The Zammer Review
In just 250 or so pages, Mohsin Hamid’s Exit West captures the beating heart of the human condition with a novel about refugees starring two romantics.
I first listened to the audiobook of Exit West in a single day and liked it so much that I later picked up a paperback copy to annotate it. The audiobook was a special treat because author-narrator Mohsin Hamid’s accented voice breathed life into the characters better than my monotone inner voice ever could. That is not to say the story needed any life infusion; its humanity is present from beginning to end.
Through the lens of a blossoming romance placed in a country on the brink of a civil war, young adults Saeed and Nadia attempt to balance the luxury of choices with the necessity of survival. When their once vibrant city is under fire, they ultimately decide to emigrate, together, through a magical door that allows them passage to Mykonos—but not before Saeed’s father makes Nadia promise never to leave Saeed until they are settled.
Thus, their refugee journey begins, taking the pair to London and Marin County. In some ways, they grow together, and in others, they grow apart. They’re met with fellow refugees, with xenophobes, and with the consequences of arbitrary borders. Suddenly they have each found themself across the world and the only tie they have back to their home is a person they’re no longer in love with.
Saeed and Nadia fell in love quickly in a single city as two people with one life before them; they fell out of love slowly across several countries after living multiple lifetimes.
Just as they left their home, Mykonos, and London, Saeed and Nadia leave each other behind. No longer a pair, the two move on separately, Nadia’s promise to Saeed’s father kept.
Overnight refugeehood would strain any relationship, especially one that was perhaps incompatible from the start. Had a civil war not played a third party in their courtship, Saeed and Nadia would have had the opportunity to discover that.
When we migrate, we murder from our lives those we leave behind.
Of course, Hamid is not being literal here, but it’s effectively the case for refugees. Most often, refugees are unable to return to their homes for many reasons, not limited to the reason that gave them refugee status in the first place.
This quote struck me immediately, as someone who’s moved a lot. It’s violent with its use of the active word murder. It isn’t simply an aftershock of moving. Rather, we fatally strike in tandem with our relocation. It’s not limited to people, either. As is common among children of immigrants, my parents’ successful assimilation into American culture means that I occasionally mourn a culture they left behind. This is just one of those quotes that I found myself thinking about for days.
We are all migrants through time.
If the first quote was somber, this one is sentimental and pulls tight the thread that has been weaving in and out of the novel. The human condition is universal. Why spend a moment trying to preserve manmade lines on a map instead of extending compassion to fellow man?
Quotes like these two, along with a narrative style I can only liken to that of an oral tradition, make the reading experience enjoyable and thought-provoking. I’ve since picked up Hamid’s most recent novel, The Last White Man, and will accordingly arm myself with highlighters and page flags. A surefire way to get a five-star read in my book? Make me cry, think, and buy.
THE ZAMMER REVIEW 2.0 