The Prayer Rug

prayer rug image
2015. Black Rose Writing. 155 Pages.

The Prayer Rug
By: H.M. Hymas
2 stars

This review was originally published on Muslimah Media Watch.

I really wanted to like this book. I love to hear lesser-told narratives, and this one checked all the boxes: it features a female protagonist and Muslim characters. More specifically, the characters are Iraqi, and I’ve never read a story that features Iraqi people. In short, The Prayer Rug follows Reem and her family as they struggle to maintain their sense of home in Iraq while it is being invaded by American Forces. Reem clings to her prayer rug—whose rhythmic presence is not as central to the novel as one might expect—as a symbol of faith, struggle, and progress. Unfortunately, the book fell flat. The writing is clumsy, the “plot twists” are obvious, and the characters feel more like caricatures.

In terms of word choice, The Prayer Rug was pretty easy to read. The phrases are short and the words are simple. So simple, in fact, that I found myself getting bored. Hymas frequently repeated words and phrases, a device that would have worked well had the repeated words come from the same character’s mouth, but the phrases seem to be playing round-robin throughout the book, which is not only confusing but also uninventive. Rather than letting the events of the novel speak for themselves, Hymas uses character commentary to move through the plot. As a result of the repetition and transparency, I quickly learned which phrases signaled an upcoming tragedy or plot reversal. Several times,  Reem comments that “Today is going to be a good day,” right before tragedy strikes. The attempts to the reader away from the plot “twist” are painfully obvious. Reem makes daily trips to the market. The first time she goes, she pauses to ask herself, “Will the market be safe today?” Reem then explains that the market is often the target of terrorist activity. The second time Reem goes to the market, a couple of chapters later, she once again pauses to ask, “Will it be safe today?” before reiterating the dangers of the market. The reiterations seems to imply that readers cannot retain information for longer than a couple of pages. Inevitably, the market becomes the dangerous place it’s worked up to be, and of course Reem doesn’t see it coming, despite being aware of the possibility.

Throughout the novel, characters changed so quickly and so frequently that I often found myself re-reading previous passages to make sure I understood them correctly. For instance, in one chapter, Reem checks the road for explosive devices while taking her children to school. She notes that her children are so used to the exercise they no longer ask her about it. In a later chapter, though, Reem pauses to assess a public area for danger (I’m being intentionally vague here to avoid spoilers) and her daughter asks why she stopped. Through Reem we discover that her daughter has only known the war, and that Reem’s older son has spent the majority of his life in the warzone. Still, her son doesn’t seem to comprehend the dangers of walking recklessly in the road and consorting with strangers. When his parents discuss who is fighting and why, it seems as if he is hearing this information for the first time, despite his being a teenager. While it is possible that he would be ignorant of the specifics of the war, Reem and Azzam (her husband) discuss the war so frequently I find it hard to believe their son hasn’t learned anything about it during his lifetime.

Perhaps the thing I found most appalling about the book was the blatant political agenda. We get it; the war in Iraq ruined people’s lives. Show us, don’t tell us. The characters repeated some version of the phrase “things were better before the Americans came” ad nauseum. Even as they repeated this mantra, they continued to detail the terrible reign of Saddam Hussein. This dual treatment leaves readers in limbo. On the one hand, readers are supposed to believe that the American occupation in Iraq ruined the lives of the Iraqi people. On the other hand, they are supposed to believe that Saddam Hussein was the one who ruined the lives of the Iraqi people. One gets the impression that Iraq would be better off with no governmental system, but history tells us that doesn’t work either.

Fortunately, Reem herself is a somewhat respectable character. She is depicted as a pious, loving wife and mother, who does everything she can to ensure the safety and relative comfort of her family, even if it means making sacrifices. Of all the characters, Reem seems the most human. She suffers grief, pain, and fear, but she also enjoys hope, joy, and thankfulness. Like the other characters, Reem’s character is deficient in the areas of dialogue and thought narration, but Hymas succeeded in creating a strong female Muslim leading character. Though Reem depends on her husband to provide an income for the family, she is neither oppressed by, subservient to, nor entirely dependent upon him. Reem makes it clear both to her family and to the reader that no matter what happens to her on Earth, she will always be able to turn to God.

I was excited to see some Islamic thought peppered throughout the book: why we pray, why we fast, why we (some of us) wear hijab. Regrettably, these aspects were dropped into the story, rather than woven in, and Hymas only touched on the basics without addressing the shades of meaning and variations in practice. In a book that spends so much time talking about Sunni/Shi’a conflict, discussing the differences would have been easy. While the differences aren’t exactly integral to the plot, having some idea why Reem’s family (who is Sunni) might be persecuted by her predominately Shi’a neighbors would have deepened the narrative. On some level, I’m glad the author didn’t attempt this; based on the shallow plot and poor characterization, I can tell he wouldn’t have done the topic justice.

