Two young women navigate their friendship in Karachi, then again decades later in London.
“Zahra had once looked up from a dictionary to inform Maryam that what the two of them had with each other was friendship, and what they had with the other six girls and twenty-two boys in class was merely ‘propinquity.’ ” Much of Shamsie’s latest novel is concerned with this distinction, as Zahra and Maryam grapple with the force that binds them together, something more meaningful and mysterious than physical closeness. In the first half, the two are 14-year-olds living in Karachi in the weeks surrounding the death of dictator Gen. Zia in 1988. Studious Zahra is the daughter of a deeply principled TV cricket-show anchor. Confident, privileged Maryam expects to inherit her ruthless grandfather’s leather company. While the dictatorship they live under (and are subsequently freed from) colors their daily experiences, they are before all else two young girls concerned with their changing bodies, their futures, high-stakes exams, and—in particular—their growing awareness of their vulnerability as women. “It’s not just fear,” Maryam tells Zahra, “it’s girlfear." This portion of the novel is sophisticated and poignant and crescendos to a pivotal scene in a car that is suspenseful, chilling, and masterfully executed. The second half fast-forwards to 2019, when the pair are living in London—Zahra Ali the director of the Center for Civil Liberties and Maryam Khan a powerful venture capitalist funding ethically dubious facial-tagging technologies. This portion of the novel is more scattered than the first. The maneuvering required for their powerful roles, while it allows Shamsie to touch on hot-button political issues, often lacks the exquisite nuance of her depiction of long-lasting friendship.
A quiet, moving portrait of two lifelong friends.