I wanted to love this book so badly, but adter trying very hard, I had to DNF it at the 81 page mark.

I did appreciate the transition in Sadiq's voice between poetry and prose, especially when she establishes that Ehman turned to writing after her assault. I also loved the string depiction of family bonds in this book, even between geographically distant characters like Naano Jaan.

However, what made this book difficult for me to read was that the dialogue felt incredibly inauthentic. Regardless of the characters' ages, everyone from teenaged Guddi Baji to elderly Naano Jaan spoke in long moralizing phrases using a diminutive pet name for the protagonist. These interactions came across less like the remembrance of a child, and more that an adult is trying to inject memories with a teaching or philosophical air.

This book is for someone, but unfortunately not for me

Emahn is a Pakistani girl who is a victim of sexual assault by a stranger when she is 8 years old. That is not the end of her suffering, which covers many years of life in both Pakistan and Canada. She experiences both the love and joy of a large close-knit family, and later the sadness of an arranged marriage with a horrible man. It's written so beautifully and I felt like I was in the same room with these characters. I was entranced. How could such exquisite, lyrical prose be telling this story of so much heartache? This one got me right to my soul as it showed the strength of a woman who has endured so much sorrow, and managed to not just survive, but to flourish. Excellent.

Thanks to Girl Friday Productions and NetGalley for an ARC to read and review.

- [ ] This is the debut novel by author Somia Sadiq, whose lyrical and beautiful writing style makes it easy to get lost in the story, almost like a collection of poems. The protagonist, Emarhn faces numerous challenges & struggles throughout her life. However, the nonlinear narrative took some time for me to comprehend. Thanks to Girl Friday Productions and NetGalley for providing me with an ARC to read and review this book!

Somia Sadiq’s debut novel, Gajarah (flower bracelet), is a free-flowing narration of our protagonist, Emahn, that will make you smile, laugh, think, and eventually choke you too—an experience that I had while reading and turning those pages.

Emahn—meaning trust, hope, confidence, belief, inner strength—truly resonates with who she is through her actions and the way she carries herself amidst a tough and disturbing phase during her childhood.

Born and brought up in Sharjah, Emahn and her family, comprising Mama Jaan (Kashmiri) and Baba Jaani (Punjab), and later her twin little brothers, visit Lahore, their ancestral city, every summer to spend time with family and cousins.

Her favourite person is Naano Jaan, her maternal grandmother. The woman is the pillar of the entire family and runs it with matriarchal toughness, which is an inspiration for Emahn.

Those Lahore episodes with cousins, uncles, aunts, and local people helped Emahn to be close and connected to her roots and belief system while having her individuality intact during her formative years.

At eight, a thunderbolt strikes one night when she returns from buying milk for her little brothers from Agha Uncle’s shop, and a beast attacks her; this will eventually transform the rest of her life.

Being a god-fearing family with supportive parents, slowly and steadily, Emahn gets back to her normalcy and does good through her academics when talk of nikah (marriage) reaches her ears on her 15th birthday.

Soon, she is with her new stranger husband in an unknown foreign land across the Atlantic Ocean in Canada.

How she copes with her losses and her childhood trauma to build a resilient version of herself forms the rest of this debut novel by Ms Sadiq.

The novel also addresses the topic of forgiveness. The author deftly threads those paths with clarity and conviction in her stance.

Somia’s prose, beginning with a chapter name in Punjabi, and ending with a poem, is such a unique way to capture the emotion and feelings of the protagonist.

The introduction of Moonga Rani and the stories that follow and connect the current life of Emahn is appreciable, and I loved it.

Being a non-linear narrative, this innovative inclusion of magical-mythical parables of raja and rani adds a cosmic and dreamy vibe to the story that one can similarly experience in the works of Elif Shafak and Haruki Murakami.

Overall, this is a wonderful and promising start to the author’s literary career.

I highly recommend it for readers who love desi literature and women’s fiction rooted in those local sensibilities that ask some really tough yet relevant questions, which may hurt our parents, family, relatives, and society at large, that still need to be answered.

Gajarah was such a unique and powerful read. It weaves together grief, memory, migration, and identity in a way that feels both intimate and expansive. The language is poetic without being too heavy, and I loved how it moved between the past and present, between countries and emotions, without ever feeling disjointed.

There’s a quiet strength in the way Somia Sadiq explores loss—especially the kind of loss that doesn’t always have closure. The cultural elements felt beautifully rooted, and even though the story is deeply personal, it touches on themes so many people can relate to.

It’s a reflective and emotional book that stays with you. If you enjoy writing that’s lyrical, honest, and full of heart, Gajarah is definitely one to pick up.