Absolutely gorgeous book about longing and family and missed chances. Which is to say it's also sad! Told largely in the second person by an unknown narrator, Chacour fallows the life of a Levantine Christian growing up in Egypt in the 1970s and '80s, and his place in the Francophone community in Cairo, and how he fell in love with another man.

The second person was interesting here, as we don't start hearing "I/my/mine" until near the half way point, and when we do it recontextualises everything that came before. It distanced the reader from what the main character was feeling by forcing a space between him and the reader. It's probably going to be love it or hate it, but I thought it worked, especially with the contrast we later learn, and to the more immediate style of the first person sections.

I was surprised it was a first novel, as the structure and style both feel very mature. I hope Chacour writes more, and that it gets translated into English.