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Good Girl
An electric debut novel about the daughter of Afghan refugees and her year of nightclubs, bad romance, and self-discovery—a portrait of the artist as a young woman set in a Berlin that can't escape its history
A girl can get in almost anywhere, even if she can’t get out.
In Berlin’s artistic underground, where techno and drugs fill warehouses still pockmarked from the wars of the twentieth century, nineteen-year-old Nila at last finds her tribe. Born in Germany to Afghan parents, raised in public housing graffitied with swastikas, drawn to philosophy, photography, and sex, Nila has spent her adolescence disappointing her family while searching for her voice as a young woman and artist.
Then in the haze of Berlin’s legendary nightlife, Nila meets Marlowe, an American writer whose fading literary celebrity opens her eyes to a life of personal and artistic freedom. But as Nila finds herself pulled further into Marlowe’s controlling orbit, ugly, barely submerged racial tensions begin to roil Germany—and Nila’s family and community. After a year of running from her future, Nila stops to ask herself the most important question: Who does she want to be?
A story of love and family, raves and Kafka, staying up all night and surviving the mistakes of youth, Good Girl is the virtuosic debut novel by a celebrated young poet and, now, a major new voice in fiction.
A girl can get in almost anywhere, even if she can’t get out.
In Berlin’s artistic underground, where techno and drugs fill warehouses still pockmarked from the wars of the twentieth century, nineteen-year-old Nila at last finds her tribe. Born in Germany to Afghan parents, raised in public housing graffitied with swastikas, drawn to philosophy, photography, and sex, Nila has spent her adolescence disappointing her family while searching for her voice as a young woman and artist.
Then in the haze of Berlin’s legendary nightlife, Nila meets Marlowe, an American writer whose fading literary celebrity opens her eyes to a life of personal and artistic freedom. But as Nila finds herself pulled further into Marlowe’s controlling orbit, ugly, barely submerged racial tensions begin to roil Germany—and Nila’s family and community. After a year of running from her future, Nila stops to ask herself the most important question: Who does she want to be?
A story of love and family, raves and Kafka, staying up all night and surviving the mistakes of youth, Good Girl is the virtuosic debut novel by a celebrated young poet and, now, a major new voice in fiction.
368 pages, Hardcover
First published January 14, 2025
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 488 reviews
January 24, 2025
"a portrait of the artist as a young woman" <3
(review to come / thanks to the publisher for the e-arc)
(review to come / thanks to the publisher for the e-arc)
March 4, 2025
Congratulations to Aria Aber! Her debut novel, "Good Girl," was longlisted for the 2025 Women's Prize for Fiction. One of my favorite reads of the year.
You Belong to the “Others�
Coming of age is all about getting a grip on your identity, a tough challenge for anyone. Now picture yourself growing up in Berlin as the daughter of Afghan refugees. Nilab Haddadi tells people she is Greek. She tells people she is Egyptian. She is Italian or Israeli. She is Nila� not Nilab� that “b� is suspect. Her whole Afghan background in Berlin is denied. In a post-9/11 world of Islamophobia, one needs to put up one’s shields.
In many novels, the city, the sense of place, is a character. Nila’s Berlin is a disease. She is dying to break out; to reject the ghetto her family was trapped in. She throws herself headlong into the club scene, a mishmash of drugs, and �... I was ravished by a hunger to ruin my life.� * She finds Marlowe, a thirty-six-year-old American writer “with a square jaw and dimpled chin, the nose of an emperor,� * He not only tells her she is beautiful, he encourages her artistic aspirations in photography, and dazzles her with a different side of the city. This is what Nila latches onto, before she sees the true nature of their relationship and what they provide for one another.
Her parents came from an upper-middle class medical background in Kabul. Now her father alternates between driving taxis, flipping burgers at McDonalds, and drawing unemployment. In the aftermath of 9/11, her family had to fade into a background, lest their skin tone suggest a terrorist threat. Swastika graffiti from skinheads and neo-Nazis is commonplace and violent attacks could happen at any time. “You watch the news; everything you feared is true: They hate us. You belong, you understand, to the others.�
Identity. Nila is searching for her worth and direction, when she is coming from deep-seated self-loathing, shame, and paranoia. She wants to be the “Good Girl� -- “Whenever I harbored guilt, I prayed to the angels and God to cut out my heart and wash it too�. Please, I would pray, I want to be good, though in the mornings, the yearning for God, like every true thing I had ever felt, embarrassed me.� *
I just loved this book. With as much as Nila is put through, she shows an undeniable spirit to persevere. The author, Aria Aber, is a celebrated poet and this is her first novel� a surprising triumph.
Thank you to Random House and Hogarth Books, as well as NetGalley for providing an advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review. #GoodGirl #NetGalley
You Belong to the “Others�
Coming of age is all about getting a grip on your identity, a tough challenge for anyone. Now picture yourself growing up in Berlin as the daughter of Afghan refugees. Nilab Haddadi tells people she is Greek. She tells people she is Egyptian. She is Italian or Israeli. She is Nila� not Nilab� that “b� is suspect. Her whole Afghan background in Berlin is denied. In a post-9/11 world of Islamophobia, one needs to put up one’s shields.
In many novels, the city, the sense of place, is a character. Nila’s Berlin is a disease. She is dying to break out; to reject the ghetto her family was trapped in. She throws herself headlong into the club scene, a mishmash of drugs, and �... I was ravished by a hunger to ruin my life.� * She finds Marlowe, a thirty-six-year-old American writer “with a square jaw and dimpled chin, the nose of an emperor,� * He not only tells her she is beautiful, he encourages her artistic aspirations in photography, and dazzles her with a different side of the city. This is what Nila latches onto, before she sees the true nature of their relationship and what they provide for one another.
Her parents came from an upper-middle class medical background in Kabul. Now her father alternates between driving taxis, flipping burgers at McDonalds, and drawing unemployment. In the aftermath of 9/11, her family had to fade into a background, lest their skin tone suggest a terrorist threat. Swastika graffiti from skinheads and neo-Nazis is commonplace and violent attacks could happen at any time. “You watch the news; everything you feared is true: They hate us. You belong, you understand, to the others.�
Identity. Nila is searching for her worth and direction, when she is coming from deep-seated self-loathing, shame, and paranoia. She wants to be the “Good Girl� -- “Whenever I harbored guilt, I prayed to the angels and God to cut out my heart and wash it too�. Please, I would pray, I want to be good, though in the mornings, the yearning for God, like every true thing I had ever felt, embarrassed me.� *
I just loved this book. With as much as Nila is put through, she shows an undeniable spirit to persevere. The author, Aria Aber, is a celebrated poet and this is her first novel� a surprising triumph.
Thank you to Random House and Hogarth Books, as well as NetGalley for providing an advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review. #GoodGirl #NetGalley
February 14, 2025
1 star
This was just a bunch of teenagers trying to be edgy, doing sex, doing drugs, and rambling about Kafka. Oh, don’t forget about the unemployed predator lurking in the background.
No, I don’t feel the depth.
No, I don’t feel any connection to the characters.
No, there’s no character development.
And yes, I hate this.
Thank you to the publisher and the author for providing me with this ARC. My opinion is my own.
This was just a bunch of teenagers trying to be edgy, doing sex, doing drugs, and rambling about Kafka. Oh, don’t forget about the unemployed predator lurking in the background.
No, I don’t feel the depth.
No, I don’t feel any connection to the characters.
No, there’s no character development.
And yes, I hate this.
Thank you to the publisher and the author for providing me with this ARC. My opinion is my own.
March 4, 2025
Now Longlisted for the Women's Prize for Fiction 2025
At first, Aber's apparently autofictional debut seems to be a tale as old as time: Hedonistic Berlin party girl takes too much speed at legendary techno club , sleeps with toxic bois and seeks meaning, the end. If German literature is your home turf, this storyline is so overdone, it only works as parody - but Aber gives it a twist that keeps up the intrigue: Her narrator, 19-year-old Nila, was born to Afghan parents, and she drifts through to the once divided city shortly after 9/11, in deep grief after losing her mother. In an environment still unsettled by post-unification right-wing violence (in Germany called the baseball bar years) and the terror brought about by what we now know as the , she feels pressured by her father's expectations to be the title-giving good Afghan girl, carrying the weight of her parents' destiny as refugees - former doctors, they now hardly get by in the infamous brutalist skyscrapers of (btw also where grew up).
Nila flees into Berlin nightlife (okay, that's really a cliche) and starts a relationship with a toxic boi (sure), but how Aber renders this dynamic is great. From the start, older American writer Marlowe aims to dominate Nila, and the naive young woman falls for his manipulative antics, but there also seems to be a wish inside the grieving daughter to be physically hurt, to be punished and demeaned for what is perceived as her flaws - perceived by the world, perceived by herself. And that's where the text is psychologically interesting: Nila battles all these issues, and she seeks relief in forms of self-destruction she believes she deserves. Her dream is to become an artist though, and Aber encourages readers to root for this volatile narrator who, as we know, deserves much better.
Sure, there are too many repetitive party scenes, and Aber's perspective is also slightly off, as we are supposed to believe that the story is told by an older Nila looking back - if that's the case, there are layers of reflection lacking, the disconnect between youthful naivete and later wisdom is not played out accordingly. Still, Nila's complexity is so fascinating, the contradictory impulses are shown so convincingly, that this debut is just a pleasure to read.
At first, Aber's apparently autofictional debut seems to be a tale as old as time: Hedonistic Berlin party girl takes too much speed at legendary techno club , sleeps with toxic bois and seeks meaning, the end. If German literature is your home turf, this storyline is so overdone, it only works as parody - but Aber gives it a twist that keeps up the intrigue: Her narrator, 19-year-old Nila, was born to Afghan parents, and she drifts through to the once divided city shortly after 9/11, in deep grief after losing her mother. In an environment still unsettled by post-unification right-wing violence (in Germany called the baseball bar years) and the terror brought about by what we now know as the , she feels pressured by her father's expectations to be the title-giving good Afghan girl, carrying the weight of her parents' destiny as refugees - former doctors, they now hardly get by in the infamous brutalist skyscrapers of (btw also where grew up).
Nila flees into Berlin nightlife (okay, that's really a cliche) and starts a relationship with a toxic boi (sure), but how Aber renders this dynamic is great. From the start, older American writer Marlowe aims to dominate Nila, and the naive young woman falls for his manipulative antics, but there also seems to be a wish inside the grieving daughter to be physically hurt, to be punished and demeaned for what is perceived as her flaws - perceived by the world, perceived by herself. And that's where the text is psychologically interesting: Nila battles all these issues, and she seeks relief in forms of self-destruction she believes she deserves. Her dream is to become an artist though, and Aber encourages readers to root for this volatile narrator who, as we know, deserves much better.
Sure, there are too many repetitive party scenes, and Aber's perspective is also slightly off, as we are supposed to believe that the story is told by an older Nila looking back - if that's the case, there are layers of reflection lacking, the disconnect between youthful naivete and later wisdom is not played out accordingly. Still, Nila's complexity is so fascinating, the contradictory impulses are shown so convincingly, that this debut is just a pleasure to read.
January 22, 2025
Nila was brought up to believe she had to be “a dokhtare khub, a good girl, in order not to turn into a dokhtare kharab, a broken, bad, ruined, girl.� But at 18, starting college while still reeling from her mother’s recent death, Nila questioned everything about herself: her needs, her wants, and above all her cultural heritage. Her Afghan-German family live in Berlin, for Nila that translated into a flat in a run-down Lipschitzallee high-rise, an area routinely associated with deprivation and the socially marginal. Nila’s liberal, activist parents fled Afghanistan before she was born, hoping to live more freely in Germany. But events like the infamous Rostock riots, that took place when Nila was still learning to walk, soon made it clear this new country presented new and menacing challenges.
