroad to live with all this suspicion from people and the government. This subject has an important role in the novel and it made understand how difficult it must be to make sure that you do everything right, that you do not provoke violence, always being afraid of being followed. It also discusses the difficulties a family faces when a member of the family proves to be jihadi. It also touches IS recruitment and other sensitive subjects that are very well done.

I thought the beginning to be a bit shaky but please persevere. The writing gets much better after 30 pages or so. It becomes a powerful, emotional and important novel for our times.

I received this copy from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Thanks to NetGalley and to Bloomsbury Publishing for providing me with an ARC of this novel that I freely chose to review.
When I read in the description of this novel that it was a contemporary version of Antigone, I was intrigued. If all Greek tragedies are powerful stories, I’ve always been inclined towards those that figure female characters at their centre, and by the moral questions they pose. The author explains, in a note at the end, that the project had started as a suggestion to write a modern adaption of the play for the stage but it had ended up as a novel. Her choices on adapting the original material make it, in my opinion, very apt to the current times, whilst at the same time preserving the eternal nature of its moral and ethical questions.
I don’t think I can improve on the description of the novel that I’ve shared above, but I thought I’d offer a few more details. The story, told in the third person, is divided into five parts, each one narrated by one of the main characters of the story. First, we have Isma Pasha, the oldest sister of a Pakistani-British family. When her mother died, she sacrificed herself for her twin sibling and left her studies to support them until they were old enough to choose their own paths. She is serious, studious, hard-working, and remembers a bit more than her siblings do what it was like when her father, a Jihadist who was never home, died on his way to Guantanamo Bay. The questions, the surveillance, the suspicions, the need to be ‘beyond reproof’… When her sister Aneeka, is about to start university, and her brother, Parvaiz, is pursuing a career in sound and media studies, she accepts an offer by one of her old professors to continue her studies at Amherst College in Massachusetts. She enjoys her quiet life there and meets a young man, Eamonn, whom she recognises as the son of an important UK politician, and one that had had some dealings with her family in the past. Although from very different social classes they share some things in common (they are both from London and they have Pakistani family, although Eamonn knows very little about that side of things). Their friendship never develops into anything deeper, but it brings hope and possibility to Isma’s life.
The next part is told by Eamonn, who intrigued by a photo he’d seen of Isma’ sister, tracks her down, and despite the secrecy surrounding their relationship, falls for her.
Parvaiz’s story is that of a young man brought up among women, who is very close to his twin-sister, Aneeka, but annoyed because the women in his life make decisions without him and he has no male role-model to guide him. A chance meeting with a man who tells him he knew his father ends up in his indoctrination and eventual joining of the Caliphate.
Aneeka’s chapters talk about her grief and her determination to do what she thinks is right, no matter the price or the consequences, both to herself and to those around her. When is love too much and how far would you go for your family?
Karamat Lone, the British Home Secretary, has the two final chapters. He is of Pakistani origin but has abandoned much of his culture and identity (including his religion and his way of life) and advocates assimilation and harsh punishment for those who don’t. Like for Aneeka, for him, there can be no compromise. He repeatedly chooses politics and his official life over his family and that has terrible consequences.
Shamsie has created multi-faceted characters, all distinctive and different in the way they feel, they see the world, and they relate to others. I found Parvaiz’s story particularly effective and touching, particularly as his decision might be the most difficult to understand for many readers. He loves sounds and the way he describes everything he hears is fascinating. The story of his indoctrination and the way he ends up trapped in a situation with no way out is hard to read but totally understandable. They choose him because he is a young man, vulnerable, looking for a father figure, and easy to manipulate. He makes a terrible mistake, but like the rest of the characters, he is neither totally good nor bad. They all keep secrets, in some cases to avoid others getting hurt, in others to try and save somebody or something. At times questions are not asked so as not to shatter an illusion, and at others, even the characters themselves no longer know what the truth is. The structure of the novel allows us to see the characters from their own perspective but they also appear in the stories of the others, and that gives us a better understanding of who they really are, how they appear to the rest of the people, and of the lies they tell themselves and others.
