This Book Shattered Me—And Somehow, I Needed That

I just want to say this right up front: The Eyes of Gaza isn't an easy book to read—but I don't think it's meant to be. It's one of the most necessary books I've ever had in my hands. Plestia Alaqad was just 22 when she began chronicling the genocide in Gaza—not as some distant observer, but as a young Palestinian woman living it in real time. Her words aren't spoken from a safe remove. They're spoken from the center of heartbreak.

Her diary entries are raw and visceral—so charged with emotion, fear, love, and fatigue, they almost hum off the page. One minute she's a journalist, attempting to reveal the world the truth. The next, she's a daughter, a sister, a friend, watching everything she's ever known disintegrate under airstrikes.

What shattered me completely were the everyday moments she finds. Such as her cousins sitting together making bead bracelets with names marked on them—not for decoration, but so that their bodies might be later known. How does one process that level of grief while still fighting to survive?How do you even learn to get through something like that? Not to mention record it?

And then her poetry—scattered between entries like shards of her soul. Short, aching pieces that somehow say everything.

But worst of all, what broke my heart was the shame she feels after running away to Australia. Even safety is not safe when your people are still alive—and dying—under the bombs. She describes entering a shop, glancing at fresh clothes, and feeling sick. How can she shop when her friends are rummaging around in rubble for food scraps?

This book is not solely about bombs and war. It's about the life lost. The birthdays never celebrated. The inside jokes never finished. The small pleasures—the ones that should have been mundane—that were taken away. Plestia refuses to let us view Gaza as a headline. She reminds us it's a home. It's people. It's love, and loss, and resilience.

I read this with a lump in my throat and a heavy, profound sense of my own privilege. Each sip of fresh water, each moment of quiet felt something I could no longer afford to take for granted. That's what her writing does—it makes you feel it. Truly feel it. And it doesn't let you turn away.

The Eyes of Gaza is not just a memoir. It's a plea for justice. A documentation of survival. A love letter to a shattered homeland but one still intensely alive in the hearts of its people. It is a testament to resilience, a cry for justice, and a love letter to a homeland striving to exist.

Read it. Hold it tight. Let it transform you.

Free Palestine.

(Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC. This one’s going to live rent-free in my soul for a long, long time.)

Reading The Eyes of Gaza by Plestia Alaqad shook me to my core. This isn’t just a book—it’s a living testimony of a young woman caught between survival and storytelling, and the weight she carries is unimaginable. Her diary entries, written during and after the Israeli bombardment of Gaza in October 2023, are raw, intimate, and utterly heartbreaking.

I’ve been following Plestia, Bisan, and many others throughout all of this. Watching them live and report from the heart of such devastation watching them go through things no human should ever experience has been gut-wrenching. The world feels dystopian. How do you even process the silence of the rich, the powerful, the influencers who say nothing while an entire people are being wiped out? There’s a deep, heavy kind of helplessness in just watching doomscrolling through videos, reposting what you can, donating here and there, knowing it’s not enough. That I can’t do anything real to stop their suffering. It eats at you.

Honestly, I see “Palestine” and it’s an automatic 5 stars from me. Not out of pity, but because every single voice coming out of that land carries a weight that the world needs to hear. These are not just stories—they are warnings, memorials, love letters, and protests all rolled into one. The Eyes of Gaza is no exception.

What struck me the most about Plestia’s writing is how normal her voice is. She talks about her favorite clothes, how she misses her morning coffee routine, how silence feels heavier than sound. There are flashes of humor, warmth, even a sense of playfulness sometimes—but all wrapped in this suffocating grief. That contrast hits hard. Because this isn’t fiction. It’s not dramatized. It’s her real life, and it mirrors the lives of so many Palestinians we’ll never hear from. It reminds you just how easily you could swap places—how fate is often just geography.

She includes some of her poetry throughout the book, and wow… it’s stunning. Lyrical without being overly polished, her words pierce right through. One line that stayed with me was about how, if her diary was found in the rubble, maybe a little boy would burn it for warmth. The fact that she can still think with such tenderness in the middle of chaos? That broke me.

This isn’t just a book—it’s a reminder. That Palestinians aren’t statistics. They’re people who were meant to live normal lives, just like us. Plestia’s voice is brave, unwavering, and unforgettable. I hope she returns to a free Palestine one day. And I hope the world never forgets what she—and her people—have endured.

Plestia is 23. At 23, my biggest concern was finding a job after graduation—not waking up to the sound of airstrikes, not rationing food and water, and not walking past the rubble that used to be your neighbor's home. And certainly not fearing the death of a loved one every time my phone buzzed.

I've been consciously seeking out works by Palestinian authors and journalists. Beyond the unbearable sorrow and hopelessness, The Eyes of Gaza reminds us gently but devastatingly how normal Palestinian lives are meant to be.