Frankly, I’m glad I received this for free, in ebook format. The cover, title, and subject matter would have lured me into buying the book and I would have been frustrated I wasted my money. I cannot openly recommend this book because it has serious structural issues, but at the same time I’d like to recommend it to readers because it’s a book that deals with both women and Islam, and the world needs more of those narratives. Even horribly constructed narratives are welcome, because they encourage discussion. Hopefully, in the future, those narratives will be something worth reading.

I received a free copy of the H.M. Hymas’s The Prayer Rug from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

MMW Post: Bangladeshi Women, Media and the “Helpers of Allah”

Here’s my second and last guest piece for Muslimah Media Watch. I’ll explain why it’s my last in the post after this one.

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Excerpt:

In its most recent move, the [Ansarullah Bangla Team] issued a threat to media companies employing women and insisted that the female employees are in violation of Islamic law, especially the unveiled models in advertisement campaigns…While ABT might argue that they are attempting to respect women by asking them to be covered, such an argument suggests that unveiled women are undeserving of respect. It will be difficult for Bangladeshi women in the media to continue working after these threats. ABT has already proven it is more than capable of following through with its promises, and reporters have an especially high level of visibility, making them even more susceptible to attacks. In this case, however, fear cannot be a deterrent.  More female faces and louder voices, combined with strategic movements and increased governmental protection might be enough to counteract ABT’s toxic campaign…

[Read More]

I’ve Been Featured on Muslimah Media Watch

Such egregious policies cause identity problems by forcing students to choose between family, faith, and state.

Muslimah Media Watch (available through Patheos.com) recently published an article of mine, and there are plans to publish at least on more. Here’s an excerpt:

Women and Children First: How French Policies are Impacting Muslim Communities

France’s quest for a strict separation of church and state in the public sphere while protecting private beliefs, confounds the two arenas by allowing the codification of laws that inhibit the open practice of faith. Each legislative push against religion brings it closer to the heart of the public sphere and encroaches upon the private. While it is understandable that France would like to keep its citizens safe by banning clothing that might inhibit criminal investigations, instances of attacks by veiled women are relatively rare and do not characterize the whole of the Muslim population in France, especially considering France hosts one of the largest Muslim populations in Europe. These laws, then, do more to harm the highly-visible female Muslim population than to protect the public. France is trying to erase Muslim women.

Source

As if to further the affront against human rights, the French are now dictating not only what Muslims wear, but also what they put into their bodies.

Such egregious policies cause identity problems by forcing students to choose between family, faith, and state. …It seems that to France, forced homogeneity is the definition of secularism.

Read the full article here: Muslimah Media Watch

A Little Bit of Rhetoric

I very rarely label myself a convert/revert, here’s why.

I’m writing this post as a necessary addendum to yesterday’s post. I titled the piece “covered convert” for two reasons: I like alliteration, and “convert” is a buzzword when it comes to religion. I felt that by using a buzzword, the post would reach more people.

Personally, though, I limit my self-reflective use of the word convert for the simple fact that it isn’t true; I had nothing from which to convert. I tend to use the either the phrase “I accepted Islam” or the phrase “I embraced Islam” because they feel more accurate. My journey into Islam was long and hard but eventually there came a point when I could not deny myself any longer. More on that later (maybe).

As for the term “revert,” I’m pretty apathetic about it. I understand the theory behind it– everyone is born Muslim, but not everyone knows that right away. When they eventually “see the light” they are simply returning to their true form. I get it. I just haven’t thought about it enough or done enough reading to form an opinion about it, and I shy away from taking other people’s words for fact.

On an unrelated note: I’m surprised by the surge of inspiration that’s been hitting me the past two weeks. I’m notorious for posting a slew of fairly regular pieces then disappearing off the face of the Earth. I’m hoping to keep up the momentum, but humans are creatures of habit. For the time being, I’ll write what I’ve got planned and let the rest happen as it happens.

Covered Convert: 19 Going on Hijabi

I’ve been wearing some form of hijab for about half a year, here are the lessons I’ve learned and the reason I will continue to wear it.

I embraced Islam in May, but I started covering my head last December. For me, to cover was, more stylistic than religious, but as my spirituality evolved I’ve begun to see the religious benefits of hijab (hijab here referring to the overall manner of dress as opposed to just the headscarf).

