As an Arab who really appreciates some good, profound, enriching writing, I was disappointed. I got the book shipped all the way from Lebanon in order to read it in Arabic. There is no way to get my money back. This is one horrid, long, sombre dark night of the soul piece of work in which both masochism and sadism converge. One would feel that Ahlam Mosteghanemi is an identical replica of the well-known Nizar Qabani. Nizar is good in his own context but to mimic (or rather copycat!) him in phraseology, imagery, concepts that seem only Nizar's, etc. would render Ahlam Mosteghanemi less ingenuous. The work is plagued by bitterness intertwined with sarcasm and gall over raped homelands which brings to mind typical Arab soap operas and dramas. Often she employs faith as a matter of convenience to fit in with situational needs as if it were an opium to ward off nervous breakdown instead of enhancing it as a conviction that accompanies people who are supposedly saviours of their raped homelands, "watan", a word that gets tritely overused throughout the whole theme of the novel.