The novel deals with a number of relevant subjects, like terrorism and counter-terrorist measures, religion, ethnic and religious profiling, social media, surveillance and state-control, popular opinion and its manipulation by the media, politics, identity, family, love (many different kinds of love), ethics and morality. Although many of these topics are always at the centre of scholarly and popular debates, now they are more pressing than ever.
This is a beautiful book, lyrical at times, full of warmth and love (family love, romantic love, love for knowledge and tradition…), but also of fear and hatred. It is passionate and raw. We might not agree with the actions and opinions of some (or even all) the characters, but at a certain level, we get to understand them. We have fathers (and most of the men, although not Eamonn) prepared to sacrifice their families and their feelings for what they think is a higher and mightier good (country, religion, politics…). We have women trying to maintain the family ties and do what is right beyond creed, country lines, written laws, and paperwork. And a clash of two versions of family, identity, and survival condemned to never reaching an agreement.
I highlighted many lines of the text (and although always in the third person, the language and the expressions of the characters are very different in each segment), and some are very long (another writer not concerned about run-on sentences at times, although they serve very clear purposes), but I decided to share just a few examples:
Always these other Londons in London.
He was nearing a mosque and crossed the street to avoid it, then crossed back so as not to be seen as trying to avoid a mosque. (This is Eamonn walking around London).
She was the portrait to his father’s Dorian Gray —all the anxiety you’d expect him to feel was manifest in her. (Eamonn thinking about his mother).
Grief was what you owed the dead for the necessary crime of living on without them. (Aneeka thinking about her brother and about grief).
This was not grief. It was rage. It was his rage, the boy who allowed himself every emotion but rage, so it was the unfamiliar part of him, that was all he was allowing her now, it was all she had left of him. She held it to her breast, she fed it, she stroked its mane, she whispered love to it under the starless sky, and sharpened her teeth on its gleaming claws.
The human-rights campaign group Liberty issued a statement to say: ‘Removing the right to have rights is a new low. Washing our hands of potential terrorists is dangerously short-sighted and statelessness is a tool of despots, not of democrats.’
He looked like opportunity tasted like hope felt like love (Anika about Eamonn).
Working class or Millionaire, Muslim or Ex-Muslim, Proud-Son-of-Migrants or anti-Migrant, Moderniser or Traditionalist? Will the real Karamat Lone please stand up? (The newspapers talking about Karamat Lone, the Home Secretary).
Who would keep vigil over his dead body, who would hold his hand in his final moments? (Karamat thinking about his mother’s death and then his own).
This is a powerful book and a novel that made me see things from a different perspective. What happens to those left behind? We are used to hearing about the families of young men and women who leave them and their country of birth to join terrorist groups. We hear of their surprise at what has happened, they seem unable to react or understand how their son, daughter, sister, brother… has become somebody they no longer understand or know. But, what must life be like for them afterwards?
There are elements that might stretch the imagination but for me, they fit within the scope of the story (it is supposed to be a tragedy, after all) and the novel treads carefully between realism and dramatic effect.
A great novel that brings to life many issues that are sometimes ignored in the political and media discourses but that are fundamental if we want to reach a better understanding of the situation. A book for people who are looking for something more than a good story and a bit of entertainment, and are prepared to ask themselves some questions. Another author I had not read yet but whom I will eagerly follow from now on.