Aria Aber’s vivid, visceral, semi-autobiographical novel centres on Nila, a decade later, reflecting on her 18-year self and the choices she made. Choices she now recognises as rooted in grief and self-loathing. Nila’s depiction of herself resembles the protagonists found in contemporary “sad girl lit�. But unlike those � almost always - white girls mired in generalised, existential crises, Nila’s confusion is rooted in conflicted feelings about her identity and struggles with an everyday racism so pervasive it’s become internalised. Aber’s narrative zooms in on Nila’s day-to-day: drugs, clubs, and an increasingly-abusive relationship with older, washed-up American writer Marlowe. But, throughout, Aber traces connections between Nila’s personal dilemmas, her self-destructive brand of double consciousness, and Germany’s broader political climate.
Aber’s Germany’s fractured, fragmented, rife with social inequality. A space peopled by clashing subcultures from Nila’s hedonistic friends to the countercultural groups who flock to the Fusion Festival, to the neo-Nazis and terrorists like the National Socialist Underground � whose racist killing sprees were largely unacknowledged as such for years. Aber’s Berlin is a claustrophobic place whose architecture conveys its chequered past � buildings and their layout have a profound impact on Nila’s state of mind.
As you might expect from someone who’s primarily a poet, Aber’s writing is well-crafted, her scenes richly imagined and keenly observed. Nila’s obsession with literature and photography that’s exclusively embedded in white, Western canonical traditions is a particularly interesting means of conveying Nila’s internal conflict, her position as someone who’s always just outside the frame - even when she features in her own and in Marlowe’s “art� she’s more object than subject. It’s a striking piece, filled with arresting images and numerous excellent scenes and passages. But, like so many debut novels, it’s overpacked, sometimes points are hammered home so repetitively they lose their force. It has a languid intensity I frequently found disarming but sometimes it was just too languid even for me � it could easily withstand extensive trimming. But, for readers who can overlook its flaws I think it’s more than worth investing the time.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Bloomsbury Circus for an ARC
Rating: 3.5
Aria Aber’s vivid, visceral, semi-autobiographical novel centres on Nila, a decade later, reflecting on her 18-year self and the choices she made. Choices she now recognises as rooted in grief and self-loathing. Nila’s depiction of herself resembles the protagonists found in contemporary “sad girl lit�. But unlike those � almost always - white girls mired in generalised, existential crises, Nila’s confusion is rooted in conflicted feelings about her identity and struggles with an everyday racism so pervasive it’s become internalised. Aber’s narrative zooms in on Nila’s day-to-day: drugs, clubs, and an increasingly-abusive relationship with older, washed-up American writer Marlowe. But, throughout, Aber traces connections between Nila’s personal dilemmas, her self-destructive brand of double consciousness, and Germany’s broader political climate.
Aber’s Germany’s fractured, fragmented, rife with social inequality. A space peopled by clashing subcultures from Nila’s hedonistic friends to the countercultural groups who flock to the Fusion Festival, to the neo-Nazis and terrorists like the National Socialist Underground � whose racist killing sprees were largely unacknowledged as such for years. Aber’s Berlin is a claustrophobic place whose architecture conveys its chequered past � buildings and their layout have a profound impact on Nila’s state of mind.
As you might expect from someone who’s primarily a poet, Aber’s writing is well-crafted, her scenes richly imagined and keenly observed. Nila’s obsession with literature and photography that’s exclusively embedded in white, Western canonical traditions is a particularly interesting means of conveying Nila’s internal conflict, her position as someone who’s always just outside the frame - even when she features in her own and in Marlowe’s “art� she’s more object than subject. It’s a striking piece, filled with arresting images and numerous excellent scenes and passages. But, like so many debut novels, it’s overpacked, sometimes points are hammered home so repetitively they lose their force. It has a languid intensity I frequently found disarming but sometimes it was just too languid even for me � it could easily withstand extensive trimming. But, for readers who can overlook its flaws I think it’s more than worth investing the time.
Thanks to Netgalley and publisher Bloomsbury Circus for an ARC
Rating: 3.5
January 15, 2025
What it means to be good � or not � is the infected wound at the center of Aria Aber’s debut novel, “Good Girl.� The narrator is a forlorn young woman named Nila Haddadi, and the story she tells sounds like a howl of despair transposed into the key of poetic retrospection. Indeed, the fact that this harrowing story recalls events from more than a decade ago provides the only reassurance that the narrator survived her teens.
Nila’s Afghan mother gave birth to her in Berlin during a burst of international optimism when the wall fell. But her neighborhood had already become a canker of xenophobia in the reunified city. “I was born inside its ghetto-heart,� Nila says, “as a small, wide-eyed rat.� She quickly develops a sense of herself as a mote buffeted about by disastrous geopolitics � particularly Russian and American hubris in Afghanistan, the “graveyard of empires.�
“Good Girl� is never overtly political, but the fabric of this story constantly catches on the barbed wire of Europe’s isolationism. Though set several years ago, the inhospitable culture that Aber describes anticipates the success this past fall of the Alternative for Germany (AfD), a right-wing party advocating for the mass deportation of immigrants. And of course, such animus powers the incoming U.S. administration, too. Just last month, Trump trumpeter Elon Musk told his 210 million followers on X, “Only the AfD can save Germany.� American readers willing to hear the mingled frustration and despondency of an alienated generation will find in “Good Girl� a heartbreaking lament.
Aber’s writing thrums with the knowledge of lived experience: Like her protagonist, she was born in Germany, and her parents were also immigrants from Afghanistan. The neo-Nazi acts of intimidation and terror that she includes in “Good Girl� are, sadly, elements of recent history, not fiction....
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
Nila’s Afghan mother gave birth to her in Berlin during a burst of international optimism when the wall fell. But her neighborhood had already become a canker of xenophobia in the reunified city. “I was born inside its ghetto-heart,� Nila says, “as a small, wide-eyed rat.� She quickly develops a sense of herself as a mote buffeted about by disastrous geopolitics � particularly Russian and American hubris in Afghanistan, the “graveyard of empires.�
“Good Girl� is never overtly political, but the fabric of this story constantly catches on the barbed wire of Europe’s isolationism. Though set several years ago, the inhospitable culture that Aber describes anticipates the success this past fall of the Alternative for Germany (AfD), a right-wing party advocating for the mass deportation of immigrants. And of course, such animus powers the incoming U.S. administration, too. Just last month, Trump trumpeter Elon Musk told his 210 million followers on X, “Only the AfD can save Germany.� American readers willing to hear the mingled frustration and despondency of an alienated generation will find in “Good Girl� a heartbreaking lament.
Aber’s writing thrums with the knowledge of lived experience: Like her protagonist, she was born in Germany, and her parents were also immigrants from Afghanistan. The neo-Nazi acts of intimidation and terror that she includes in “Good Girl� are, sadly, elements of recent history, not fiction....
To read the rest of this review, go to The Washington Post:
January 16, 2025
This story is about Nila (true name Nilab), the nineteen-year-old daughter of Afghan immigrants living in Germany, and her year of nightclubs, bad romance, and self-discovery.
Nila felt a lot of shame for the way she lived, in a shabby apartment with her widowed father. She didn't tell anyone that she was Afghan and seemed to change her background story depending on who she was trying to impress. For about the first third of this book I was quite immersed in Nila's exploits and was very worried about her involvement with Marlowe, an older American author who seems intent on keeping Nila on the hook whilst exerting control over her. She and her mates (I hesitate to call them friends) popped pills non-stop and didn't sleep for what seemed like days but then they'd carry on a fairly lucid conversation about Kafka. There's much repetition of clubbing, drinking and drugging. By the end I concluded that I wasn't really the right reader for this book and I'm not embarrassed to admit I didn't understand a lot of it. To me this lands somewhere between 'it was ok' and 'it was good' but it's well written so I rounded to 3 stars.
I feel the need for a shower after finishing this book!
TW: Drug use, domestic abuse, racism
My thanks to Random House & Hogarth Books, via Netgalley, for inviting me to read an advance copy of this novel in exchange for an honest review. All opinions expressed are my own.
Publication Date: January 14, 2025
Nila felt a lot of shame for the way she lived, in a shabby apartment with her widowed father. She didn't tell anyone that she was Afghan and seemed to change her background story depending on who she was trying to impress. For about the first third of this book I was quite immersed in Nila's exploits and was very worried about her involvement with Marlowe, an older American author who seems intent on keeping Nila on the hook whilst exerting control over her. She and her mates (I hesitate to call them friends) popped pills non-stop and didn't sleep for what seemed like days but then they'd carry on a fairly lucid conversation about Kafka. There's much repetition of clubbing, drinking and drugging. By the end I concluded that I wasn't really the right reader for this book and I'm not embarrassed to admit I didn't understand a lot of it. To me this lands somewhere between 'it was ok' and 'it was good' but it's well written so I rounded to 3 stars.
I feel the need for a shower after finishing this book!
TW: Drug use, domestic abuse, racism
My thanks to Random House & Hogarth Books, via Netgalley, for inviting me to read an advance copy of this novel in exchange for an honest review. All opinions expressed are my own.
Publication Date: January 14, 2025
January 23, 2025
✨“But of course there could be no holy place on earth; our life here was purgatorial and meaningless, and God had forgotten about us.�
At the heart of this novel is grief. Grief and shame, and a desperate need to outrun both of those things. The result is a gritty and glittery smashup of a book, yanking the reader through the pages, as if grabbing onto their hand and tugging them through a crowded club along with the narrator.
It’s a coming-of-age novel about Nila, a young Afghan woman, living in Berlin and existing in the dark underbelly of the club-scene. When she meets a much older man, an American writer named Marlowe, she assess (out loud, to him) that he is going to change her life.
In many ways he does, though in that way where, when you are young and trust the wrong people, that pain can calcify in you, inspiring you to create and seek out the parts of yourself which supersede the pain.
It’s a book about seeking and hiding, loving and losing, and it’s the rawest thing I’ve read, recently.
I’m blown away by this one, truly.
At the heart of this novel is grief. Grief and shame, and a desperate need to outrun both of those things. The result is a gritty and glittery smashup of a book, yanking the reader through the pages, as if grabbing onto their hand and tugging them through a crowded club along with the narrator.
It’s a coming-of-age novel about Nila, a young Afghan woman, living in Berlin and existing in the dark underbelly of the club-scene. When she meets a much older man, an American writer named Marlowe, she assess (out loud, to him) that he is going to change her life.
In many ways he does, though in that way where, when you are young and trust the wrong people, that pain can calcify in you, inspiring you to create and seek out the parts of yourself which supersede the pain.
It’s a book about seeking and hiding, loving and losing, and it’s the rawest thing I’ve read, recently.
I’m blown away by this one, truly.
January 13, 2025
For years, Nila has been telling those who ask that her family is Greek—or Italian, or French; it doesn't really matter as long as she doesn't tell the truth. Born and raised in Berlin, she's used to the daily grind of urban poverty, used to racist micro- and macroaggressions, used to seeing her uncles driving taxis throughout the city, and used to their disappointment when they see her out and about and being something other than a rule-abiding daughter.
