Book Review of "Hijab Butch Blues: A Memoir"
Reviewed By Robert Bruce Scott
Approaching This Unique Reading Experience
I feel fortunate to have grown up in the 1960s and early 1970s, as a renaissance of democracy and activism was propelled forward by a confluence of civil-rights consciousness raising, the anti-war movement, experimentation in music, and a flourishing scholarly environment in the context of scientific and technological Apollo-driven success. My fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Esfeld at Jefferson Elementary School in Great Bend, Kansas, added a “citizenship” grade to our grade cards every six weeks, based on the degree to which we demonstrated and reflected values such as respectfulness, fairness, honesty, and responsibility, and she taught us that America is “an experiment in democracy,” which brings with it an obligation for each of us to do our part to sustain these guiding principles of living in a democratic society.Somehow Mrs. Esfeld’s teaching managed to transform and shape my thinking to such an extent that these same principles have now been passed on to my four children: the oldest represents immigrants as a lawyer seeking justice for new Americans; my second child helps indigenous communities to develop enlightened school systems for empowering youth and families to build literacy in their traditional languages; my third child teaches at a university, helping to prepare social workers who respect and value diversity; and my fourth child voted for the first time this past November, and called me right after voting, to tell me how much it meant and how much careful thought went into that vote.
Living through today’s fraught political and social landscapes is not the kind of experience I would have chosen for them, but a new book I just finished reading has given me a fresh perspective and a much-needed dose of hope and optimism to buoy my spirits and helped me to envision the “promised land” once more, that is, an America and a world in which human decency and mutual respect are valued most highly in a climate of greater social justice.
Introducing a Different Perspective
Hijab Butch Blues: A Memoir by Lamya H (The Dial Press, 2024) is a first-person account of the early life, that is, from birth to mid-thirties, of a woman who grew up in a country (not identified) and in an educated family devoted to living and expressing their Islamic faith. The author was taught to read, re-read, and commit to memory lessons from the Quran, especially for the purpose of identifying and learning from the exemplary lives of persons–male and female–who were especially close to God/Allah and on whom Allah bestowed blessings, providing hope to believers that such blessings would come to them as well, by following those examples and by praying to Allah/God for understanding in order to apply Islamic principles in their own lives.The author of Hijab Butch Blues develops or discovers she has a certain affinity for female believers she reads about in the Quran, women who, despite hardships and being mistreated by fellow human beings, maintain their faith and eventually are blessed by Allah, often in miraculous ways. As a reader familiar with the Old Testament from the Christian Bible, I recognized most of the names of people whom the author mentioned, taking into account that she was using words from Arabic and I am accustomed to those names in King James English. For example, Ibrahim seems clearly to be the person described in the Old Testament as Abraham, whom I consider the key ancestor joining the three major religions: Christianity, Islam, and Jewish traditions.
Self-Awareness in a Religious Context
At the age of six, according to this memoir, the author was already questioning whether Allah was a man or a woman.Every day, exactly thirty minutes after Asr prayer, my maulvi saab bikes to our apartment, his ankles flashing under his sunnah-cut shalwars, his curly black beard unruly, and his white kurta crisp and sweatless–no minor miracle in the midday sun.... After we’re done–if we read well, don’t take too long, and don’t make too many mistakes–our maulvi saab tells us stories from the Quran. We hear stories of prophets and whales and arks, babies born of miracles, little boys left in wells by jealous brothers, little boys who grow up to be prophets. And we get to ask questions, whatever we want....I decide one day to ask my maulvi saab a very important question that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. “Is Allah a man?....My cousin said Allah is a man.” .... “Your cousin is wrong. Allah is not a man,” my maulvi saab says. “Is Allah a woman?,” my brother asks incredulously.... “No, Allah is not a woman, either.” “But then how come we say ‘Allah mian’?,” I demand. This Urdu word for sir is what my cousin has used as evidence for Allah being a man, and it’s been eating away at me since. “Mian is just a term of respect, like you would use for an elder uncle. That doesn’t mean anything. Allah is not a man or a woman. Allah is Allah. Hurry up and finish reading so I can tell you the rest of the story of Prophet Yusuf.” (Lamya H., pp. 62-64)
At age 14, the author of Hijab Butch Blues: A Memoir experiences an epiphany after reflecting on the story in the Quran about Maryam (Mary, the mother of Jesus/Isas) and intuitively feeling that the reason Maryam had not been with any man was because she “doesn’t like men.”
