On Lemons and the Forgotten: a review on 'As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow' by Zoulfa Katouh

 Read With Me: April, 2023.

Disclaimer: reader discretion is advised. I do not advocate for themes discussed in books I review - I read a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction, for education and leisure. My views as a reader are my own, and not representative of any employer or organization. My reviews are biased by default, and will be heavily influenced by my code of ethics. You are free to click off where you please, and more than welcome to suggest books for reviewing :)

Book 3: As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow

Acclaim: Shortlisted for British Book Awards Discover: Book of the Year, 2023 / Nominee for Best YA fiction at the GoodReads Awards.

Rating: 5⭐️ / pg rating: 16+

Synopsis: Salama Kassab was a pharmacy student when the cries for freedom broke out in Syria. She still had her parents and her big brother; she still had her home. She had a normal teenager’s life. Now Salama volunteers at a hospital in Homs, helping the wounded who flood through the doors daily. Secretly, though, she is desperate to find a way out of her beloved country before her sister-in-law, Layla, gives birth. So desperate, that she has manifested a physical embodiment of her fear in the form of her imagined companion, Khawf, who haunts her every move in an effort to keep her safe. But even with Khawf pressing her to leave, Salama is torn between her loyalty to her country and her conviction to survive. Salama must contend with bullets and bombs, military assaults, and her shifting sense of morality before she might finally breathe free. And when she crosses paths with the boy she was supposed to meet one fateful day, she starts to doubt her resolve in leaving home at all. Soon, Salama must learn to see the events around her for what they truly are—not a war, but a revolution—and decide how she, too, will cry for Syria’s freedom.

Genre: Historical Fiction / Young-Adult / Contemporary / Romance / Magical Realism  

Themes discussed: Resilience/ Grief / War / Faith / Sexual Assault

Review: 

Lemons are one of my least favourite fruits. I don't necessarily hate them, but I could never quite bring myself to like them. They're tangy and smell a little too pungent for my liking. This book, while not necessarily a book about lemons, changed that. 

Dramatic? maybe. I'm not entirely sure the direction this review is going to take, considering my genuine inability to predict where anything (including my life) is headed.

Zoulfa Katouh's debut novel "As Long As The Lemon Trees Grow" is a harsh reminder. It speaks of a world where war breathes down every neck and presses its cruel fingers on open wounds. Salama, our protagonist, is a cynic with a spiralling inner world. She's sensitive but steadfast, held together by a promise she isn't sure why she made to begin with. She has lost more than most; her family consists of her best friend and sister-in-law, Layla. Her time is spent at the hospital, where once she'd dreamed of manning the pharmacy, but is forced to take on the duty of a doctor. She didn't want any of this, and she certainly cannot handle it, but Katouh makes it very clear that she doesn't have a say in most things happening around her. 

This includes Khawf, whose presence is as pleasant as an incessant itch, a remnant of head trauma and a physical manifestation of Salama's grief. He's an interesting addition to this story addled with pain, a little humorous and very, very terrifying if you really think about it. Khawf's existence, I believe, is an ode to what is rarely ever spoken about when we hear of survivors of war; most often, these 'survivors' carry scars too deeply ingrained to be apparent to onlookers. 

Enter Kenan, loverboy with green eyes and a backstory just as devastating as Salama's. He's everything you'd expect in a romcom almost accidentally placed in this gut-wrenching tale of loss and perseverance. But he is what makes this story so much more than just another retelling of war. He's bright and hopeful, a quiet strength for Salama to (figuratively) lean on while her world falls apart quite literally. 

In my experience, most stories about muslims take two distinctive routes; a) a cultural narrative of existence with a side of We Are Not Like Others, and b) a distinct narrative of experience with a side of We Are Actually Just Like Everyone Else. Of the two, I prefer the latter but have only ever had the pleasure of reading a handful of books that fit this category. And I was delighted to see this book take route B and prove, in its existence, the vitality of letting Muslims just be Muslims. Salama isn't devout to the point of accession, Kenan isn't a Mysterious Muslim Man and Zoulfa Katouh seems to be the kind of writer who'd much rather eat a brick than write a Quick Fix Romance. I like the slow realizations, the yearning that transcends the universal experience of being muslim and falling in love, the boundaries we are often deterred for having in our very western world, the innocence of liking someone for who they are. It's not an Islamic story in any sense, but it does justice to Islam, and for that I am beyond grateful. 

This book is not for the faint-hearted. It is also not for people who are actively grieving a loss, because it will nip at your heartstrings and reel you into a sadness that isn't yours to carry. It dabbles in the realism of war that not many people will feel comfortable knowing and in its honest portrayal of helplessness is a reminder that we are beyond blessed. 

I had so much more I wanted to say when I first read this book, but words fail me at the moment. I feel the only way I can convince you to pick this book up is by highlighting some of my favourite quotes, without giving too much away:

On Kenan, by Salama: "I’m sure he still dreams. Maybe he’s the only one who still dreams. Maybe he’s the only one in the whole city who still dreams at night."

I think about this quote every few days and have an Oh, Oh moment, then struggle to cope with existence. 

On Salama, by Kenan: "know that even in death, you are my life."

I don't believe there's a single book boy who's ever managed to encapsulate gentleness and devotion the way Kenan has, and for that I revere Katouh's writing. 

On existence, despite it all: We don't have to stop living because we might die.

This quote continues to keep me grounded.

There's so many quotes that I could leave here, but context is important and my sincerest hope is for you to read this and know, beyond what I can tell you, that this is a story worth remembering. 

I'll leave you with that, and a reminder that despite everything, we deserve happy endings. 

Love, 

N x.