Another Review for Lost in Thyme

“From the brilliant author of Bitter Almonds comes another beautifully told story of a Palestinian family still trying to gather the pieces of itself, generations after we were all thrown to the winds. Lost in Thyme is a page turner, and I was hooked from the first chapter.”

Quote about Lost in Thyme from Susan Abulhawa, author of Mornings in Jenin

Review of Lost in Thyme

“What a gorgeous book this is - transporting in content and presentation both. I felt lost in the joys of shared legacies, adrift in savory fragrances, all sorrows of politics and injustices washed away.”  

Quote about Lost in Thyme from Naomi Shihab Nye, four-time Pushcart Prize winner

Sukoon Magazine Interview

In my recently published interview with Sukoon Magazine, I was asked the following question:

"Would you describe Bitter Almonds as more of a political story or more of a love story? Or maybe love is political anyway?"

Silence

The day will come, when you will beg for my forgiveness.

I, the child blamed, the one innocent of your crimes,

I, the grandfather, farmer of a land stolen,

I, the grandmother, singer of ballads forgotten,

I, the father, carer of a family torn asunder,

I, the mother, nurturer of a home cowardly demolished,

I, the colonized, the oppressed, the evicted,

I, the persecuted, the starved, the forgotten,

I, the imprisoned, the tortured, the assassinated,

I, the Palestinian, will stand forever tall, and

We will never forgive your silence.

Lilas Taha is a novelist, winner of the 2017 International Book Awards in the Multicultural Fiction category and is the author of Shadows of Damascus and Bitter Almonds.

Poet Naomi Shihab Nye quote about BITTER ALMONDS

“Lilas Taha's great gift in BITTER ALMONDS is to create characters and scenes so richly resonant with life and vitality, that the complicated, lush world of the Middle East feels as tangible and close as any world you are living in. Crucial in our strange days?  Perhaps more than anything.”

—Naomi Shihab Nye, author of HABIBI

The Toddler And The Sea

So I’m two years-old and, because I’m special, I was given a miracle: I can tell you my thoughts. I don’t know where I’m from, or where I am now, or where I’m going. I can only tell you what I’ve experienced so far.

Are you ready?

Here we go:

I filled my stomach on my mother’s milk when I was smaller. It was warm and plenty.

I slept on my father’s shoulder when I was too tired to walk. It was comfortable and wide.

I smelled my grandmother’s breath when she kissed me every morning. It was fruity and sweet.

I bounced on my grandfather’s lap when he tried to stop my crying. It was soft and a bit awkward.

I popped soap bubbles my older brother blew in my face when we bathed. It was fun and magical.

I kicked a football around and didn’t fall on my face for the first time. Everyone clapped for me.

I danced with my cousins to derbakkeh drums and oud strings. I liked the way their music moved my body.

I heard noises coming from the sky. They sounded like thunder, but were not followed by rain, only ash and cement chunks. It was too loud.

I hid in a closet to wait for the man with the heavy boots and long shiny rifle to leave our house. It was scary.

I crawled under metal wire with sharp spikes. They hurt when my skin caught on them.

I felt the sun burn too close, too hot. The only moisture came from my mother’s eyes.

I saw my uncle lie very still in the street, a circle of red paint spread around his head.

I bobbed up and down on a boat. I was sick. I only saw water.

I slipped through my father’s hands. I didn’t float.

I heard him cry. His voice went hoarse.

I swallowed water. It was too salty.

I breathed sand through my nose.

I am cold, very cold.

I’ve arrived.


Lilas Taha is a novelist, winner of the 2017 International Book Awards  and is the author of Shadows of Damascus and Bitter Almonds.

BITTER ALMONDS Excerpt

"They told five-year old Fatimah not to turn around, but no one told her to close her eyes. No one told her not to listen. She pressed her face against the window, a rag doll forgotten in her lap. Quiet rain speckled the cold glass, and ..."

Read the first chapter of my upcoming novel Bitter Almonds, to be released August 13, on my revamped website lilastaha.com

Cover Reveal for BITTER ALMONDS

I'm excited to reveal the cover for my second novel Bitter Almonds to be published by Bloomsbury QFP. Release date in the UK and worldwide is August 13, 2015. 

US publication date is January 19, 2016.

Gaza sisters

The girl brought her head down. She swung her legs back and forth under the kitchen table and crossed her arms on the wooden surface. A single braid sat neatly in the middle of her back. A big window behind her framed her profile in the mid morning light. She looked small, too little for an eleven-year old.