After years of raising her younger siblings, Isma is free to live her own life and to start a career in America. Back in the UK, her sister, Aneeka, is struggling in a society that sees her hijab as a threat. Enter Eamonn, the son of a well-known London politician, who will have a lasting effect on both women. This reimagining of Sophocles’ Antigone covers some pretty big issues, from religion, politics and extremism, to love and family ties. However, Shamsie’s skilful writing means the themes never suffocate the story. A powerful book.

As is to be expected from Shamsie the book was an elegant, contemplative and insightful analysis of the difficulties we face today to assert out allegiance to a country, a faith, an ideology and family. Definitely a worthy addition to the Booker Longlist and hopefully a winner too.

Kamila Shamsie's latest novel is a modern retelling of the story of the classical story of Antigone, however her contemporary style and current setting make this a truly relevant and accessible story.

The Pasha family are modern British Muslims, struggling to find their place in British and Western society under the legacy of a terrorist father who died on his way to Guantanamo, not to mention the disappearance of a brother. When Isma, the eldest who has cared for younger siblings, befriends British Home Secretary Karamat Lone's son, the two families become embroiled in a saga which reflects the complexities and turmoil of being Muslim in modern day western society.

For such a sort book, it is incredible how well it covers the nuance of these complexities - from the seemingly contradictory approaches to sexuality and appearance in the headscarf-wearing Pasha sisters, to the hardline immigration stance of a Muslim Home Secretary.

Shamsie's writing is exquisite - at times slightly surreal and abstract - placing you very much in the shoes of her characters, in their dreams, their chaos. But it is also wonderfully readable and the integration of modern technology, from texts to tweets is woven into the narrative seamlessly, making the book timely and relevant, but in a way that will not necessarily become dated as technology moves forwards.

The story is highly engaging and very readable even if you aren't aware of its classical influences - it very easily stands in its own right as a novel, independent of its source material. The story is touching, hard-hitting and heart-breaking. Shamsie should be applauded for her ability to create depth of character and such a poignant story in so few pages. One of the best books of the year!

Home Fire is that rare beast: a novel with really important points to make while also being a cracking read.

Through the eyes of five characters, we get a dissection of what it means to be British-Asian in the current world. Initially, we meet Isma, resuming a career in academia in the US after bringing up her orphaned younger siblings in London. Picking up her former life does not start well as she is detained by security at Heathrow Airport and misses her flight. Then we meet Eamonn, the son of the British Home Secretary Home Fire is that rare beast: a novel with really important points to make while also being a cracking read.

Through the eyes of five characters, we get a dissection of what it means to be British-Asian in the current world. Initially, we meet Isma, resuming a career in academia in the US after bringing up her orphaned younger siblings in London. Picking up her former life does not start well as she is detained by security at Heathrow Airport and misses her flight. Then we meet Eamonn, the son of the British Home Secretary Karamat Lone. His father, as a Muslim politician, is keen to distance himself from extremism by introducing ever-more draconian laws to contain the “threat”. Eamonn is a spoilt rich kid who finds contact with other British Pakistanis way more confronting than mixing with the white, public school elite.

Then, the high point for me, we travel with Parvaiz, Isma’s younger brother, to Raqqa to join the Caliphate. This is a portrait of hope, naivity and a desperation to belong to a family, shattered to smithereens when reality bites. But thanks to modern anti-terror laws, there is no way back from such a decision. In very few words, Shamsie created a living, breathing world and a highly conflicted character who goes on a major journey of self-discovery.

Then back to Britain with Parvaiz’s twin sister Aneeka, and the final two chapters in the company of the Home Secretary himself, Karamat Lone. Lone is a monster, a self-serving egotist who has no understanding of - and even less care about – the impact of his policies on those affected by them. Even when they touch his own family, he is willing to sacrifice their rights for his own political career. And what is the point of that career – the power – if he only uses it to try to perpetuate it?

Home Fire is, apparently, a modern day Antigone. But I think that does the novel a disservice. This is not a recasting of an ancient Greek play; it is not derivative. It is a searing critique of the conflicts of identity; of personal interest and family loyalty within a community that is being vilified on a daily basis. How far can it be right to punish an easily identifiable group for the transgressions of some of its members; how far should those who do transgress be dealt with through the existing judicial system or how far can it be right to expel them from the system altogether.

