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I had mixed feelings about this book because there were things that were good and things I didn’t like. First, I have to say that it’s well-written, lyrical at times and mostly positive. The thing that I most admired about the book is that it remained true to Islam, which sounds strange in a way because I have no particular feelings about the subject, but books have a tendency to compromise on religious beliefs in the name of love and this didn’t. Sammar, the Sudanese protagonist of the book, a widow who lives in Aberdeen, is unwavering in her religious beliefs and in Sharia, religious law, which prohibits her not only from marrying a non-believer but even from accompanying another man, and I respected that. For this reason, many Arab critics described this as the first Western novel that was “halal�, which can be thought of as “kosher / acceptable�, but this leads into the first problem I had with the book: it is squeaky clean, not an impure thought on her part as she moons over her boss, hoping he’ll convert and make her plans for him possible. It’s really like an old-fashioned YA novel or one of those 10-cent romances where the most that the heroine hopes for is a hug and a kiss. The entire second part of the novel is Sammar praying that he’ll get in touch with her while she lives a pathetic existence in Khartoum, mostly indifferent to anything else around her. She was widowed in Scotland before the story starts, brought her husband’s body back to Sudan and left their son there with the mother-in-law, who somehow blames her for everything, criticizes each of Sammar’s actions, and generally makes life miserable. (Instead of a wicked stepmother, we have a bitter mother-in-law.) Throughout the book, Sammar is mostly indifferent to her son, as well as her nieces and nephews, only thinking of her crush in Scotland and this got on my nerves after a while. Moreover, since the book could only end in a tragedy which ends her plans or her Scotsman converting and them riding off into the sunset happy ever after, I found myself just wishing they’d get on with it. Lots of unresolved loose ends because, really, the story only focuses on the obsession she has with her Scotsman. This is Judy Blume with a hajib, well-written but the plot paper-thin. (By the way, I like Judy Blume so no offense.) The writing is good, the story okay, but nothing to go out of your way for. (Read accompanied by the Marvelettes “Please Mr. Postman� and Vikki Carr’s “It Must Be Him�; charm and hope, mixed with pathetic, obsessive begging.)