Her sister sat to her left. Her head stayed upright, her legs dangled above the floor and she crossed them at the ankles. She ran her hands over her hair, tightened her ponytail, and then brought down her hands to her sides to grip the bottom cushion of her chair. Her size didn't match her age, either. She looked like she was five or six, not ten.

The girls exchanged quick glances then sat perfectly still. They were nervous. We had that in common, at least. I could not clearly see their faces from where I stood at the other end of the big kitchen. But I had seen pictures in their files and had read their psychological evaluations. I was prepared. Or so I thought.

Fatimah and Hala are burn victims from Gaza. They came to Houston for treatment sponsored by the Palestine Children's Relief Fund, or PCRF for short. PCRF is a non-political, non-profit organization dedicated to fighting the medical and humanitarian crisis facing children in the Middle East. The girls could not be treated in besieged Gaza. Doctors and surgeons had volunteered their time and expertise to provide reconstructive surgery for them in Houston. A number of wonderful volunteers were involved in the girls’ unbelievable journey. On my end, I had volunteered my family to host the girls in our house during their stay, and this was my first meeting with them. The month was October, the year 2011.

My daughter and son formed a deep relationship with Fatimah and Hala, and we all kept in touch after they returned to their family in Gaza once they finished their treatment. Now I have no idea what happened to them. I can’t get through on any of the numbers I have for their parents. Their mother was also burned in the same explosion that maimed her girls. PCRF representatives informed me they are also trying to get a hold of them, as well as the other children they helped from Gaza. No news yet.

Today, my daughter asked me about the girls. She said she felt nauseated for not being able to do anything. I had no answers for her. And the little information I could gather was not promising. 

I remember the long nights, when the girls couldn’t fall asleep no matter how hard I tried to ease their pain. I remember the way I had to shield them from people’s stares, the many times I had to set strangers straight on how they got hurt. More often than not, people would doubt my account when I mention the Israeli invasion of 2011. But once in a while, informed individuals would briefly close their eyes and mumble, “Yeah. We heard about that.”

Going back to those days, when the girls graced us with their courage, their everlasting smiles, their giggles and tears, their hopes and dreams drawn in crayons and hung on my fridge door, I gulp for air to get rid of a suffocating sensation. We helped them heal, and where are they now? Are they still alive? In what shape or form? What kind of nightmares are they having? Are they with their mother and father? Holding them when they wake up screaming during the night? If they are alive, are they able to sleep? And how many children are burned like them this time around?

I heard my daughter’s voice quiver when she asked, “Will you let me know as soon as you find out anything?” And I’m afraid of what I may have to say.

I can’t, cannot imagine what those mothers who saw their children’s bodies torn by the latest Israeli bombardment on Gaza are going through. What courage, what faith, what strength they have!

How can they go on after this horror?

How can we all?

Lilas Taha is a novelist, winner of the 2017 International Book Awards  and is the author of Shadows of Damascus and Bitter Almonds.

My Palestine!

She lounged lazily under an olive tree one warm afternoon, digging her bare toes in the rich soil. Glorious vibrant hair danced in the light breeze, spreading her earthly scent in all directions. She threw back her head in rapturous song, a voice saturated with love as deep as the roots of the tree she sat under.

    Come. Share my happiness!

Attuned creatures gravitated to her side, drawn in by her magical pull. They kneeled in front of her, submitting to her heavenly power. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they courted.

    Give us a dance.

She yawned and pushed herself up. The colorful scarf draped on her shoulders slipped to her fingers. She wrapped it around her hips. She twirled and dipped to the beat of drums rhyming in her head. Hummingbirds, butterflies, even flamingoes became jealous.

    Give us a hug.

She stretched her arms wide, welcoming eager crowds. They flocked enthusiastically, pushing against each other, eventually toppling her down on her back and climbing over her. She giggled.

    Too much love!

Ants crept up her legs, across her fertile womb, over her innocent bosom and reached her lips.

    Give us a kiss.

Shaking her head, she tried to brush them off her face. They clung to her eyelashes. She tried to swat them away with her hands. They hid inside her nose.

    I can’t breathe!

Ravens, crows and grackles perched on the branches above her head watched.

    Help me!

They swooped down and tore at the ants. A shadow of a large creature loomed over them. He approached, placed a hoofed foot over each of her arms, pinning her. He swung something in the air and brought it down with brutal force. 

The winged creatures flew away. 

He swung again, and again, and again until nothing was left but her scarf-covered hip; one strip black, one white, one green, edges tucked under a red triangle.

My Palestine.

Lilas Taha is a novelist, winner of the 2017 International Book Awards  and is the author of Shadows of Damascus and Bitter Almonds.