What did I feel when i saw her in the afternoon light setting over the gray cityscape? Love, yes, love. And then, sure as a clock: I felt shame. (loc. 2902*)
By the time Good Girl opens, Nila has given up on being that good girl; she's drifting through university and working under the table to get around the income limitations imposed by her father's benefits, but mostly she's spending her time in a drug-fuelled haze in various clubs. And so she meets Marlowe, a washed-up writer whose thrall extends far beyond his talent.
I'm eternally curious about books set in contemporary Germany (it's so much easier, at least in English, to find books set during WWII), and this fits the bill handily. I don't know how much, if any, reflects Aber's own experience growing up in Germany, but this is a Berlin of artists living in Altbau buildings, and clubs where anything goes, and kebab shops and graffiti and politicians looking the other way when violence hits immigrant communities.
Nila is a tricky one. So much of the book is her seeing the thing that she should do, or at least the thing that might hurt less, and then turning the other way. So much of the book is another club and another way to get high; so much of the book is leaning into those things and people that hurt and hurt and hurt some more. There was a point, midway through, where I thought something would change and she would be able to move on, but instead it is back to drugs and clubs and bruises.
There is a substantial reader population for whom this will work very, very well—the grittiness and the grime and Nila's general lost-ness for much of the book. I found it to be relatively slow going, though, partly I think because of the intentional repetitiveness to the club scenes (the club-scene scenes, if you will). I was ready for a catalyst well before Nila was. The writing is there, though, so even if the plot wasn't entirely for me, I'd read more from Aber in the future.
*Quotes are from an ARC and may not be final.
Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.
What did I feel when i saw her in the afternoon light setting over the gray cityscape? Love, yes, love. And then, sure as a clock: I felt shame. (loc. 2902*)
By the time Good Girl opens, Nila has given up on being that good girl; she's drifting through university and working under the table to get around the income limitations imposed by her father's benefits, but mostly she's spending her time in a drug-fuelled haze in various clubs. And so she meets Marlowe, a washed-up writer whose thrall extends far beyond his talent.
I'm eternally curious about books set in contemporary Germany (it's so much easier, at least in English, to find books set during WWII), and this fits the bill handily. I don't know how much, if any, reflects Aber's own experience growing up in Germany, but this is a Berlin of artists living in Altbau buildings, and clubs where anything goes, and kebab shops and graffiti and politicians looking the other way when violence hits immigrant communities.
Nila is a tricky one. So much of the book is her seeing the thing that she should do, or at least the thing that might hurt less, and then turning the other way. So much of the book is another club and another way to get high; so much of the book is leaning into those things and people that hurt and hurt and hurt some more. There was a point, midway through, where I thought something would change and she would be able to move on, but instead it is back to drugs and clubs and bruises.
There is a substantial reader population for whom this will work very, very well—the grittiness and the grime and Nila's general lost-ness for much of the book. I found it to be relatively slow going, though, partly I think because of the intentional repetitiveness to the club scenes (the club-scene scenes, if you will). I was ready for a catalyst well before Nila was. The writing is there, though, so even if the plot wasn't entirely for me, I'd read more from Aber in the future.
*Quotes are from an ARC and may not be final.
Thanks to the author and publisher for providing a review copy through NetGalley.
October 15, 2024
"Good Girl" is a crushing and gritty debut by Aria Aber (an author who has previously published award-winning poetry). This is definitely a coming-of-age story but, even more importantly, it is a "coming of" identity journey for the young protagonist, Nilab. Nila is an only child, born in Berlin, Germany to Afghan parents, and is repeatedly "bringing shame" to her parents/family who have been offering her all the opportunities possible to "succeed" and live a better collective life than they have had. Her mother and father were both educated and professionally employed in their home country of Afghanistan when they relocated to Berlin (where both were underemployed and struggled financially). I will not go into the intricacies of the plot but will say it's extremely well written and executed--Nila loses her mother at a young age and is left with a father and a few extended family members who are at a loss for what to "do" with young Nila. She has already been given an opportunity to study at an expensive boarding school but does seem to be using these advantages to better herself.
Nila finds life in the "Bunker" - a techno club that is riddled with drugs and raves and a crowd she falls into effortlessly. There she takes up a relationship with an older, flighty (and a bit washed-up) American writer - Marlowe - who is full of his own issues and frailties. But Nila becomes a person on whom he can both rely (for devotion and admiration) and mold/control. I can't say enough about the gorgeous writing here -- the well-imagined events and situations, the emotional undertones -- Aber is a wonderful writer and I was present in the situations Nila involved herself in as a result. This book feels real and fully lived.
I was rooting for Nila throughout the book, knowing that she is a very talented and savvy young woman who is filled with shame (about her cultural identity, her gender, the expectations thrust upon her, and her low sense of self-worth). She has an eye and passion for photography and we see that it is very much a way for her to "control" her life and make sense of the things around her. I think this book is coming out (mid-Jan 2024) at a fraught and unsettled time in our world -- in every way -- and the racism and ugliness depicted in this story are reflective of the world at large: in America and Europe and around the planet. I hope EVERYONE preorders and reads this gorgeous and heartbreaking novel and I felt lifted at the conclusion. I love this writer and cannot wait to read more from her. THANK YOU to #NetGalley and #Hogarth for the opportunity to read and review Good Girl. I'm looking forward to quoting some lines and passages on social media after the pub date on 1/14/2025.
Nila finds life in the "Bunker" - a techno club that is riddled with drugs and raves and a crowd she falls into effortlessly. There she takes up a relationship with an older, flighty (and a bit washed-up) American writer - Marlowe - who is full of his own issues and frailties. But Nila becomes a person on whom he can both rely (for devotion and admiration) and mold/control. I can't say enough about the gorgeous writing here -- the well-imagined events and situations, the emotional undertones -- Aber is a wonderful writer and I was present in the situations Nila involved herself in as a result. This book feels real and fully lived.
I was rooting for Nila throughout the book, knowing that she is a very talented and savvy young woman who is filled with shame (about her cultural identity, her gender, the expectations thrust upon her, and her low sense of self-worth). She has an eye and passion for photography and we see that it is very much a way for her to "control" her life and make sense of the things around her. I think this book is coming out (mid-Jan 2024) at a fraught and unsettled time in our world -- in every way -- and the racism and ugliness depicted in this story are reflective of the world at large: in America and Europe and around the planet. I hope EVERYONE preorders and reads this gorgeous and heartbreaking novel and I felt lifted at the conclusion. I love this writer and cannot wait to read more from her. THANK YOU to #NetGalley and #Hogarth for the opportunity to read and review Good Girl. I'm looking forward to quoting some lines and passages on social media after the pub date on 1/14/2025.
January 10, 2025
This was quite good actually. At first it just seemed to be a novel about a partying girl going to raves and popping pills all the time, but it is really a story about shame of one’s origins, and a search for identity, belonging, and freedom. Well done and I was very much invested in this.
Thank you Bloomsbury and Netgalley UK for the ARC.
Thank you Bloomsbury and Netgalley UK for the ARC.
January 14, 2025
good girl follows 19 year old nila, who is of afghan heritage and living in berlin. her relationship with her family becomes especially splintered after the death of her mother, and she falls in with berlin’s nightlife crowd. the group centers around the older writer marlowe, who nila gets involved with. we see nila grapple with the shame she has surrounding her identity, the sense of displacement she feels among her friends, and how that shame drags her even farther away from her family.
i really enjoyed aber’s writing style - her multilingual background and origin as a poet made for some really interesting turns of phrase. nila’s narrative voice was engaging, and i was rooting for her the entire time. her struggles felt nuanced and realistic. i also thought aber did a great job of evoking a sense of time and place with her descriptions of the 2000s berlin club scene.
i was compelled by the progression of nila and marlowe’s relationship during the pivotal events that took place throughout the novel, but the toxic relationship and constant partying storylines started to grate on me towards the end of the book. i think i’m realizing that toxic relationships aren’t my favorite topic to read about, so that comes down to personal preference. i saw some similarities to if only by vigdis hjorth, with the cyclical nature of nila and marlowe’s benders and fights, and would’ve loved to see some of that repetition tightened up a bit.
overall an enjoyable debut, 3.5 ⭐️ thank you to hogarth for sending me a copy of this book, and happy pub day!! 💗
i really enjoyed aber’s writing style - her multilingual background and origin as a poet made for some really interesting turns of phrase. nila’s narrative voice was engaging, and i was rooting for her the entire time. her struggles felt nuanced and realistic. i also thought aber did a great job of evoking a sense of time and place with her descriptions of the 2000s berlin club scene.
i was compelled by the progression of nila and marlowe’s relationship during the pivotal events that took place throughout the novel, but the toxic relationship and constant partying storylines started to grate on me towards the end of the book. i think i’m realizing that toxic relationships aren’t my favorite topic to read about, so that comes down to personal preference. i saw some similarities to if only by vigdis hjorth, with the cyclical nature of nila and marlowe’s benders and fights, and would’ve loved to see some of that repetition tightened up a bit.
overall an enjoyable debut, 3.5 ⭐️ thank you to hogarth for sending me a copy of this book, and happy pub day!! 💗
February 17, 2025
oh, boy. rtc
March 8, 2025
Vom eigenen Chaos ersticktes Erzählen, das keine Erlösung findet.
Inhalt: 1/5 Sterne (hedonistische Selbstkasteiung)
Form: 3/5 Sterne (poetische, teils gewollte Sprache)
äپ: 3/5 Sterne (zu wenig reflektiertes Ich)
Komposition: 1/5 Sterne (ziemlich dissoziativ)
Leseerlebnis: 2/5 Sterne (ratloses Mäandern)
Gewalt innerhalb verbindlicher sozialer Kontexte, also in Freundschaften, innerhalb der Familie, in Liebesbeziehungen, hinterlässt ein Vakuum, das nicht selten traumatisch befüllt, phantasmagorisch besetzt wird. Es kommt dem Unheimlich-Grässlichen einer Edgar Allan Poe Welt oder eines H.P. Lovecraft Cthulhu real-existierend am nächsten. Claudia Schumacher schreibt darüber in , Deniz Ohde in oder Terézia Mora in . Ein anderes Beispiel wäre noch Leïla Slimani in mit der religiösen Ost-West-Thematik unterlegt, die in den anderen Romanen fehlt. Aria Aber nimmt dieses Thema in Good Girl auf. Nilab, eine 19jährige Afghanin, treibt ziellos durchs nächtliche Berlin, auf der Suche nach Verbindlichkeit, und landet in den Armen eines mittellosen, 36jährigen, unerfolgreichen US-amerikanischen Schriftsteller namens Marlowe Woods:
»Lange Zeit dachte ich, ich sei ein Monster.« Er hielt inne, um sich eine weitere Zigarette anzuzünden. »Als wäre ich unfähig, wahre Gefühle zu empfinden, wie Liebe.« Ich fing an zu lachen, aber er sagte nichts. Als ich ihn ansah, verstand ich, dass er es ernst meinte. »Das war nur ein Scherz«, lächelte er und weitete die Augen. »Ich bin kein Monster.«
Die Beziehung, die Nilab mit Marlowe eingeht, bleibt von Anfang an toxisch: Sie lügt über ihre Herkunft, und er betrügt mit ihr seine Freundin Doreen. Sie versuchen dennoch, das Lügen, das Misstrauen, die Angst zu überwinden, und zwar durch viele, viele Drogen, Exzesse und letztlich auch durch physische Gewaltakte, die Nilab anfangs noch stumm erträgt. Sie will Fotografin werden, dazu gehören, sich nicht mehr fremd fühlen.