 

While the initial decision to wear a scarf and dress modestly began as a temporary experiment, I increasingly found that I preferred this new manner of dress. It seems I changed more than my appearance.

 

Now, people look at me differently, but it’s not always a bad thing. I was in China when I first started wearing turbans, and most of the attention I received was intrigue. My tall, dark-skinned figure already stood out in crowds, the turban just added to the outlandishness.

 

My friends took the change in stride. As soon as I started covering more of myself, however, I became “that Muslim girl” long before I officially took the shahada. At times it was awkward; a few people weren’t sure how to handle the “new” me. I rued the fact that something as simple as my manner of dress could so easily build and shatter assumptions about me. Still, I was pleased with the overall increase in respect. Fortunately, I lived in a community that was relatively accepting of my decision, regardless of the country’s religious intolerance.

 

I also found that suddenly, I love my smile… and my face, and my body. While many assume hijab is meant to oppress women and promote shame towards the female body, it actually does the opposite. The first thing I noticed after deciding to wear hijab was how accustomed to seeing my body I had become. All of a sudden my curves weren’t jumping out at me every time I passed by a reflective surface during the day; the only time I really see my body is before showering and when changing into bedclothes for the night. These fleeting glances always fill me with joy. I no longer criticize my body, partly because I don’t want to criticize Allah’s creation, but mainly because I no longer see the “flaws.” I see pure, unadulterated beauty.

 

Besides that, I’m comfortable. Hijab is freeing. I suppose this point ties into the last one. Besides the breeziness of flowing fabrics against my skin, the looseness relieves the pressure of achieving a “perfect” body (“perfect” in quotes here because everyone’s ideals differ).

 

I’m not neglecting my health—I still exercise and eat my fill of fruits and vegetables—but I’m not concerned with whether or not I look “fat” in an article of clothing (“fat,” is also relative). My genetically slim body tended to avoid public scrutiny, but that doesn’t mean I could escape the scrutiny of my own mind. Now that I know others can’t see my body, I don’t think about it. I woo people with charismatic character, not heavenly hips.

 

In addition to self-confidence, I’ve gained a family, one that I hope will be permanent. The first few friends I told happened to be Muslim and greeted me with open arms. I reveled in the choruses of salaams and “welcome to the family.” My closest friends gave me gifts, and everyone offered to help me learn to pray and gain Islamic knowledge.

 

My ummah, for the most part, has been supportive and I couldn’t thank them enough. Whenever I pray, I feel the solidarity of tens of thousands of Muslims facing the same direction, using the same language, and worshiping the same God, and the numbers are probably higher if I consider the people outside of my relative location. It feels good to be part of such a large community.

 

Prayer in and of itself is a glorious experience, and with hijab, prayer is so much easier—and much more fulfilling. Fortunately, I go to a school which has special areas for students to pray and reflect during the day, so finding a room to pray was a non-issue (until after dark when the special areas closed, but that’s another story).

 

I was, however, deterred by the time involved. I know it sounds awful (“you couldn’t even make time for your Lord?!”), but the effort involved in making wudhu, wrapping my scarf around me, praying, then re-tying my turban in a 15-20 minute break was enough to keep me from praying at all. In hijab, the process is simplified. I simply make wudhu, pray, and go about my day. I’m not missing out on the benefits of prayer by rushing; I take my time, express my praise, ask for forgiveness, and hope Allah accepts my prayer.

 

Essentially, I have no regrets. Though there have been ups and downs (the new family is great but people have already started asking me when I joined ISIS, because apparently all Muslims are terrorists).

 

I have been genuinely happy since starting to wear hijab and especially since my conversion. I feel safe, powerful, beautiful, invincible. The hijab is now an integral part of who I am. The thought of leaving my house (or dorm, if I’m at school) without it makes me uneasy. Not because I feel like I’ll be judged if I take it off (though that does weigh on my mind a little), but because I’ve come to love it.

 

Much in the same way some women wouldn’t dare leave the house without makeup, my outfit isn’t complete without the scarf I put on my head, and the outfit simply isn’t mine if the clothing hugs the body. I’m sure more than a few people will be upset with likening hijab to makeup, but it is not my intention to cheapen or otherwise lessen the importance of hijab. While I hesitate to say hijab is representative of my relationship with Allah (doing so would open up arguments about non-hijabis and their relationships with God), the manner of dress has certainly strengthened my deen, and for that reason, I plan to keep wearing it for the foreseeable future.

Image of 19 year old Sarabi

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