This novel spans half the globe, offers five very different stories, and poses difficult questions. There is not a wrong word in this tight narrative, spanning ultra-realism through to the absolutely surreal. By the end, the story is in a slow motion, dream-like sequence. And the ending is absolutely not expected.

Home Fire is a really fantastic novel but, if it has one Achilles Heel, it could be its fixation in the present moment. The novel relies on the current public mood, the current legal (and illegal) situation, the current conflict in Syria. Move on five years – perhaps less – and what seems to immediate now may seem very fleeting and out of date. I hope the future is not as bleak as Home Fire would have us believe.. His father, as a Muslim politician, is keen to distance himself from extremism by introducing ever-more draconian laws to contain the “threat”. Eamonn is a spoilt rich kid who finds contact with other British Pakistanis way more confronting than mixing with the white, public school elite.

Then, the high point for me, we travel with Parvaiz, Isma’s younger brother, to Raqqa to join the Caliphate. This is a portrait of hope, naivity and a desperation to belong to a family, shattered to smithereens when reality bites. But thanks to modern anti-terror laws, there is no way back from such a decision. In very few words, Shamsie created a living, breathing world and a highly conflicted character who goes on a major journey of self-discovery.

Then back to Britain with Parvaiz’s twin sister Aneeka, and the final two chapters in the company of the Home Secretary himself, Karamat Lone. Lone is a monster, a self-serving egotist who has no understanding of - and even less care about – the impact of his policies on those affected by them. Even when they touch his own family, he is willing to sacrifice their rights for his own political career. And what is the point of that career – the power – if he only uses it to try to perpetuate it?

Home Fire is, apparently, a modern day Antigone. But I think that does the novel a disservice. This is not a recasting of an ancient Greek play; it is not derivative. It is a searing critique of the conflicts of identity; of personal interest and family loyalty within a community that is being vilified on a daily basis. How far can it be right to punish an easily identifiable group for the transgressions of some of its members; how far should those who do transgress be dealt with through the existing judicial system or how far can it be right to expel them from the system altogether.

This novel spans half the globe, offers five very different stories, and poses difficult questions. There is not a wrong word in this tight narrative, spanning ultra-realism through to the absolutely surreal. By the end, the story is in a slow motion, dream-like sequence. And the ending is absolutely not expected.

Home Fire is a really fantastic novel but, if it has one Achilles Heel, it could be its fixation in the present moment. The novel relies on the current public mood, the current legal (and illegal) situation, the current conflict in Syria. Move on five years – perhaps less – and what seems to immediate now may seem very fleeting and out of date. I hope the future is not as bleak as Home Fire would have us believe.

I read Home Fire in two days, I thought it was brilliantly done, heartbreaking, tragic, essential. It’s been long listed for the Man Booker Prize 2017 and certainly makes my short list! I’m looking forward to reading more of the author’s back list.

Underpinning the novel is the premise of Sophocles’ 5thC BC play Antigone, an exploration of the conflict between those who affirm the individual’s human rights and those who must protect the state’s security.

Before reading Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire, I downloaded a translation of Antigone to read, she acknowledges herself that Anne Carson’s translation of Antigone (Oberon Books, 2015) and The Burial at Thebes: A Version of Sophocles’ Antigone by Seamus Heaney were constant companions as she wrote, expressing gratitude too, for the children’s book version The Story of Antigone and its author Ali Smith.

In Ali Smith’s version there is a discussion at the end of the book about what stories are, which reads:

“Stories are a kind of nourishment. We do need them, and the fact that the story of Antigone, a story about a girl who wants to honour the body of her dead brother, and why she does, keeps being told suggests that we do need this story, that it might be one of the ways that we make life and death meaningful, that it might be a way to help us understand life and death, and that there’s something nourishing in it, even though it is full of terrible and difficult things, a very dark story full of sadness.”

Kamila Shamsie’s Home Fire is a contemporary retelling of the classic play, set in contemporary London. Even though I knew the premise of the story from having read the play, the story unfolded as if I had no prior knowledge of its likely outcome, it has its own unique surprises and insights, making it a compelling read.

