Then, something happens to Lamya. Like the prophets they’ve been learning about in the Quran class of the international school in the Muslim country that isn’t where they’re family is from, Lamya receives their own wahi, their own revelation. In the class, they hear the translated version of the Surah Maryam, the story of the prophet Maryam who was born a girl instead of a boy and promised to Allah before she was born. Maryam is sent by her family to live in a mosque all by herself as a child and then one day, she is chosen by Allah to give birth to the prophet Isa on her own. Lamya sees some of themself in the story of Maryam. At fourteen, they already know there is something different about them than the girls in their class. They know they weren’t born “right” either, and they find comfort in Maryam’s story. “I am fourteen the year I read Surah Maryam. The year I choose not to die. The year I choose to live.” Lamya H reflects on what was gained and what was lost by writing her debut memoir under a pseudonym. She ultimately finds a community of like-minded Muslim Americans when she attends a “coming out Muslim play”, a gathering that she writes “feels like a window into Jannah”. An insightful memoir-in-essays by a queer nonbinary (she/they) Muslim author, which pairs stories from the Quran with stories about their life. This truly exceeded all expectations. Lamya touches on immigration, Islamaphobia, racism, homophobia, and more as she finds hope in a religious text while needing to remain closeted to much of their community, including their family. Their devoutness happens *because* of their identity, not in spite of it. It’s a nuanced, powerful view of religion. Not only that, Lamya is a talented writer. I’ll be thinking about this memoir for some time to come. Highly recommended for anyone who enjoys memoirs that grapple with faith/religion.

HIJAB BUTCH BLUES | Kirkus Reviews HIJAB BUTCH BLUES | Kirkus Reviews

Hijab Butch Blues is not your typical coming-out tale that climaxes in a grand revelation to family members. “What would my telling them I’m queer achieve?” asks Lamya in one chapter. When we speak, she brings up people's fixation on revealing queerness to parents. “There are so many things that straight people don’t tell their parents growing up, there’s an entire part of so many peoples’ lives that their parents just don’t know about – and so it feels really strange to be obsessed with this idea of having to tell them everything,” she explains.The very concept of a Queer Muslim is considered to be an oxymoron by more conservative and puritanical Muslims, who believe rigidly that queerness and religiosity cannot overlap. “It’s completely outside the realm of their imagination that people can be both gay and Muslim,” writes Lamya in her book.

Hijab Butch Blues: Queer Muslim memoir confronting orthodoxy Hijab Butch Blues: Queer Muslim memoir confronting orthodoxy

After moving to the United States for university, Lamya recalls “deciphering the hierarchies of this country” – from white supremacy to Arab and Muslim names alone rousing suspicion. Lamya writes that their “brown hijabi Muslim body is seen as scary, disempowered, both hypervisible and invisible at the same time”. Allah, the lord of the universe, is not a NON-BINARY. Allah is not limited by something that HUMANS made up- in Islam, if you are MUSLIM- like the author APPARENTLY is- then you KNOW that Allah has no human aspects- he cannot be confined by time, space, and such things. Meaning he cannot be NON BINARY because that is a random term that HIS creation made up to explain something random- Such was the case with some of Lamya’s own friends, like one who she calls Rashid. When she finally reveals her truth to him, he responds: “Listen. I’m prone to saying ignorant things about queerness sometimes. Please don’t let it slide. Please tell me if I ever do that. Please hold me accountable." I's nice to see how much of how she processes her life experiences is linked to the Quran, but then she veers off into blasphemy.What makes this book so remarkable is Lamya's integrity both as a Muslim trying to create a lens that allows her to see her faith broadly and affirmingly and as a scholar and political thinker aware of the ways colonialism and hierarchies of color shape our world. I too am a queer Muslim hijabi activist who writes under a pseudonym and isn’t out to family. More than that – in that mirror, I could see my queer Muslim friends beside me, the homophobia in Muslim spaces and the Islamophobia and racism in queer spaces. I know first-hand how easy it is to feel alone, and for a time, I wondered if I was the only one out there – the only lesbian on the planet who wore hijab and prayed five times a day. Masterfully constructed . . . a reminder of the power we have within ourselves and within our communities to defeat complacency, indifference, and cruelty.” — Autostraddle