What inspired you to write Songs for the Dead and the Living?

I wrote this novel because I’m interested in the way Arab women speak back to patriarchy, back to borders, back to different forms of violence; and how when we are made invisible or ignored, we create our own spaces of subversion, softness and strength through sisterhood. 

Aside from being a love letter to my geographies and intersections, it’s a way to honour the incredible women in my family, often misunderstood, misrepresented, mistranslated. Who better than I, their daughter, fluent in their languages, what is spoken and unspoken, to record their stories?

What were the most challenging and enlightening aspects of writing your book?

The most challenging part was holding the weight of the histories I was writing about and doing justice to these characters and their realities. It was important for me to capture the emotional depth and complexity of their experiences without flattening them or apologising for them. I also wanted to resist easy answers and neat ending — when is being Palestinian ever neat? But I wanted to balance that out with being a writer generous to my readers, some who may have never come across these worlds before (or at least not in this way).

On the other hand, the process was enriching because it revealed just how deeply our stories are intertwined across generations, geographies, and struggles, and reminded me of the ways we keep surviving, keep singing, no matter what.  

In what ways do you think the characters in Songs for the Dead and the Living might be empowering figures for women and young girls?

The deep roots at the heart of the novel are the loving matriarchal relationships in protagonist Jamilah’s warm, bustling family. Specifically the dynamics of the five young women at the centre of the story, with shades of the Bennet and March and Arabic timsiliyat sisters, who still have agency and make choices even in difficult circumstances. Ultimately, it’s about these women having permission to resist the inevitability of loss and grief. 

How do you think literature helps to shape our understanding of ourselves and others?

I grew up not seeing myself on shelves and on screens (definitely not in an authentic/accurate sense, if any at all), so being a writer felt like a distant dream—one I wasn’t allowed to have, one I would be foolish to have..and I am no fool!

It took me a long time to remember the fact that I come from a rich, long lineage of storytelling, to reconnect with that, and to give myself permission to go after that dream. 

Having access to our stories and literary traditions (alongside a myriad of others I am grateful for) transformed how I see the world and myself, especially against that backdrop of negative tropes and singular depictions.

And, of course, the guidance of teachers and mentors who mirror this light played a crucial role in my journey.

What was the most recent book you’ve read about women or girls that moved you?

Jumaana Abdu’s Translations is a masterful exploration of the spoken and the unspoken, capturing the profound limitations of language—the only tool we have—to convey the depths of our most intimate relationships, especially those of a spiritual nature. It delves into the complexities of impression and expression, where words fall short, yet the essence of connection remains. At its core, the work asserts the fundamental right to dream beyond the confines of what the world deems possible, inviting us to imagine lives unbound by the limits imposed on us.