We meet Isma, the eldest daughter of a family, who’ve been raised by their mother and grandmother, as she announces to her twin brother and sister Aneeka and Parvaiz that she is going to the US to complete her PhD studies that were put on pause after the death of their mother and grandmother within the space of a year, leaving her to become the mother to griefstruck twelve-year-old twins. She had briefly known her father, but the twins never.

The rigorous interrogation she is put through on leaving the UK reveal something in her family background that their entire family has tried to keep quiet, just wanting to move on with their lives, that their father had abandoned them and gone to fight as a jihadi in Afghanistan and had died en route to Guantanamo.

While in the US, Isma meets Eamonn, the son of a British politician she detests, setting in motion a litany of events that will have a catastrophic impact on both their families.

“Eamonn, that was his name. How they’d laughed in Wembley when the newspaper article accompanying the family picture revealed this detail, an Irish spelling to disguise a Muslim name – Ayman become Eamonn so that people would know the father had integrated.”

For Parvaiz, the only son, the lack of a father figure created a void, his grandmother had been the only family member willing to talk about him, but her stories were always of the boy, never of the man he became, a subject she was reluctant to be drawn into.

“He had always watched boys and their fathers with an avidity composed primarily of hunger. Whenever any of those fathers had made a certain gesture towards him – a hand placed on the back of his neck, the word ‘son’, an invitation to a football match – he’d retreat, both ashamed and afraid in a jumbled way that only grew more so as the years passed and the world of girls and boys grew more separate, so there were times he was not a twin to a twin but rather the only male in a house that knew all the secrets that women shared with on another but none that fathers taught their son.”

It’s a riveting, intense novel that propels the reader forward, even while something in us wants to resist what we can feel coming. It pits love against loyalty, family versus country, and cruelly displays how hard it is for families to distance themselves from the negative patterns of their ancestral past.

Kamila Shamsie was born in Karachi and now lives in London, a dual citizen of the UK and Pakistan. Her debut novel In The City by the Sea, written while still in college, was shortlisted for the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize in the UK and every novel since then has been highly acclaimed and shortlisted or won a literary prize, in 2013 she was included in the Granta list of 20 best young British writers.

Her novels are (linked to Goodreads):

In the City by the Sea (1998)
Salt and Saffron (2000)
Kartography (2002)
Broken Verses (2005)
Offence : the Muslim case (2009)
Burnt Shadows (2009)
A God in Every Stone (2014)
Home Fire (2017)

There are two very distinctive opinions on this book about how British Muslims are treated in a western society, split between being seen as subservient and loyal as well as dangerous and dogmatic. It is absolutely relevant to the current political climate hence it is an intriguing read. At times it borders on satirical because some of the elements appear very far fetched. From a Romeo and Juliet style love story played out in the media, to the extreme Islamophobic views of a Muslim politician. While there are definite elements of truths planted in this book, the extreme nature of the funeral scene just bordered on slightly ridiculous especially when there are real examples in the public eye. It is a gripping and engaging read with something lacking.

Inspired by Sophocles' Antigone, this has a slightly shaky start but then soars into an outstanding tragedy of love, politics, justice and humanity. By drawing on Athenian tragedy, Shamsie makes the point that clashes of civic law vs a deeper, more humane sense of what is right have always been contested, and the tension between family and state always problematic. What she does so brilliantly in this book is to take these questions and give them an acutely charged contemporary relevance that leaves the reader shaken.

I have been lucky enough to read an ARC (thanks Bloomsbury and NetGalley!) so can't say too much so far in advance of publication, but this is a book which takes complicated public issues and makes them intimate and personal. Refusing to simplify or neaten, Shamsie has produced a book which treats matters both horrific and beautiful with clear-sightedness, intellectual grace and compassion.

A searing, towering, magnificent piece of storytelling which deserves to win prizes and be read by everyone - brava, Ms Shamsie!

To be posted on Amazon on publication