IF AN EGYPTIAN CANNOT SPEAK ENGLISH

A fascinating novel about class and abuse.

When the Egyptian American protagonist of Naga’s second book moves from the U.S. to Cairo, she finds herself unable to fit in. She gets stares because of her haircut (“What they really want to know is whether my head is shaved because I have cancer or because I’m a pervert”) and questions because of her heritage: “Here I keep saying I’m Egyptian and no one believes me. I’m the other kind of other, someone come from abroad who could just as easily return there.” The protagonist, unnamed until the last part of the novel, finds work teaching English for the British Council and befriends two fellow patrons at a downtown cafe. Her life changes when she meets a young man who years ago moved to Cairo from a small Egyptian town; he made a living selling photographs during the 2011 Egyptian revolution but fell into cocaine addiction after the Arab Spring ended. (“When the foreigners left, it all went to shit,” he reflects. “When it all went to shit, the foreigners left. The sequence hardly matters.”) “The boy from Shobrakheit” (his name is never revealed) and the American woman embark on a sexual relationship that’s not quite a romance, but it doesn’t take long for her to realize that he’s violent—at one point, he swings a table at her head, telling her, “Look what you made me do.” After he disappears, the woman is torn, fighting the urge to make excuses for him. The man, for his part, alternates between regret and making excuses. Naga’s writing in the book’s first two parts is gripping, but the final section, metafictional and darkly funny, is an absolute master class. She deals with important issues with a gimlet eye and a rare sensitivity—it would be a massive understatement to call this novel a must-read.

In a word: brilliant.