Ours Are the Streets

It’s easy to feel bad for this book, covering ground the same ground as the film Four Lions did in 2010. The feelings of dissatisfaction, vulnerability and anger and the slow descent into fundamentalist rhetoric leading to dangerous consequences. However, where Four Lions had warmth and energy for its characters, this diary-form letter to a man’s wife and child is earnest and confused, which isn’t a bad thing at all. It’s unfortunate for this book that comparisons with Four Lions and with the superlatively subtle The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid, as there is much good to be said about the debut from Sahota.

Here, Imtiaz describes his university years, his relationship with Rebekah, their torrid love affair and her conversion to Islam, the death of his father and the slow descent into a dangerous rhetoric. The claustrophobia of Sheffield is described with raw verve and electricity, the mountains of Afghanistan apportioned a similar claustrophobia, but one that feeds rather than starves. As this memoir drives towards its end, it becomes a will-he won’t-he thriller, with effective writing.

Ours Are the Streets makes for uncomfortable reading, as especially as the spectre of the 7/7 bombings haunt the pages. It’s got a lot going for it, but does run the risk of retreading well-covered ground depending on what you’ve seen or read beforehand.