»Sie ist eine alte Freundin von Eli«, sagte Doreen über mich. »Sie ist eine von uns. One of us …� Sie begann die Melodie von FREAKS zu summen, und obwohl ich sie in diesem Moment hassen wollte, bekam ich Gänsehaut. Es war mir unangenehm, aber ich wollte eine von ihnen sein. […] Als ich dreizehn oder vierzehn war, schloss ich nachts die Augen und stellte mir genau das vor: nicht unbedingt eine vor Bakterien triefende Toilettenkabine in einem schäbigen Club, die nach Sex und Fäkalien roch, sondern eine Gruppe von erhabenen Künstlern, die mich akzeptierten.
Nachdem Tod ihrer Mutter, den ihr Vater nicht überwindet, schafft Nilab es nicht, verbindlichen Anschluss zu ihrem Umfeld zu finden. Sie lügt, weil sie nicht sein will, wer sie ist. Die äپ nimmt mit. Sie sucht. Sie treibt umher, ängstlich, voller Begehren, voller Frustration, aber auch Hoffnung, die mit Tritten und Faustschlägen aus ihr herausgetrieben werden. Das Kleinkindverhalten spiegelt sich in der dissoziativen Schreib- und Erzählweise wider. Nebensächlichkeiten unterbrechen den Reflexionsfluss, kompositorisch ungünstig verästelte Handlungsfäden, lange Assoziationen über Gott und Welt, die keinen Eingang in die narrative Welt finden, und seltsam gewollte Metaphern:
Doreen klopfte leicht auf den Stuhl neben sich. Ihr eisiger Ton gab ihre Verletzlichkeit preis, ihre Stimme war wie die Oberfläche eines tauenden Sees.
Das alles erinnert stark an eine Neuaufnahme von Sylvia Plaths und ist es auch. Aria Abers Erzählerin verliert aber im Gegensatz zu Plaths den Faden und auch die dramatische Strenge ihres viktorianischen Zusammenbruchs. Plaths beschreibt einen harten Emanzipationsprozess, wohingegen in Good Girl im Grunde nichts passiert. Die Protagonistin wechselt vom Internat in die Uni in die Uni und findet auch nicht zu einer eigenen, selbstbewussten Stimme. Die Drogen haben einfach zu viel Spaß gemacht, und mit Drogen kann die leere, selbstmitleidige Fahrt auch bekanntermaßen immer weiter gehen, ohne dass das Trauma auch nur im geringsten durchschritten werden müsste.
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Details � ab hier Spoilergefahr (zur Erinnerung für mich):
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Inhalt: � Protagonistin: Nilab Haddadi, 19 Jahre alt, lebt in Berlin, kommt nach dem Abitur in einem Mädcheninternat zurück in die Stadt, will studieren, schafft es aber nicht, sich zu fokussieren, will Fotografin werden, sucht Motive, verliebt sich in einen abgehalfterten US-amerikanischen Schriftsteller namens Marlowe Woods, verstrickt sich in eine toxische Beziehung, aus der sie letztlich mit Hilfe auch von ihrem Umfeld ausbricht, bevor sie nach London zieht, um dort Fotografie zu studieren.
� Zusammenfassung (kurz): Nilab fühlt sich fremd, sucht Sicherheit und Geborgenheit in einer Welt, die ihr diese Sicherheit verwehrt, als Afghanin, Migrantin und Halbwaise, in prekären Umständen aufgewachsen. Sie sucht Verbindlichkeit, sucht sie in einer Beziehung zu einer Vaterfigur, Marlowe. Als dieser eine dritte Frau in die Sexspiele einzubinden versucht, entschließt sie sich ihn zu verlassen (da es ihr um Verbindlichkeit ging). Sie löst sich von ihm, bekommt ihr Leben in den Griff, zieht um ein Jahr verspätet nach London, um dort Fotografie zu studieren.
� Zusammenfassung (lang):
Teil 1: Nilabs Rückkehr nach Berlin, Einschreiben für Kunstgeschichte an der Humboldt-Uni, jobbt im Jazz-Café, sucht Zerstreuung, Ablenkung in der Clubszene, u.a. um den Tod der Mutter zu verdrängen, lernt dort Marlowe Woods (36) kennen, dem sie ihre Herkunft verschweigt (sie sei Griechin, nicht Afghanin), geht mit ihm nach Hause. Sie sagt, sie will Fotografin werden. In der ersten Nacht schlafen sie nicht miteinander. Danach meldet er sich nicht, sie trägt seinen Mantel. Sie liest sein Buch. Schwierige Freundschaft mit Anna, Wiedertreffen mit Elias, einem Kosovo-Albaner, den sie aus ihrer Zeit in Münster kennt, lernt Doreen kennen, der Freundin von Marlowe. Im Bunker trifft sie Marlowe wieder, begleite ihn wieder nach Hause, erzählt ihr von seiner Ex-Freundin Adrienne, die er fluchtartig verlassen hat, nachdem sie ihn an seine Mutter erinnert hat. Nilab und er schlafen miteinander. Ihre Freundin Melanie schickt ihr die Adressen dreier Unis, an denen Nilab sich bewerben soll.
Teil 2: Sie geht statt zu Anna und Romy am Silvesterabend zu einer Vernissage von Marlowes Verlag, lernt Gabriela, seine Mäzenin kennen. Sie befreundet sich mit Doreen. Sie schauen vom Dach aus auf das Feuerwerk. Nilab gesteht Doreen, dass sie mit Marlowe schläft. Doreen rastet aus. Nilab konzentriert sich etwas mehr aufs Studium, trifft dort Doreen wieder, versöhnt sich mit ihr, begleitet sie nach Hause, wo sie, als überzeugte Marxistin-Leninistin, Nilab erzählt, dass sie Kafka-Forscherin werden möchte. Nilab kontaktiert irgendwann Marlowe wieder, der gereizt auf ihre Widerspenstigkeit nach der Sache mit Doreen reagiert. Sie verabredet sich mit ihm an seinem Geburtstag im Bunker. Elias und Doreen kommen zusammen, beide wollen sich nicht in den Todesstrudel von Marlowe hineinziehen lassen. Marlowe und Nilab kommen zusammen. Nilab erinnert sich an die erste Liebe, zu Setareh. Marlowe und sie gehen zu einer Benefizveranstaltung Gabrielas für afghanische Hunde. Sie streiten sich. Nilab provoziert Marlowe, der sie schubst. Sie provoziert ihn weiter, er schlägt sie. Marlowe will eine Beziehungspause. Nilab hält es nicht aus und trommelt gegen seine Tür. Sie tröstet sich bei Anna und Romy. Marlowe schickt eine SMS. Nilab geht zu ihm.
Teil 3: Sie fahren nach Venedig, zu einer großangelegten Veranstaltung, auf der Marlowe aus seinem Manuskript lesen soll. Die Lesung geht schief, Gabriela unzufrieden. Auf der Fahrt zu einer Villa erzählt der Taxifahrer von seiner Verschleppung und prekären Existenz. Nilab hört zu. Marlowe desinteressiert. Auf einer Party (Duino) bricht Nilab beim Anblick des Meeres zusammen, kotzt, zu viele Drogen, Nasenbluten vom Koks. Sie gesteht Marlowe, dass sie nicht aus Griechenland, sondern aus Afghanistan stammt. Sie kehren nach Berlin zurück, schweigend. In Berlin trifft sie mit Marlowe ihren Onkel im Taxi. Es kommt zum Streit mit dem Vater, der sie einsperrt. Nilab umarmt ihn dennoch. Sie gesteht ihrem ganzen Umfeld, dass sie afghanische, nicht griechische Eltern hat.
Teil 4: Vier Wochen später, im Juni, hebt der Vater den Hausarrest aus. Sie hat ihren Job im Jazz-Café verloren, wo sie schwarz arbeiten konnte. Sie entschuldigt sich bei Marlowe. Sie gehen wieder in den Bunker. Marlowe reißt eine junge Studentin auf, Lexi. In der Wohnung hat Marlowe, um Drogen zu verkaufen, zwei Nazis eingeladen, zum Feiern. Die Situation eskaliert. Die Nazis verschwinden. Marlowe gesteht, dass er pleite ist, dass er von Gabriela nach seiner verkorksten Lesung geschasst wurde. Nilab zieht bei ihm ein, arbeitet bei American Apparel und er in einer Bank. Nilab schreibt sich nicht erneut in die Uni ein, meldet sich nicht beim Vater, antwortet nicht auf seine Anrufe. Sie fahren auf ein Festival in Brandenburg, wo Marlowe mit einem jungen Mädchen anbandelt, Nikita. Er will mit Nilab einen Dreier. Sie entzieht sich ihm, sagt Eli, dass sie von Marlowe geschlagen wird. Sie bleibt dennoch bei ihm, obwohl Doreen und Eli ihr versuchen zu helfen. Als sie zurückkommen, ist Marlowes Wohnung ausgeräumt, alle Drogen, die er verkaufen wollte, verschwunden. Sie verdächtigen die Nazis. Verbrechen an Migranten nehmen zu. Marlowe ist es egal. Doreen und Nilab gehen auf Demonstrationen. Marlowe beginnt wieder zu schreiben. Nilab will sich von ihm trennen. Marlowe sagt aber, sie seien noch nicht fertig. Sie aber zieht zu Romy, in Annas Zimmer. Elias und Doreen sind glücklich. Sie trifft sich mit Elias. Nilab bewirbt sich erneut bei den Universitäten. Eine nimmt sie. Sie zieht nach London (zwei Jahre verspätet).