She feels a schoolgirl crush for her biology teacher, a woman. She develops feelings for other women as she progresses on an academic career that takes her to institutions of higher education in America, where she continues observing the practices of her Islamic faith, and her faith is a constant through each successive stage of her own personal growth. She easily gravitates towards communities of faith and mosques which she finds in each new setting, and eventually meets and becomes good friends with fellow believers who also are gay, bisexual, and/or queer as well as non-believers who identify as LBGTQ+. Well into her twenties, the author, although at a comfort level with her sense of her own sexuality and having integrated the tenets of Islam with her identity, has not herself experienced a loving relationship, and there is a humorous anecdote she tells regarding frustration with a series of dating efforts.What I do know is this: Maryam is “something,” somehow like me. I feel different that day after Quran class....I’m relieved that I’m not the only one like this. And after this relief comes elation. There are other women like me in the Quran. Women who are uninterested in men, who are born wrong, living lives that are entirely out of their control....It’s so acute, this elation, that it spills out of my body and into everything. I’m bouncy and chatty the rest of the day; all my classes and interactions feel joyous. My bus ride back from school is joyous and when I get home, even my lunch is joyous. (Lamya H., pp. 24-25)
BAD DATE #5 ....But we’re not attracted to each other. That ends up being clear in the way we part: awkwardly, abruptly, a half-way hug and no promise to meet up soon. We exchange email addresses, but we’re both cognizant, and cognizant of each other’s cognizance, that we’re not going to be reaching out to each other. It’s been a pleasant evening, fun even, but there’s just no chemistry.... It’s not that she’s not my type–she is, she’s femme and political and a little bit weird. It’s not that we don’t have things in common–we do. It feels entirely nonsensical that I’m not interested in her. What is wrong with me? I start to wonder if I’m straight. Sometimes people go half a lifetime and realize they’re gay; there’s no reason I couldn’t have been straight all along. I have an existential crisis for a day or two, panic, and then call [my friend] Billy, who reminds me that to be straight I’d have to like men. Crisis averted, I resume swiping through my queer dating apps. (Lamya H., p. 206)
Weaving One's Faith Into One's Personal Story
The author has a real gift in the way she weaves well-known Quran (and Old Testament) stories–about Noah(Nuh), Joseph(Yusuf), and others–through her accounts of her own personal story, drawing parallels and inspiration from her deeply held Islamic faith as she prays for further enlightenment.In the final section of her memoir, the author develops a complex metaphor comparing herself (and anyone striving to convey a message to touch and transform hearts and minds) with Yunus (Jonah), the prophet of Allah/God who, after preaching for a long time to an unresponsive audience in Nineveh, stopped and walked away, taking a trip on a ship, from which Yunus was forced to jump into the sea, but ended up being swallowed by a whale and praying to Allah, who led the whale to spit the prophet out upon the beach of an island.
A friend the author has had since childhood, and with whom she is involved in a four-year plan to re-read and study the entire Quran, is in the midst of a discussion with her over the friend Mitra’s contention that Yunus was not a quitter, but merely knew when it was time to take a break and stop preaching, in order to refresh his spirit and strengthen himself for the next phase or battle. This conversation, on a hiking trail in a national park on a camping trip with half a dozen of the author’s like-minded friends, including her marital partner, “Liv,” in the season of Ramadan one year, causes her to experience yet another faith-based epiphany.
