Book review: An Unnecessary Woman by Rabih Alameddine
A very long time ago (17/18 years, to be less vague) I used to regularly browse the sales boxes at Blackwell Bookshop in Oxford. I had recently graduated, was working in my first publishing job, and was reading everything I could. I bought books in large quantities, anything that caught my eye, and in that way discovered some amazing authors (and of course some duds). One of my discoveries was a book called I, the Divine by Rabih Alameddine, the Lebanese author’s second novel. It’s an experimental novel, written in the form of a series of first chapters, and I loved it. Then I completely failed to follow up and buy any more of his books.
Skip a decade or so and I discovered Alameddine’s Twitter stream, a delightful collection of artworks and poetry curated by someone I share taste and a sense of humour with. (Seriously, these days his Twitter is one of the few good reasons to keep bothering with that particular arm of social media.) Last year I finally bought another of his books, the novel An Unnecessary Woman, and over the Christmas break I read it.
The “unnecessary woman” of the title is Aaliya. She has lived alone in her Beirut apartment since the end of her brief marriage decades ago. She is not on good terms with her family, who resent her independence (and the reasonably nice flat she was able to keep when her husband left). Every year she translates a book into Arabic, starting her new project each 1 January. Appropriately enough for when I picked this up, the book is set over the end of one year and the start of the next, as Aaliya is musing on her next project.
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I’ve had Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi on my TBR for a few years and I had put off reading it from fear that it would be sad or tough. I shouldn’t have worried. While it deals with tough subjects and has sad moments, it is also a highly enjoyable read with a lot of joy in its pages.

I spent six months reading Fire: the Unexpurgated Diaries 1934–1937 by Anaïs Nin, which is just one volume of Nin’s massive collection of diaries. I kept the chunky tome on my bedside table, reading a few pages at a time. It took me a while (clearly) to get into the flow of it and I am still torn as to whether I want to hunt down the several other books that would complete the story.
Girl Meets Boy by Ali Smith is such a lovely book. Using that word, I fear undersells or even undermines it, but it’s precisely how I feel about it.