� vgl. Sylvia Plaths „Die Glasglocke�, Deniz Ohde „Ich stelle mich schlafend�, Mascha Unterlehberg „Wenn wir lächeln� � die Gewaltsituation wird klar herausgearbeitet, ein gewisser Selbsthass, eine Suche, eine Möglichkeit nach Verbindlichkeit ausgenutzt. Die zwei Handlungsstränge: Situation der Flüchtlinge und Selbstwerdung der Protagonistin bleiben zu lose verknüpft, durch die Selbstverleugnung Nilabs. Die Figuren bleiben schwach. Der politische Hintergrund nur assoziativ. Die Clubszenen werden dicht und überzeugend beschrieben. Desolates Leben wie Virginie Despentes „Baise-Moi�. Drogenexzesse, Lügen, Angst, Angewiesenheit auf die Hilfe anderer. Auch die Liebesgeschichte bleibt unterbelichtet, die Verbindung zu Elias, zu ihrem Vater. Es fehlt der Fokus. Weder Hedonismus noch Tragik, noch Dramatik. Darstellung völliger Orientierungslosigkeit, die nicht durchschritten wird, auch narrativ keine Spannung erzeugt. Handlungstechnisch sehr langweilig, da keine Entwicklung aus der Figur selbst heraus entsteht, alles von außen, langweiliges Driften von der Schule zur Uni zur nächsten Uni. --> 1 Stern
Form: Anspruchsvoll, sprachlich interessant, mit Intensität geschrieben, tatsächlich mit Augenmerk auf Melodie, Rhythmik, Wortschatz. Metaphern zielen oft daneben, wirken gewollt, sprengen den Fluss. Dennoch abwechslungsreiche Satzstrukturen, Verdichtungen. Sprachlust spürbar. Dennoch unbalanciert, mit Höhen und Tiefen. Auch falsche Verwendung von Tempi. --> 3 Sterne
äپ: Unsituiert rückblickende Ich-Erzählerin, die diesen sehr divergierenden Strauß von Motiven zusammenzuhalten versucht: Künstlerinwerdung, politische Angst, erotische Versuchung, Hedonismus, Fremdheitgefühl, Selbstentfremdung, Selbstkasteiung etc � die äپ passt jedoch. Sie gibt gute Verdichtungen, Raffungen, Dehnungen. Sie besitzt Konsistenz. Die Reflexion findet zu wenig statt, und die Figur besitzt ein zu oberflächliches Selbst- und Fremderleben, wodurch die Perspektive fehlbesetzt erscheint. Die Perspektive aber ist stimmig. --> 3 Sterne
Komposition: Komposition geht nicht auf. Das Ineinanderfädeln von rechtsradikaler Bedrohung mit individuell-orientierungslosem Hedonismus und selbstgebauten Lügengebäuden funktioniert nicht. Personal-erzählt wäre es immersiver und glaubwürdiger geworden, denn Nilab wirkt unselbständig, nicht selbstbewusst, ängstlich und handlungsunfähig. D.h. die Erzählung wirkt trist und unglaubwürdig. Sie sucht nach Gott und Verbindlichkeit, findet ihn aber nicht. Distanzierteres Erzählen hätte mehr Tiefenschärfe in Bezug auf die Eltern und Mitmenschen erlaubt. Das Politische wirkt zudem aufgesetzt. Eine Teenagerin will Anerkennung, Reichtum und bekommt sie nicht. --> 1 Stern
Leseerlebnis: Durch die Sprache keine unerträgliche Tristesse. Dennoch hielt mich nichts an dem Buch. Die Figur interessierte mich schlicht nicht. Ja, ich fühlte mit ihr mit. Ich litt auch mit ihr, aber es gab keine interessante literarischen Szenen, Ereignisse. Die Figur Nilabs ist langweilig, pompös und ein Möchtegern-Star. Sehr betrüblich, diese ganzen Urteile, dieses ganze Gehetze, diese Unzufriedenheit mit sich und der Welt, und dieses selbstmitleidige Drogennehmen, diese Referenzen und Vorbilder, diese Herumschlängeln und Herumangeln nach Anerkennung, die selbst als Trauerspiel erfahren wird. Mit viel Gefühl für Sprache, aber kaum etwas zu erzählen, und dann perspektivlos daneben gegriffen. --> 2 Sterne
Inhalt: 1/5 Sterne (hedonistische Selbstkasteiung)
Form: 3/5 Sterne (poetische, teils gewollte Sprache)
äپ: 3/5 Sterne (zu wenig reflektiertes Ich)
Komposition: 1/5 Sterne (ziemlich dissoziativ)
Leseerlebnis: 2/5 Sterne (ratloses Mäandern)
Gewalt innerhalb verbindlicher sozialer Kontexte, also in Freundschaften, innerhalb der Familie, in Liebesbeziehungen, hinterlässt ein Vakuum, das nicht selten traumatisch befüllt, phantasmagorisch besetzt wird. Es kommt dem Unheimlich-Grässlichen einer Edgar Allan Poe Welt oder eines H.P. Lovecraft Cthulhu real-existierend am nächsten. Claudia Schumacher schreibt darüber in , Deniz Ohde in oder Terézia Mora in . Ein anderes Beispiel wäre noch Leïla Slimani in mit der religiösen Ost-West-Thematik unterlegt, die in den anderen Romanen fehlt. Aria Aber nimmt dieses Thema in Good Girl auf. Nilab, eine 19jährige Afghanin, treibt ziellos durchs nächtliche Berlin, auf der Suche nach Verbindlichkeit, und landet in den Armen eines mittellosen, 36jährigen, unerfolgreichen US-amerikanischen Schriftsteller namens Marlowe Woods:
»Lange Zeit dachte ich, ich sei ein Monster.« Er hielt inne, um sich eine weitere Zigarette anzuzünden. »Als wäre ich unfähig, wahre Gefühle zu empfinden, wie Liebe.« Ich fing an zu lachen, aber er sagte nichts. Als ich ihn ansah, verstand ich, dass er es ernst meinte. »Das war nur ein Scherz«, lächelte er und weitete die Augen. »Ich bin kein Monster.«
Die Beziehung, die Nilab mit Marlowe eingeht, bleibt von Anfang an toxisch: Sie lügt über ihre Herkunft, und er betrügt mit ihr seine Freundin Doreen. Sie versuchen dennoch, das Lügen, das Misstrauen, die Angst zu überwinden, und zwar durch viele, viele Drogen, Exzesse und letztlich auch durch physische Gewaltakte, die Nilab anfangs noch stumm erträgt. Sie will Fotografin werden, dazu gehören, sich nicht mehr fremd fühlen.
»Sie ist eine alte Freundin von Eli«, sagte Doreen über mich. »Sie ist eine von uns. One of us …� Sie begann die Melodie von FREAKS zu summen, und obwohl ich sie in diesem Moment hassen wollte, bekam ich Gänsehaut. Es war mir unangenehm, aber ich wollte eine von ihnen sein. […] Als ich dreizehn oder vierzehn war, schloss ich nachts die Augen und stellte mir genau das vor: nicht unbedingt eine vor Bakterien triefende Toilettenkabine in einem schäbigen Club, die nach Sex und Fäkalien roch, sondern eine Gruppe von erhabenen Künstlern, die mich akzeptierten.
Nachdem Tod ihrer Mutter, den ihr Vater nicht überwindet, schafft Nilab es nicht, verbindlichen Anschluss zu ihrem Umfeld zu finden. Sie lügt, weil sie nicht sein will, wer sie ist. Die äپ nimmt mit. Sie sucht. Sie treibt umher, ängstlich, voller Begehren, voller Frustration, aber auch Hoffnung, die mit Tritten und Faustschlägen aus ihr herausgetrieben werden. Das Kleinkindverhalten spiegelt sich in der dissoziativen Schreib- und Erzählweise wider. Nebensächlichkeiten unterbrechen den Reflexionsfluss, kompositorisch ungünstig verästelte Handlungsfäden, lange Assoziationen über Gott und Welt, die keinen Eingang in die narrative Welt finden, und seltsam gewollte Metaphern:
Doreen klopfte leicht auf den Stuhl neben sich. Ihr eisiger Ton gab ihre Verletzlichkeit preis, ihre Stimme war wie die Oberfläche eines tauenden Sees.
Das alles erinnert stark an eine Neuaufnahme von Sylvia Plaths und ist es auch. Aria Abers Erzählerin verliert aber im Gegensatz zu Plaths den Faden und auch die dramatische Strenge ihres viktorianischen Zusammenbruchs. Plaths beschreibt einen harten Emanzipationsprozess, wohingegen in Good Girl im Grunde nichts passiert. Die Protagonistin wechselt vom Internat in die Uni in die Uni und findet auch nicht zu einer eigenen, selbstbewussten Stimme. Die Drogen haben einfach zu viel Spaß gemacht, und mit Drogen kann die leere, selbstmitleidige Fahrt auch bekanntermaßen immer weiter gehen, ohne dass das Trauma auch nur im geringsten durchschritten werden müsste.
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Details � ab hier Spoilergefahr (zur Erinnerung für mich):
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Inhalt: � Protagonistin: Nilab Haddadi, 19 Jahre alt, lebt in Berlin, kommt nach dem Abitur in einem Mädcheninternat zurück in die Stadt, will studieren, schafft es aber nicht, sich zu fokussieren, will Fotografin werden, sucht Motive, verliebt sich in einen abgehalfterten US-amerikanischen Schriftsteller namens Marlowe Woods, verstrickt sich in eine toxische Beziehung, aus der sie letztlich mit Hilfe auch von ihrem Umfeld ausbricht, bevor sie nach London zieht, um dort Fotografie zu studieren.
� Zusammenfassung (kurz): Nilab fühlt sich fremd, sucht Sicherheit und Geborgenheit in einer Welt, die ihr diese Sicherheit verwehrt, als Afghanin, Migrantin und Halbwaise, in prekären Umständen aufgewachsen. Sie sucht Verbindlichkeit, sucht sie in einer Beziehung zu einer Vaterfigur, Marlowe. Als dieser eine dritte Frau in die Sexspiele einzubinden versucht, entschließt sie sich ihn zu verlassen (da es ihr um Verbindlichkeit ging). Sie löst sich von ihm, bekommt ihr Leben in den Griff, zieht um ein Jahr verspätet nach London, um dort Fotografie zu studieren.
� Zusammenfassung (lang):
Teil 1: Nilabs Rückkehr nach Berlin, Einschreiben für Kunstgeschichte an der Humboldt-Uni, jobbt im Jazz-Café, sucht Zerstreuung, Ablenkung in der Clubszene, u.a. um den Tod der Mutter zu verdrängen, lernt dort Marlowe Woods (36) kennen, dem sie ihre Herkunft verschweigt (sie sei Griechin, nicht Afghanin), geht mit ihm nach Hause. Sie sagt, sie will Fotografin werden. In der ersten Nacht schlafen sie nicht miteinander. Danach meldet er sich nicht, sie trägt seinen Mantel. Sie liest sein Buch. Schwierige Freundschaft mit Anna, Wiedertreffen mit Elias, einem Kosovo-Albaner, den sie aus ihrer Zeit in Münster kennt, lernt Doreen kennen, der Freundin von Marlowe. Im Bunker trifft sie Marlowe wieder, begleite ihn wieder nach Hause, erzählt ihr von seiner Ex-Freundin Adrienne, die er fluchtartig verlassen hat, nachdem sie ihn an seine Mutter erinnert hat. Nilab und er schlafen miteinander. Ihre Freundin Melanie schickt ihr die Adressen dreier Unis, an denen Nilab sich bewerben soll.
Teil 2: Sie geht statt zu Anna und Romy am Silvesterabend zu einer Vernissage von Marlowes Verlag, lernt Gabriela, seine Mäzenin kennen. Sie befreundet sich mit Doreen. Sie schauen vom Dach aus auf das Feuerwerk. Nilab gesteht Doreen, dass sie mit Marlowe schläft. Doreen rastet aus. Nilab konzentriert sich etwas mehr aufs Studium, trifft dort Doreen wieder, versöhnt sich mit ihr, begleitet sie nach Hause, wo sie, als überzeugte Marxistin-Leninistin, Nilab erzählt, dass sie Kafka-Forscherin werden möchte. Nilab kontaktiert irgendwann Marlowe wieder, der gereizt auf ihre Widerspenstigkeit nach der Sache mit Doreen reagiert. Sie verabredet sich mit ihm an seinem Geburtstag im Bunker. Elias und Doreen kommen zusammen, beide wollen sich nicht in den Todesstrudel von Marlowe hineinziehen lassen. Marlowe und Nilab kommen zusammen. Nilab erinnert sich an die erste Liebe, zu Setareh. Marlowe und sie gehen zu einer Benefizveranstaltung Gabrielas für afghanische Hunde. Sie streiten sich. Nilab provoziert Marlowe, der sie schubst. Sie provoziert ihn weiter, er schlägt sie. Marlowe will eine Beziehungspause. Nilab hält es nicht aus und trommelt gegen seine Tür. Sie tröstet sich bei Anna und Romy. Marlowe schickt eine SMS. Nilab geht zu ihm.
