THE WRONG END OF THE TELESCOPE

A Lebanese-born American surgeon reflects on her volunteer stint at a Greek refugee camp and her "cataclysmic family expulsion" for being trans.

It has been decades since the surgeon, a Harvard alumnus in her late 50s who lives with her wife in Chicago and goes by the adopted name Mina Simpson, was in the Middle East. But when a friend working for a Swedish NGO calls for help, she goes. The Moria refugee camp on the Greek island of Lesbos is fast becoming "an inhumane [mess]," but Mina does her best to treat and comfort Sumaiya, a Syrian woman dying of cancer who has concealed her fate from her family.  As grim as things are there, and for all the daily atrocities that force people to flee their homeland—military bombings, terrorist attacks, bureaucratic cruelties, vile prejudice—Mina's measured account is streaked with irreverence. (Bono, Oprah, and Madonna are tagged "the gods of altruism.") Partly addressed to a blocked Lebanese writer of note who convinces her to chronicle her experience—for him, harsh reality has rendered storytelling "impotent"—Mina's account has a Scheherazade-like sparkle. Her subjects include a beautiful young woman who "refused squalor" by studding the pantry in her tent with sequins and the Lebanese writer's father, whose prized aviary atop his home overlooking Beirut was randomly shelled by the U.S. battleship New Jersey. Mina's own story about her struggle to overcome her mother's monstrous treatment and be seen for who she is is affecting and amusing. Such is the ease and openness of the narrative that it's tempting to read it as autobiographical. Alameddine, a queer San Franciscan who grew up in Kuwait and Lebanon, also was separated from his family. In any case, no one writes fiction that is more naturally an extension of lived life than this master storyteller.

Engaging and unsettling in equal measure.