I haven’t read many, if any Palestinian-American stories and this was a wonderful one to begin with. It was funny, provocative, and compelling. The main character, whose name is never revealed, is relatable and complex and messy. In fact, I felt so called out- between her bisexuality, brownness, and mechanisms to deal with her otherwise lack of control in her life, I felt like I was reading a story about myself.
I did, however, find this book quite repetitive towards the end. I know it’s a story about addiction, but by the 75% mark I just felt like it was the same story being told with new names. Arafat was tedious to a fault and I found myself saying “just get to the point already!” throughout this book.