Teil 3: Sie fahren nach Venedig, zu einer großangelegten Veranstaltung, auf der Marlowe aus seinem Manuskript lesen soll. Die Lesung geht schief, Gabriela unzufrieden. Auf der Fahrt zu einer Villa erzählt der Taxifahrer von seiner Verschleppung und prekären Existenz. Nilab hört zu. Marlowe desinteressiert. Auf einer Party (Duino) bricht Nilab beim Anblick des Meeres zusammen, kotzt, zu viele Drogen, Nasenbluten vom Koks. Sie gesteht Marlowe, dass sie nicht aus Griechenland, sondern aus Afghanistan stammt. Sie kehren nach Berlin zurück, schweigend. In Berlin trifft sie mit Marlowe ihren Onkel im Taxi. Es kommt zum Streit mit dem Vater, der sie einsperrt. Nilab umarmt ihn dennoch. Sie gesteht ihrem ganzen Umfeld, dass sie afghanische, nicht griechische Eltern hat.
Teil 4: Vier Wochen später, im Juni, hebt der Vater den Hausarrest aus. Sie hat ihren Job im Jazz-Café verloren, wo sie schwarz arbeiten konnte. Sie entschuldigt sich bei Marlowe. Sie gehen wieder in den Bunker. Marlowe reißt eine junge Studentin auf, Lexi. In der Wohnung hat Marlowe, um Drogen zu verkaufen, zwei Nazis eingeladen, zum Feiern. Die Situation eskaliert. Die Nazis verschwinden. Marlowe gesteht, dass er pleite ist, dass er von Gabriela nach seiner verkorksten Lesung geschasst wurde. Nilab zieht bei ihm ein, arbeitet bei American Apparel und er in einer Bank. Nilab schreibt sich nicht erneut in die Uni ein, meldet sich nicht beim Vater, antwortet nicht auf seine Anrufe. Sie fahren auf ein Festival in Brandenburg, wo Marlowe mit einem jungen Mädchen anbandelt, Nikita. Er will mit Nilab einen Dreier. Sie entzieht sich ihm, sagt Eli, dass sie von Marlowe geschlagen wird. Sie bleibt dennoch bei ihm, obwohl Doreen und Eli ihr versuchen zu helfen. Als sie zurückkommen, ist Marlowes Wohnung ausgeräumt, alle Drogen, die er verkaufen wollte, verschwunden. Sie verdächtigen die Nazis. Verbrechen an Migranten nehmen zu. Marlowe ist es egal. Doreen und Nilab gehen auf Demonstrationen. Marlowe beginnt wieder zu schreiben. Nilab will sich von ihm trennen. Marlowe sagt aber, sie seien noch nicht fertig. Sie aber zieht zu Romy, in Annas Zimmer. Elias und Doreen sind glücklich. Sie trifft sich mit Elias. Nilab bewirbt sich erneut bei den Universitäten. Eine nimmt sie. Sie zieht nach London (zwei Jahre verspätet).
� vgl. Sylvia Plaths „Die Glasglocke�, Deniz Ohde „Ich stelle mich schlafend�, Mascha Unterlehberg „Wenn wir lächeln� � die Gewaltsituation wird klar herausgearbeitet, ein gewisser Selbsthass, eine Suche, eine Möglichkeit nach Verbindlichkeit ausgenutzt. Die zwei Handlungsstränge: Situation der Flüchtlinge und Selbstwerdung der Protagonistin bleiben zu lose verknüpft, durch die Selbstverleugnung Nilabs. Die Figuren bleiben schwach. Der politische Hintergrund nur assoziativ. Die Clubszenen werden dicht und überzeugend beschrieben. Desolates Leben wie Virginie Despentes „Baise-Moi�. Drogenexzesse, Lügen, Angst, Angewiesenheit auf die Hilfe anderer. Auch die Liebesgeschichte bleibt unterbelichtet, die Verbindung zu Elias, zu ihrem Vater. Es fehlt der Fokus. Weder Hedonismus noch Tragik, noch Dramatik. Darstellung völliger Orientierungslosigkeit, die nicht durchschritten wird, auch narrativ keine Spannung erzeugt. Handlungstechnisch sehr langweilig, da keine Entwicklung aus der Figur selbst heraus entsteht, alles von außen, langweiliges Driften von der Schule zur Uni zur nächsten Uni. --> 1 Stern
Form: Anspruchsvoll, sprachlich interessant, mit Intensität geschrieben, tatsächlich mit Augenmerk auf Melodie, Rhythmik, Wortschatz. Metaphern zielen oft daneben, wirken gewollt, sprengen den Fluss. Dennoch abwechslungsreiche Satzstrukturen, Verdichtungen. Sprachlust spürbar. Dennoch unbalanciert, mit Höhen und Tiefen. Auch falsche Verwendung von Tempi. --> 3 Sterne
äپ: Unsituiert rückblickende Ich-Erzählerin, die diesen sehr divergierenden Strauß von Motiven zusammenzuhalten versucht: Künstlerinwerdung, politische Angst, erotische Versuchung, Hedonismus, Fremdheitgefühl, Selbstentfremdung, Selbstkasteiung etc � die äپ passt jedoch. Sie gibt gute Verdichtungen, Raffungen, Dehnungen. Sie besitzt Konsistenz. Die Reflexion findet zu wenig statt, und die Figur besitzt ein zu oberflächliches Selbst- und Fremderleben, wodurch die Perspektive fehlbesetzt erscheint. Die Perspektive aber ist stimmig. --> 3 Sterne
Komposition: Komposition geht nicht auf. Das Ineinanderfädeln von rechtsradikaler Bedrohung mit individuell-orientierungslosem Hedonismus und selbstgebauten Lügengebäuden funktioniert nicht. Personal-erzählt wäre es immersiver und glaubwürdiger geworden, denn Nilab wirkt unselbständig, nicht selbstbewusst, ängstlich und handlungsunfähig. D.h. die Erzählung wirkt trist und unglaubwürdig. Sie sucht nach Gott und Verbindlichkeit, findet ihn aber nicht. Distanzierteres Erzählen hätte mehr Tiefenschärfe in Bezug auf die Eltern und Mitmenschen erlaubt. Das Politische wirkt zudem aufgesetzt. Eine Teenagerin will Anerkennung, Reichtum und bekommt sie nicht. --> 1 Stern
Leseerlebnis: Durch die Sprache keine unerträgliche Tristesse. Dennoch hielt mich nichts an dem Buch. Die Figur interessierte mich schlicht nicht. Ja, ich fühlte mit ihr mit. Ich litt auch mit ihr, aber es gab keine interessante literarischen Szenen, Ereignisse. Die Figur Nilabs ist langweilig, pompös und ein Möchtegern-Star. Sehr betrüblich, diese ganzen Urteile, dieses ganze Gehetze, diese Unzufriedenheit mit sich und der Welt, und dieses selbstmitleidige Drogennehmen, diese Referenzen und Vorbilder, diese Herumschlängeln und Herumangeln nach Anerkennung, die selbst als Trauerspiel erfahren wird. Mit viel Gefühl für Sprache, aber kaum etwas zu erzählen, und dann perspektivlos daneben gegriffen. --> 2 Sterne
Read
January 27, 2025dnf. can't stand being bored, REALLY can't stand being bored by a party girl novel. nice on a prose level—and i do mean Nice, rather than good; it offers some unfussily pretty descriptions, the author is a poet (i've read and liked her poems!), it is completely formally uninteresting. what is the point of being a poet writing a novel about a year where you did a lot of drugs if you're not going to push on form at all. i guess the point is that the drugs are set dressing in the character's personality, and youth/drugs/diaspora/sex/specifically the pompous sexual mentorship from an older man are props in the big empty space where a perspective—author's or (ideally and) character's—is supposed to go.
let's think about some of the perhaps unfair high-water marks of the hot-girl-doing-nothing genre. the protagonist here doesn't have the interior complexity of elif batuman's selin, whose every thought is a surprising adventure even when she's sitting in a room. the author doesn't have the formal gift of sally rooney, generational queen of college-agers having coming-of-age sex and the readers that want to inhabit them, whose individual sentences have such a clear voice you can hear the distinctions of her characters' accents even if you aren't really up on irish regionalisms. and TRULY unfair to give it the eve babitz cover composition—i'm trying not to hold that against the author, who presumably didn't write the book imagining the cover it would one day get. but if selin (the fictional character) is a watsonian example of what's missing and sally rooney (the author) is a doylistic one, eve is both: a writer of immensely inventive turns of phrase and a hugely charismatic party girl writing from interesting lived experience. honestly mean to put them side by side.
the closest comparison is happy hour, a book that's three stars because no one in its creation was paying it particular attention, but which nonetheless has become a hit because of its gossipy vivacity. this is not alive in the same way. it's not even that it's self-impressed, even though it is in the way that all autofiction is (it feels like a very pre-dated kind of autofiction, like, very talked to death on twitter in 2021). it's... credulous about the setup of young woman fucking older man and Learning From the experience of his disinterest. it's incurious. it's formally boring. it's meant to be carried in purses and held next to a drink at bars in certain neighborhoods in certain cities to signal certain things about the media class of the reader. it is a prop. i wish it was a book.
let's think about some of the perhaps unfair high-water marks of the hot-girl-doing-nothing genre. the protagonist here doesn't have the interior complexity of elif batuman's selin, whose every thought is a surprising adventure even when she's sitting in a room. the author doesn't have the formal gift of sally rooney, generational queen of college-agers having coming-of-age sex and the readers that want to inhabit them, whose individual sentences have such a clear voice you can hear the distinctions of her characters' accents even if you aren't really up on irish regionalisms. and TRULY unfair to give it the eve babitz cover composition—i'm trying not to hold that against the author, who presumably didn't write the book imagining the cover it would one day get. but if selin (the fictional character) is a watsonian example of what's missing and sally rooney (the author) is a doylistic one, eve is both: a writer of immensely inventive turns of phrase and a hugely charismatic party girl writing from interesting lived experience. honestly mean to put them side by side.
the closest comparison is happy hour, a book that's three stars because no one in its creation was paying it particular attention, but which nonetheless has become a hit because of its gossipy vivacity. this is not alive in the same way. it's not even that it's self-impressed, even though it is in the way that all autofiction is (it feels like a very pre-dated kind of autofiction, like, very talked to death on twitter in 2021). it's... credulous about the setup of young woman fucking older man and Learning From the experience of his disinterest. it's incurious. it's formally boring. it's meant to be carried in purses and held next to a drink at bars in certain neighborhoods in certain cities to signal certain things about the media class of the reader. it is a prop. i wish it was a book.
