For Nahr, time has become intangible beyond the shifting quality of the light that moves across the Cube. From her cell in a state-of-the-art Israeli detainment facility, she lays bare the life that led to this imprisonment.

In exile from so much more than a homeland she can barely visualise, we follow her across physical borders (Kuwait-Jordan-Palestine-Israel-Jordan) which themselves produce far greater barriers. Unsteady on hostile earth, Nahr falls soundlessly into desperation and, to protect her family from further grief, sacrifices and trades away pieces of herself just to survive in this loveless world.

When eventually encouraged to return to her native Palestine, she finds a belonging, a purpose and the home she never found in her adoptive countries.

'We are not all blessed to [...] inherit what it takes to live with some dignity. To exist on your own land, in the bosom of your family and your history. To know where you belong in the world and what you're fighting for. To have some goddamn value.'

Perhaps most profoundly, in a Palestine under siege from Zionist colonisation and ethnic cleansing, she discovers that love itself is a revolutionary act and that as long as you carry it, you carry freedom.

Nahr's story is maddeningly, achingly sad. We move with her from one trauma to the next with barely the time to register, let alone recover from, each devastation. But there are also moments of such glimmering hope, radiant joy and boundless love. Abulhawa's gruelingly intimate narrative is masterfully crafted and Nahr is truly unforgettable. I'll carry her with me, always.

Huge thanks to Bloomsbury for gifting me a gorgeous paperback copy to review.