Alaqad touches on something profound: the world has only been shown Gaza in ruins. We rarely see it as a place where people laughed, made stupid jokes, celebrated birthdays, got bored, fell in love. And yet, that’s the life that’s being stolen every single day. They were supposed to live lives like yours and mine, not become names lost in endless casualty lists.

Palestinians are not just survivors. They are warriors of spirit, of memory, of truth. Reading this memoir reminded me why bearing witness matters. I hope I live to see a free Palestine.

This non-fiction book follows young Palestinian journalist Plestia Alaqad as she lives through the invasion and bombardment of Gaza in October 2023. The story is told through a series of diary extracts and is a raw and vulnerable insight into the immense human suffering Palestinians faced and continue to face to this day.

The writing is simple and clear, making this book extremely accessible (even to those who may feel intimidated by non-fiction books). I found myself drawn in to Plestia and her family’s story, racing through the pages in one sitting.

If you’re looking for a comprehensive explanation of the situation and what happened (and continues to happen) on the ground in Gaza, this is not it. This book very much focuses on the human experience. Plestia’s inner thoughts and feelings as she lives through such a traumatic and devastating event. We see how she grapples with not only the devastation and human suffering she is forced to witness daily, but also her survivors guilt when she is able to leave Gaza.

This is an extremely important story and one that I’d highly encourage everyone to read.

wow, what a heart breaking account of Gaza showing a young woman who was not only going through the terrible genocide but sacrificing her mental health and physical well being to get the story out there. Her poetry is absolutely stunning and I think that Plestia will go far in life. Free Palestine! Thank you netgalley for letting me read and review.

Thanks so much to Pan Macmillan and Plestia Alaqad for the eARC. All opinions expressed are my own.

Honestly, I would consider this an essential read. It's heartbreaking, raw and honest. Reading this a year after the initial diary entries, and seeing the shred of hope Alaqad weaves into the words, hurt my soul, knowing that the Gaza continues to undergo immense pain.

I cannot recommend this enough.

Where do I even start with this review? Plestia is just 22 years old, and she has lived through a genocide. One that started back in the 1940s and has separated generations of Palestinians from their land, their people, and their bodies.

This book is an edit of Plestia's diary from 7th October 2023, it shows her determination to work as a journalist throughout the atrocities but also the realism of living in a country being torn apart by bombs and bullets. The worry, the despair, the resilience despite all odds, the community. And when she escapes this environment the relief, but also the guilt and the worry for everyone who is still back home. And the longing and homesickness that never leaves.

Plestia also includes some of her poetry between chapters. It really captures the community and the grief that Gazians are living through on a daily basis. At one point in her diaries Plestia says that she wanted to be published like Rupi Kaur. I'm glad that she has been able to publish her poetry as well as her experiences.

This book brought me to tears more than once, as I sit here in my privilege with heating, electricity, WiFi, a roof over my head and no threats of attack at any moment. Even taking a drink of water whilst I was reading felt like a privilege, and it is. Because Palestinians right now don't have drinking water. And I just got mine from the tap.

The book itself is structured daily, after an introduction. From the start of this most recent bombardment by the IOF, Plestia writes daily about her experiences. The hospitals overrun with bodies, people selling wares from the rubble of their shops. In November 2023 Plestia and her immediate family were able to leave Gaza for Australia. At this point the diary is no longer daily. Until May 2024 the entries are now monthly, talking about adjusting to "normal" life in Australia and how things that she once loved, such as clothes shopping, no longer bring her joy because all she can think about are those back in Gaza who struggle to find anything. The final chapter is written after the ceasefire of the IOF, 19/01/2025. That ceasefire was, of course, broken by the IOF.

I could have highlighted the whole book, but there were certain sections that really stood out to me. One was when Plestia talked about the posibility of losing her diary in Gaza. About how it could be found by an excited little boy. About how he would take this notebook full of life back to his family and burn it for just a little warmth. "If that comes to pass, and your journey is that of a diary that becomes a candle, I just want you to know that you've been a good friend to me."

Another is about Plestia's cousins making bead bracelts for everyone. "I wish I could say that it was for fun, but they've been branding each bracelet with a name, in case its intended owner gets killed. They want the doctors to be able to identify people. It's sweet, in a sad way."

This book exposes what it is truly like to live through the genocide of your people. Of the daily struggle, the banding together, and the grief. "I'm homesick for a home that no longer exists."

The Eye of Gaza is such a powerful portrayal of the genocide. The tone is so harrowing whilst still having Plestia’s youthful voice, which if anything makes it all the more affecting. The way she discusses pop culture and relatable teenage experiences in and around the horrific trauma that her and the people of Palestine are experiencing brings you back to how close to home this is. This is an issue that isn’t too far away to care about, it should be at the forefront of our minds. These people are living through the absolute horrors of a genocide and they’re humans just like we are. Humans pushed to the extremes of existence. The courage that she had and still has in writing this and sharing her love of Palestine with the world is remarkable. I think everyone should read this, I can’t wait for it to come out so I can put it into the hands of all people.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for providing me with an e-ARC to review.