December 11, 2024
2.5/5 ALC gifted by prhaudio
This book is best described as contradictory, which also sums up my conflicting feelings about it. On the one hand, the writing is aesthetically pleasing. While I appreciate the writing style, the overwritten sentences overshadows the message, making the book read like an MFA project at times
The heavy use of stereotypes, especially describing Muslim culture, and one’s self-hatred of their heritage is another reason I have complex feelings for this book. I can see this coming of age story making younger readers feel less alone about their identity when they’re trying to fit into whiteness. However, the heavy emphasis of drug and sex makes this a book that isn’t fit for younger audiences. So I just have a hard time imagining a readership that will benefit from reading this book. Like one is either old enough that hopefully they’ve overcome these identity crises, or not old enough to read about doing drugs and skipping school 😅
There’s a lot of internal racism and grooming that frankly was tough to read and I thought about dnfing halfway. The last 10% attempts to resolve some of these things, but it was just a long walk to a resolution that didn’t really pay off imo
I have a feeling this book isn’t written with BIPOC readers in mind
This book is best described as contradictory, which also sums up my conflicting feelings about it. On the one hand, the writing is aesthetically pleasing. While I appreciate the writing style, the overwritten sentences overshadows the message, making the book read like an MFA project at times
The heavy use of stereotypes, especially describing Muslim culture, and one’s self-hatred of their heritage is another reason I have complex feelings for this book. I can see this coming of age story making younger readers feel less alone about their identity when they’re trying to fit into whiteness. However, the heavy emphasis of drug and sex makes this a book that isn’t fit for younger audiences. So I just have a hard time imagining a readership that will benefit from reading this book. Like one is either old enough that hopefully they’ve overcome these identity crises, or not old enough to read about doing drugs and skipping school 😅
There’s a lot of internal racism and grooming that frankly was tough to read and I thought about dnfing halfway. The last 10% attempts to resolve some of these things, but it was just a long walk to a resolution that didn’t really pay off imo
I have a feeling this book isn’t written with BIPOC readers in mind
January 18, 2025
i want to give this a 2.5 but anyway i am so fucking sick of millenial ennui novels. there is something akin to insight here but i am just not seeing it, i guess .
January 16, 2025
First quarter of this is very good, especially the protagonist’s tension with her love interest, and the detailed family history of immigration from Afghanistan to Germany.
The rest of the book is repetitive in the points it clearly wants to make, filled with a bunch of “poetry� that felt clunky instead of purposeful, and felt quite aimless without enough resolution to have been worth the overdone stereotypes and million lines of cocaine.
The rest of the book is repetitive in the points it clearly wants to make, filled with a bunch of “poetry� that felt clunky instead of purposeful, and felt quite aimless without enough resolution to have been worth the overdone stereotypes and million lines of cocaine.
February 2, 2025
(1.5/5). I would’ve loved to like this book but sadly the writing felt like poor YA, and I felt there to be endless, superfluous descriptions that not only failed to serve the plot but at times made no sense. The “pick me girl� vibe of the narrator was frustrating. The character development felt rushed and dissatisfying at the end. The revelations seemed surface level.
To zoom out, I’m disappointed that publishers keep bookshelves stocked with narratives that draw such a distinct and regressive lines between the west and the east, her “traditional� “violent� afghan family (her words not mine), and the “modern� world of Berlin. A more thoughtful narrator would weave the threads of the intimate partner violence she experienced with Marlowe, her white partner, and the violence she was exposed to at home demonstrating that violence is sadly a human, not cultural or even individual phenomena. Instead the author chose to let these two narratives of violence hang in the air with no critical interrogation, thoroughly missing the opportunity to challenge these dichotomies of east/west which beget only more violence.
While I am sympathetic that some people experience cultural difference in such stark ways, and I believe this is true of the narrator, I am disappointed that these seem to be the only narratives which are published in the mainstream. As a Turkish-American, I am saddened to see such one dimensional narratives of the Muslim world again and again. It reminded me of the disappointment and frustration I felt after reading Hijab Butch Blues. I know it is unfair to place the higher expectations on non-western writers than western ones, it just would’ve felt really nice to like this book.
To zoom out, I’m disappointed that publishers keep bookshelves stocked with narratives that draw such a distinct and regressive lines between the west and the east, her “traditional� “violent� afghan family (her words not mine), and the “modern� world of Berlin. A more thoughtful narrator would weave the threads of the intimate partner violence she experienced with Marlowe, her white partner, and the violence she was exposed to at home demonstrating that violence is sadly a human, not cultural or even individual phenomena. Instead the author chose to let these two narratives of violence hang in the air with no critical interrogation, thoroughly missing the opportunity to challenge these dichotomies of east/west which beget only more violence.
While I am sympathetic that some people experience cultural difference in such stark ways, and I believe this is true of the narrator, I am disappointed that these seem to be the only narratives which are published in the mainstream. As a Turkish-American, I am saddened to see such one dimensional narratives of the Muslim world again and again. It reminded me of the disappointment and frustration I felt after reading Hijab Butch Blues. I know it is unfair to place the higher expectations on non-western writers than western ones, it just would’ve felt really nice to like this book.
Want to read
March 20, 2025i am listening to this while i work to feel transported away from the shackles of capitalism and hustle culture <3
January 10, 2025
4.5 rounded up
AUDIOBOOK REVIEW 🎧
Thank you #partner @prhaudio for my #gifted copy. 💕
Good Girl
Aria Aber
Available 1/14
"I lied. I am Afghan."
Good Girl is a stunner of a debut!
The story follows Nila, an ethnically ambiguous young adult coming of age against the backdrop of the Berlin underground techno scene. In an Islamophobic, post-9/11 society, Nila—the only child of Afghan refugees—keeps her heritage a secret. In a haze of drugs and booze—and in a relationship with an abusive American writer—Nila navigates the challenges of young adulthood and the complexities of her Muslim identity.
A nostalgic, compelling, multilayered, beautifully written coming-of-age journey you won't want to miss.
🎧 Narrator Mozhan Navabi delivers a breathtaking performance. Not only is her voice easy on the ears, she fully embodies the many layers of Nila, as if Nila herself is telling her story. Highly recommend this format!
AUDIOBOOK REVIEW 🎧
Thank you #partner @prhaudio for my #gifted copy. 💕
Good Girl
Aria Aber
Available 1/14
"I lied. I am Afghan."
Good Girl is a stunner of a debut!
The story follows Nila, an ethnically ambiguous young adult coming of age against the backdrop of the Berlin underground techno scene. In an Islamophobic, post-9/11 society, Nila—the only child of Afghan refugees—keeps her heritage a secret. In a haze of drugs and booze—and in a relationship with an abusive American writer—Nila navigates the challenges of young adulthood and the complexities of her Muslim identity.
A nostalgic, compelling, multilayered, beautifully written coming-of-age journey you won't want to miss.
🎧 Narrator Mozhan Navabi delivers a breathtaking performance. Not only is her voice easy on the ears, she fully embodies the many layers of Nila, as if Nila herself is telling her story. Highly recommend this format!
October 2, 2024
It was an incredibly intimate and emotional story, the way this author makes you feel everything Nila feels is incredible, I was so invested and immersed in her life, it’s the type of coming of age book that you can’t put down, the characters are complex and with so much energy they feel real, I was very pleased by the ending and felt a true connection to the main character
thank you net galley and the publisher for the arc
thank you net galley and the publisher for the arc
March 19, 2025
a coming of age that at surface level seems to be just another naive party girl getting herself involved with a dangerous man but at its core this is stunning debut about grief and shame.
nila...my nila...... seeing her struggle with her identity and coming to terms with who she was, her childhood living in poverty, her family and not feeling enough, her fragmented relationship with both of her parents. yeah that hit a bit hard. aber's prose is captivating, I often found myself not able to stop reading once I picked this up.
so glad this was long listed for the women's prize for fiction and I'm so glad I started with this one.
nila...my nila...... seeing her struggle with her identity and coming to terms with who she was, her childhood living in poverty, her family and not feeling enough, her fragmented relationship with both of her parents. yeah that hit a bit hard. aber's prose is captivating, I often found myself not able to stop reading once I picked this up.
so glad this was long listed for the women's prize for fiction and I'm so glad I started with this one.
February 2, 2025
beyond exceptional - about to be an instant classic
March 23, 2025
A reiteration of interrupted girlhood—a tale as old as time—where a young woman falls under the spell of a mercurial older man who inevitably uses, abuses, or discards her (see, Jean Rhys� Quartet, Deepti Kapoor’s A Bad Character, Caroline O'Donoghue’s Promising Young Woman, Coco Mellors� Cleopatra and Frankenstein). I was hoping for a fresh take on this trope, but Good Girl follows a pretty predictable arc: Nila spirals until something abruptly jolts her back into the world of the living.
Since my review is mostly critical, I do want to encourage prospective readers to check the book out for themselves or at least look at some more positive takes.
Much of this novel feels like an exercise in performing "sad girlhood." Nila is the kind of supposedly unknowable protagonist who is enamored with her own perceived depths, the kind of character who watches Lolita, Girl, Interrupted, Thirteen, and The Virgin Suicides and thinks, that’s literally me. This could have worked if the book had more self-awareness, but instead, it leans into Nila’s self-mythologizing. There are plenty of scenes emphasizing her je ne sais quoi & her vague yet curated brand of angst that come across as aestheticized navel-gazing (more than genuine introspection).
For a book set in Berlin, it also feels strangely tailored to an American or Anglicized audience, flattening the city into something more digestible. And then there’s Marlowe, the guy Nila fixates on—except calling him a "character" feels generous. He’s less of a person and more of a series of nasty traits strung together, his supposed charm is non-existent, as he comes across as a cringy looser who thinks his pseudo-intellectual takes are edgy or deep. It’s hard to believe so many people would even bother talking to him, let alone become obsessed with him (nila most of all).
Another issue: the novel’s retroactive queerness. Nila, the daughter of Afghan refugees, spends much of the book pushing against familial piety, respectability, and the constraints of femininity. But after one girl makes it clear that “people like us� don’t have a future, Nila just drops all interest in women. From then on, the few thoughts she spares other women are often framed in relation to Marlowe. The novel never really explores her potential internalized homophobia or repressed desire, which feels like a missed opportunity. If Nila is so committed to her "brat era," why is queerness the one thing she refuses to even entertain? And queerness aside, why not explore why she may feel so jealous and/or disinterested in other women?
The characters in general feel like they don’t have real histories—just a few cinematographic glimpses into Nila’s past. Even in a film, this kind of storytelling would come across as pretty but empty (I kept thinking of directors like Emerald Fennell & Sam Levinson, or shallow, wasted-youth films like Palo Alto).
And then there’s the scene relaed to the Biennale. Nila takes a taxi driven by a Tigray man who tells her that Ethiopia was colonized by Italy. It’s obviously meant to inform (presumably American) readers, but the way it’s delivered feels forced. Given Italy’s Kafkaesque bureaucracy, an immigrant working as a licensed taxi driver—especially in Veneto—would sadly be pretty unlikely (if the scene had taken place in Rome or Milan, maybe it would have been more realistic). Ethiopia didn’t yet have its own pavilion at the Biennale at the time the novel is set (on this note, the year this book is set in also feels vague�), it would have made more sense for Nila or someone to comment on that absence rather than shoehorning in this exposition via a taxi driver. During this holiday we also have this very clichéd interaction with an older woman who is antagonistic towards Nila because she envies her youth (or some such reason)...sigh.
I also wanted more ambiguity. For all the novel’s commentary on respectability, it still ends up reading like a cautionary tale where the Bad Guy is clearly a creep from the get-go (i recently watched Lilya 4-ever and there i could understand why lilya fails to see how sus her supposed ‘saviour� is). I was more interested in Nila’s time at boarding school, her grief or anhedonia following her mother’s death. Her photography—an attempt, it seems, to make her into an artist—never quite feels convincing (i wanted the hunger of Lu in Rachel Lyon's Self-Portrait with Boy).
Despite all my criticisms, Good Girl was not a bad book. The author’s prose, while not particularly striking or witty, is breezy and compelling at times. I also thought that Nila’s shame, particularly in connection to being Afghan, was portrayed with empathy. The author doesn’t condemn Nila for wanting to rebrand herself as a more "acceptable" other, reinventing herself as Greek. The exoticization remains (others making iffy comments about her appearance), and although she’s no longer directly subjected to the scorn and suspicion levelled at Muslim communities, she remains exposed to the racism and alt-right views that can be found amidst frequenters of supposedly alternative scenes like clubs and raves.
