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Nour has lost her father. She has also lost the place she was born in and now lives in the Syrian town of Homs, along with her sisters and mother. And so, by the fig tree in the garden, Nour whispers the stories her Baba once told her, so that the roots of the tree will carry those stories back to where her father is buried and he won't feel so alone. Her favourite is the story of Rawiya, a young girl from the twelfth century who left her home in search of adventure, dressed as a boy.
But Syria is changing and it isn't long before protests and shelling destroy the peace of the quiet city. As Nour begins her own journey as a refugee, she draws strength and inspiration from the voyage of Rawiya, who became apprenticed to the famous mapmaker, Al Idrisi, and who battled mythical creatures and endured epic battles in the attempt to compile the most accurate map of the world ever made.
THE MAP OF SALT AND STARS is a breathtakingly beautiful novel that illuminates the story of a country in turmoil, a tale of human resilience and the power of stories to transform.
JUST some of the praise from readers of THE MAP OF SALT AND STARS:
'You know that wonderful feeling when you read the last page of a truly great story and then you clutch the book to your chest as if to hug the world within those pages? That's how I'm feeling right now.' Goodreads 4 star review
'A complex and multi-layered novel told in a rich atmospheric voice destined to be one of the most important works of 2018.' Goodreads 5 star review
'This stunningly written, heartbreakingly beautiful (but ultimately, hopeful) story is a rich, multilayered + sweeping saga... A beautiful melding of myth, grief, hope and persistence- I just loved this one.' Goodreads 4 star review
'A beautifully written debut novel about stories and storytelling that you won't soon forget. "Stories map the soul, in the guise of words." Goodreads 4 star review
'I seriously cannot recommend this book enough. I see fireworks: red, blue, purple, green, with a shower of golden stars. The Map of Salt and Stars is amazing. Please read this book.' Goodreads 5 star review
'The Map Of Salt And Stars is really such a fantastic read and once you have started it is impossible to stop.' Goodreads 4 star review
'There are parts that will make your heart stop and parts that will make it beat again.' Goodreads 5 star review
'I believe this book is to Syrian heritage what the Kite Runner is to Afghanistan. All in all, a great read.' Goodreads 5 star review
'Beautifully written with lush detail....stories will give you have a deeper understanding and appreciation that we are all maps and stories. It will also show you what home is and what home means.' Goodreads 5 star review
368 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 1, 2018
For the first time in years, I think of something Mama told me when I was little: that when you make a map, you don’t just paint the world the way it is. You paint your own.Joukhadar alternates between the legendary tale of a girl battling mythological beasts across windswept dunes on her quest to “map the lands of Anatolia, Bilad Ash-Sham, and the eastern Maghreb” and the story of a young Syrian refugee who makes a harrowing journey, alongside her family, in search of a new place to call home. Though their stories take place 800 years apart, their emotional trials and geographical triumphs overlap, albeit in unsurprising ways.
“Stones don’t have to be whole to be lovely,” he says. “Even cracked ones can be polished and set. Small diamonds, if they are clear and well cut, can be more valuable than big ones with impurities. Listen,” he says. “Sometimes the smallest stars shine brightest, no?”
Don’t forget ... stories ease the pain of living, not dying. People always think dying is going to hurt, but it doesn’t. It’s living that hurts us.
”Mama?!”
The booming is thunder in my bones. The room gets real still, only the beetles twitching at the cracks in the windows. My pulse pops in my wrist. On the table, my knife shakes against my napkin. The lines in Abusayid’s forehead are thick and deep as tree roots.
“It must be coming from another neighborhood,” mama says.
But she stops eating. She holds her fork in the air, a bite of cucumber salad dripping yogurt sauce. The light falls across the triangle of her nose, as straight as baba’s T-square
The tall lady’s voice is thick as water, ruby-purple as pomegranate seeds. Sweat darkens the gauzy linen of her hijab where it meets her forehead and her temples, and it glistens in the spaces between her fingers when she talks.
Zahra pushes my hands, ringing her wrist with her own fingers like a cuff.
“Do you know what would’ve happened to us if they hadn’t opened that truck??” she whispers. “Do you have any idea?”
I lock my knuckles against Zahra’s, the damp salt of her sweat oiling my hands. The humid morning strokes the red and white blisters on my legs, the cold’s fingerprints. Zahra stares me down, slipping my hands off her wrists like invisible bracelets. Her scar ripples her jaw like a bruise on the skin of an olive, the same way these blisters will leave pale opals of scar tissue on my shins. I think to myself, ‘life draws blood, and leaves its jewelry in our skin.’



There’s a moment I remember you can never build things the same way twice, and I wonder if I’ve got things figured out after all, if anything in the world can stay the same.
“I would have given mine up,” I say. “I wouldn’t mind having more scars, if you could’ve had less.”

“The Syria I knew is in me somewhere. And I guess it’s in you too, in its own way.”