Mitra stops to drink some water. “Aziz,” she says when we start walking again, side by side. “What you’re saying is true, but I’m trying to put my finger on why your characterization feels off. I think it’s because Yunus’s leaving is not the same thing as giving up. He knew when to disengage. He knew when to call it quits. He accepted that fighting was not serving his mission, was actually draining him of the ability to try and share his message effectively. His leaving was a way of taking care of himself. And it was also a way of taking great care with the message he believed in.” ....[H]er words echo in my head nonetheless. It wasn’t until I hit my early thirties that I finally admitted to myself that fighting was not working anymore. Not for the people I fought with, whose minds I never changed, but more important, not for me. Three years ago, a coworker said something racist about Black people and I fought with him until I was exhausted and he was even more fervent about his position. The next morning, I found myself unable to go into work....the thought of sharing space with this coworker made my chest hurt and my limbs heavy....I felt drained of everything that makes life worth living: joy, energy, the will to go on.... That’s when I decided to come up with a set of rules. I was never going to stop fighting for what I believed in, but I needed to fight differently. Only fight with people I’m invested in and care about, and who are coming to the conversation with genuine openness and curiosity. No fighting with casual work colleagues, frenemies, or friends of friends. Definitely no fighting with strangers on the internet. I resolved to ask myself, before engaging, whether I was being baited, whether people honestly believed what they were saying or if they were playing devil’s advocate. I also decided to replace yelling with open questions, softness, vulnerability, and allowing for quiet, like Mitra is doing today on this trail–giving people time to absorb, reflect, consider. And I promised myself that if the conversation wasn’t constructive, I would–like Yunus, I realize for the first time–allow myself, and them, the dignity of leaving. (Lamya H., pp. 268-270)
“What if [Jonah’s] whale is not punishment, but protection,” suggests the author, “...from the storm roiling above and around him ....from fighting to exhaustion, from fighting to his demise. A brief respite, this whale. A shelter. A resting place. A protection for the time being” (p. 277).
Crescendo With No Denouement
The author uses the whale metaphor to explain her decision to use a pseudonym instead of her actual name in publishing her book.[N]ot giving up, not punishment, but rather, protection. A whale that allows me to keep fighting, to fight with my writing. A whale that allows me to save my energy for curious, kind dialogue and to support those I love– instead of fighting to fend off racists, sexists, homophobes, transphobes, Islamophobes....What if my pseudonym is a whale that allows me to build and love and resist through activism and organizing, these new forms of fighting that have replaced the yelling and raging of my twenties? A whale that is protection, for the time being? (p. 277)
It is truly a beautiful and uplifting crescendo of an ending to this compelling autobiography by the author, who uses Lamya H as her pseudonym, who also compares her journey to the Quran story of Hajar, the mother of Ismail.
This book, Hijab Butch Blues: A Memoir, by Lamya H (Dial Press, 2024), conveys a message many will find relevant in today’s socio-political milieu, at a time when intolerance is ascendant and human rights do not have a viable champion. The many allusions to prominent figures from the history of three primary religious traditions – Jewish, Islamic, and Christian faiths – would make the reading of this story challenging for a person not raised or educated within one of those belief systems, but access to Google research should make understanding the author’s experiences feasible for a determined reader.[H]ere in this world I’m building for myself, people I have invited in: Liv, Zu, Manal, Billy, Mitra, Reem, and so many others. People whom I love, whom I fight with because I care about them. I’m building this world for people I know will fight for me, whom I fight alongside by marching at protests, fundraising for bail funds, organizing queer Muslim events that build community. In a way, my whale is akin to Hajar’s exile–a seemingly barren, unfriendly territory that, with faith, can produce Zamzam, a spring around which grows a city.
....And sometimes, in our whales, we work on ourselves. Our own racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia. Our anti-Blackness. Our heedlessness around disability justice. Our defensiveness when called out. Our mistakes. We work on ourselves like Yunus, who calls out to God from inside the whale, turning to God in ... prayer. . (pp. 278-279)
A person not familiar with any LBGTQ+ communities may find this book to be a very accessible introduction to understanding a different perspective from what one reads and hears in the echo chamber of public discourse today in America. If you know someone who identifies with a LBGTQ+ community, especially if it is someone you love and respect, this is going to be a wonderful reading experience and possibly a nice book to read and discuss together with them. If you are starting off from a strongly “anti-woke” point of view, it may be best to set this book aside for a few months or years, and then see if you feel ready to learn about someone coming from a totally different mindset from yours, maybe reading just a few pages at a time. I received my copy of the book in July and it took me until late February to finish reading it, partly because it was competing on my bookshelf with a re-reading of Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Madding Crowd, and I am a real Hardy fan. Next on my list–after the Hardy book–is God Is a Black Woman, by Christena Cleveland (HarperCollins, 2022). But that will be competing on my bookshelf with a re-reading of Joseph Conrad’s Under Western Eyes, so it is anybody’s guess how long it will be before I have anything to say about either of those.
About the Reviewer
Dr. Robert Bruce Scott is a teacher, teacher-trainer, motivational speaker, and educational consultant who hosts the weekly TEACHING CONTENT podcast on topics ranging from English literature to ESOL, special education, and cross-cultural teaching and learning.