Her strained encounters with her father were painfully realistic, and the author succeeds in capturing her conflicting and difficult-to-parse feelings toward him. Despite his actions and her rejection of the values he stands for and that she grew up with, to sever herself completely from him or their neighborhood is impossible, no matter how entrapped she feels by them.
Also, kudos to that opening scene—it felt very cinematic (in a good way)
Ultimately, Good Girl suffers in comparison to other "sad girl" novels (Yolk by Mary H.K. Choi, Luster by Raven Leilani, Pizza Girl by Jean Kyoung Frazier, You Exist Too Much by Zaina Arafat, Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth by Xiaolu Guo, Win Me Something by Kyle Lucia Wu) that allow for more nuance in their characters� flaws and self-destruction. I can see this appealing to readers who enjoyed Elena Ferrante’s The Lying Life of Adults or All Night Pharmacy, or readers drawn to books about messy, party-going characters—from the poorly aged Story of My Life by Jay McInerney to more recent releases like The Arena of the Unwell by Liam Konemann.
Since my review is mostly critical, I do want to encourage prospective readers to check the book out for themselves or at least look at some more positive takes.
Much of this novel feels like an exercise in performing "sad girlhood." Nila is the kind of supposedly unknowable protagonist who is enamored with her own perceived depths, the kind of character who watches Lolita, Girl, Interrupted, Thirteen, and The Virgin Suicides and thinks, that’s literally me. This could have worked if the book had more self-awareness, but instead, it leans into Nila’s self-mythologizing. There are plenty of scenes emphasizing her je ne sais quoi & her vague yet curated brand of angst that come across as aestheticized navel-gazing (more than genuine introspection).
For a book set in Berlin, it also feels strangely tailored to an American or Anglicized audience, flattening the city into something more digestible. And then there’s Marlowe, the guy Nila fixates on—except calling him a "character" feels generous. He’s less of a person and more of a series of nasty traits strung together, his supposed charm is non-existent, as he comes across as a cringy looser who thinks his pseudo-intellectual takes are edgy or deep. It’s hard to believe so many people would even bother talking to him, let alone become obsessed with him (nila most of all).
Another issue: the novel’s retroactive queerness. Nila, the daughter of Afghan refugees, spends much of the book pushing against familial piety, respectability, and the constraints of femininity. But after one girl makes it clear that “people like us� don’t have a future, Nila just drops all interest in women. From then on, the few thoughts she spares other women are often framed in relation to Marlowe. The novel never really explores her potential internalized homophobia or repressed desire, which feels like a missed opportunity. If Nila is so committed to her "brat era," why is queerness the one thing she refuses to even entertain? And queerness aside, why not explore why she may feel so jealous and/or disinterested in other women?
The characters in general feel like they don’t have real histories—just a few cinematographic glimpses into Nila’s past. Even in a film, this kind of storytelling would come across as pretty but empty (I kept thinking of directors like Emerald Fennell & Sam Levinson, or shallow, wasted-youth films like Palo Alto).
And then there’s the scene relaed to the Biennale. Nila takes a taxi driven by a Tigray man who tells her that Ethiopia was colonized by Italy. It’s obviously meant to inform (presumably American) readers, but the way it’s delivered feels forced. Given Italy’s Kafkaesque bureaucracy, an immigrant working as a licensed taxi driver—especially in Veneto—would sadly be pretty unlikely (if the scene had taken place in Rome or Milan, maybe it would have been more realistic). Ethiopia didn’t yet have its own pavilion at the Biennale at the time the novel is set (on this note, the year this book is set in also feels vague�), it would have made more sense for Nila or someone to comment on that absence rather than shoehorning in this exposition via a taxi driver. During this holiday we also have this very clichéd interaction with an older woman who is antagonistic towards Nila because she envies her youth (or some such reason)...sigh.
I also wanted more ambiguity. For all the novel’s commentary on respectability, it still ends up reading like a cautionary tale where the Bad Guy is clearly a creep from the get-go (i recently watched Lilya 4-ever and there i could understand why lilya fails to see how sus her supposed ‘saviour� is). I was more interested in Nila’s time at boarding school, her grief or anhedonia following her mother’s death. Her photography—an attempt, it seems, to make her into an artist—never quite feels convincing (i wanted the hunger of Lu in Rachel Lyon's Self-Portrait with Boy).
Despite all my criticisms, Good Girl was not a bad book. The author’s prose, while not particularly striking or witty, is breezy and compelling at times. I also thought that Nila’s shame, particularly in connection to being Afghan, was portrayed with empathy. The author doesn’t condemn Nila for wanting to rebrand herself as a more "acceptable" other, reinventing herself as Greek. The exoticization remains (others making iffy comments about her appearance), and although she’s no longer directly subjected to the scorn and suspicion levelled at Muslim communities, she remains exposed to the racism and alt-right views that can be found amidst frequenters of supposedly alternative scenes like clubs and raves.
Her strained encounters with her father were painfully realistic, and the author succeeds in capturing her conflicting and difficult-to-parse feelings toward him. Despite his actions and her rejection of the values he stands for and that she grew up with, to sever herself completely from him or their neighborhood is impossible, no matter how entrapped she feels by them.
Also, kudos to that opening scene—it felt very cinematic (in a good way)
Ultimately, Good Girl suffers in comparison to other "sad girl" novels (Yolk by Mary H.K. Choi, Luster by Raven Leilani, Pizza Girl by Jean Kyoung Frazier, You Exist Too Much by Zaina Arafat, Twenty Fragments of a Ravenous Youth by Xiaolu Guo, Win Me Something by Kyle Lucia Wu) that allow for more nuance in their characters� flaws and self-destruction. I can see this appealing to readers who enjoyed Elena Ferrante’s The Lying Life of Adults or All Night Pharmacy, or readers drawn to books about messy, party-going characters—from the poorly aged Story of My Life by Jay McInerney to more recent releases like The Arena of the Unwell by Liam Konemann.
January 19, 2025
I’m really realizing I hate reading abt toxic relationships
February 5, 2025
This was a very pleasurable reading experience. I was absolutely captivated by this künstlerroman (an "artist's coming of age") and the setting of Berlin in the late aughts. Berlin is a city that is extremely dear to me, especially during that time period, and reading the story of the paradoxical protagonist Nila was fascinating. Nila is a 19 year old born in Germany to Afghan parents, a daughter who from a young age is forced to act as a German-speaking conduit for her parents' administrative tasks. She rebels against the notion of being a "good girl" in the eyes of her Afghan shame-based community while also wrestling with what her convictions are and what type of young woman and artist she wants to become.
Aria Aber examines the parallel societies that form in a creative and thriving German city when you attempt to blend together newcomers of different backgrounds hustling to make ends meet with the creative enclave that attracts so many students and young artists from across the globe to settle in Berlin. There are the "real" Germans, the progressive-minded and anticapitalist youth who flock there to create art and make music, the everyday folks who are trying to make ends meet or just keep the whole city running. Who does the city belong to? And who gets to belong? Nila suppresses her Afghan identity and tries to pass as something different; she lies to her friends about her identity and to her family about her drug & sex fueled partying. Along the way there is a web of party-going acquaintances and those that become her true friends - Doreen, Eli, and even Marlowe, the washed up older writer and f-boy that she becomes inexplicably entangled with. Each has a stronger sense of self and helps Nila to develop her own convictions and decide what kind of artistic life she wants to lead, and how it can satisfy what her parents hope for her while also being authentic to her desires. The depictions of the Bunker (ie Berghain) and the different immigrant enclaves of Berlin were powerful and astute. I absolutely loved this gem of a novel and can't wait to read it again! Many thanks to Random House and Hogarth Books, as well as NetGalley for providing an advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review.
Aria Aber examines the parallel societies that form in a creative and thriving German city when you attempt to blend together newcomers of different backgrounds hustling to make ends meet with the creative enclave that attracts so many students and young artists from across the globe to settle in Berlin. There are the "real" Germans, the progressive-minded and anticapitalist youth who flock there to create art and make music, the everyday folks who are trying to make ends meet or just keep the whole city running. Who does the city belong to? And who gets to belong? Nila suppresses her Afghan identity and tries to pass as something different; she lies to her friends about her identity and to her family about her drug & sex fueled partying. Along the way there is a web of party-going acquaintances and those that become her true friends - Doreen, Eli, and even Marlowe, the washed up older writer and f-boy that she becomes inexplicably entangled with. Each has a stronger sense of self and helps Nila to develop her own convictions and decide what kind of artistic life she wants to lead, and how it can satisfy what her parents hope for her while also being authentic to her desires. The depictions of the Bunker (ie Berghain) and the different immigrant enclaves of Berlin were powerful and astute. I absolutely loved this gem of a novel and can't wait to read it again! Many thanks to Random House and Hogarth Books, as well as NetGalley for providing an advance reader copy in exchange for an honest review.
January 27, 2025
a gorgeously written novel with a strong narrative voice exploring grief and drugs and shame and messy relationships and coming of age as a young afghan woman. really adored aria aber's prose here; it read so smoothly yet is so vivid and imagistic. i'd definitely be interested in checking out her poetry after reading this one, although mainly i'm excited for hopefully more fiction from her in the future. nila's voice is captivating, and i both related to her in some ways and was also so worried about her the entire time i was reading this lol. but this was a good one and i'm excited to see what aria aber does next
March 29, 2025
Nila is the nineteen-year-old daughter of Afghan immigrants, living in Berlin. She is conflicted about her identity, telling people she is Greek to avoid confronting the stereotypes applied to Afghanis in the aftermath of 9/11. She lives with her father after her mother died a couple years before. She gets involved with an older American writer and loses herself in the Berlin club scene. The relationship with the American is not healthy, and she exhibits a self-destructive tendency.
I have mixed feelings about this book. The positives include lyrical writing, and the exploration of themes of identity, belonging, grief, and the search for freedom. Nila’s interest in the art of photography is appealing. The ending is well done, incorporating the rise of anti-immigrant groups that have arisen in Berlin (and elsewhere). The downsides are the uneven pacing and the repetitive party scenes, which could have been reduced by half. These scenes get very old very fast. Overall, it is a promising debut novel, and I look forward to what Aber writes next.
3.5
I have mixed feelings about this book. The positives include lyrical writing, and the exploration of themes of identity, belonging, grief, and the search for freedom. Nila’s interest in the art of photography is appealing. The ending is well done, incorporating the rise of anti-immigrant groups that have arisen in Berlin (and elsewhere). The downsides are the uneven pacing and the repetitive party scenes, which could have been reduced by half. These scenes get very old very fast. Overall, it is a promising debut novel, and I look forward to what Aber writes next.
3.5
February 25, 2025
Ich weiß nicht ob ich jemals so ein intensives Buch gelesen hab. Das Verfolgen der Geschichte um Nilab hat mich auf eine ganz seltsame Art elektrisiert, teilweise war ich über Kapitel hinweg kurz davor loszuheulen, aber diese permanente Spannung, die der Roman transportiert, hat irgendwie verhindert, mich diesen Gefühlen komplett hingeben zu können.
Das klingt so lächerlich, aber mir fehlt wirklich jeglicher Ausdruck, um zu beschreiben, was dieses Buch mit mir gemacht hat.
Das klingt so lächerlich, aber mir fehlt wirklich jeglicher Ausdruck, um zu beschreiben, was dieses Buch mit mir gemacht hat.
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