"Best of Friends" by Kamila Shamsie is the February choice for our Childless Collective Nomo Book Club, where the focus is NOT on books about pregnancies, mothers and miracle babies. ;)
The "best of friends" of the title are Maryam Khan and Zahra Ali, who have known each other since they were 4 years old. When we first meet them, they're 14 years old, living and attending school together in Karachi, Pakistan, in 1988. The two come from very different backgrounds: pretty and popular Maryam is the oldest of three daughters from a wealthy family, lives in a large house with armed guards at the gate, and is being groomed by her grandfather to take over his leather goods business after she finishes university -- a future she embraces. Less confident, bookish Zahra is not wealthy, but lives a comfortable life with her mother, a popular school principal, and her father, a well-known journalist and host of a popular television program about cricket. She can't wait to get out of Pakistan and head for London.
One night, the girls attend a forbidden party at a classmate's house -- and something happens that changes both their lives forever.
The story abruptly fast-forwards in time to 2019, 30+ years later. Both Zahra and Maryam, now in their 40s, are living and working in London, both enjoying professional success in very different fields.
And then someone from their shared past re-emerges -- and Zahra and Maryam's long friendship is tested.
It was interesting to read a book set in an unfamiliar location/culture -- and the first part of the book is the most interesting. I will admit that I don't know a lot about Pakistani culture or politics, but I do remember Benazir Bhutto (who, in the novel, knew Maryam's mother when they were at school together, and is an inspirational figure for both Zahra and Maryam). I'll also admit that my eyes sometimes glazed over when the topic turned to cricket...! (I know absolutely nothing about cricket -- although I did recognize the name of Imran Khan. Canada seems to be one of the few (perhaps only?) former British colonies where cricket is more or less a non-entity, although it is played in some urban areas, mostly by immigrants from other former British colonies in the Indian subcontinent and the Caribbean.) (When we first moved into our house in the early 1990s, we would often see kids playing street hockey in the little bay right in front of our house. Over time, the makeup of the neighbourhood evolved, and not long before we moved, I was amused to see a group of kids in the street outside playing cricket! Plus ca change...)
However, the angst of being a teenaged girl seems to be a universal thing...! and I thought the book did a good job of capturing that -- although, unlike me, Zahra and Maryam also had to cope with the additional pressures of living in a highly patriarchal society undergoing political upheaval.
The second half/London section of the book is less engaging, and ultimately falls somewhat flat. Neither Zahra nor Maryam, in their adult incarnations anyway, are especially likeable. The ending is ambiguous, which left me hanging and wondering, "Is that it??"
It was an interesting read, but I feel like there should have been more to it.
3 stars on Goodreads.
This was Book #5 read to date in 2024 (and Book #1 finished in February), bringing me to 11% (!) of my 2024 Goodreads Reading Challenge goal of 45 books. I am (for the moment, anyway...!) 2 books ahead of schedule. :) You can find reviews of all my books read to date in 2024 tagged as "2024 books."
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Reading this book, and about the incident that changes everything for Zahra and Maryam, I couldn't help but think about some of the dumb things I did when I was a teenager/young adult. I particularly remember two incidents from summer 1981, when I turned 20. (Fortunately for me, neither had serious consequences.)
Story #1: My sister & I were sharing a tiny basement apartment rental for the summer, in the town where we'd attended junior and senior high school. Our parents had since moved on to another town, but we still knew lots of people there and were both able to secure summer jobs. By day, I worked as a summer relief teller at the local credit union; in the evenings, I spent a lot of time with a girl we'd both known in high school. Her dad owned -- and let her drive! -- a flashy, bright yellow, relatively new Camaro, and we spent hours cruising up and down the main street, showing off our hot wheels, blasting music.
One night at the 7-11, we ran into three guys my friend knew (but I didn't), and after chatting for a while, we wound up getting into their car with them. I was in the passenger seat in front beside the driver, my friend in back with two of the guys. They decided we should drive out to the beach, about 20 miles away. As we headed out, it dawned on me that driving off in a strange car with a bunch of strange (to me) guys down dark country roads, when nobody knew where I was or who I was with, was probably not the brightest idea I'd ever had.
Then I started smelling pot smoke from the back seat (and cannabis was strictly illegal back then.)
Then we ran into a long stretch of fresh roadwork on our side of the road-- so the driver started driving on the other/wrong side of the road to avoid dinging up his car. All I could think was that the cops would have a field day with us if they happened to be out patrolling.
Fortunately, after several miles of crappy roads, we decided to abandon the beach and drive back into town. Needless to say, I was VERY relieved!
Story #2: Same summer, same friend, same car. I don't remember what we were doing in the city (Winnipeg), but we saw that a local band we liked was playing at a bar that night and decided to go in for a few drinks and listen to some music. The bar was in an older, somewhat shabby hotel, on the edge of a funky/trendy neighbourhood. Neither of us had ever been there before. The band hadn't started playing yet when we walked into the bar, but the room was already crowded.
With BIKERS. Hells Angels types. (Heck, they might have even BEEN Hells Angels -- I don't know.) Big, burly, tough-looking in leather vests. A couple of them had girlfriends with them, but as women, we were vastly outnumbered. We stood there, surveying the room and then looked at each other and, after a whispered consultation, decided to get the hell out of there.
Only -- the bouncer -- another big, burly, bearded guy (who looked like he could have been a biker too) stood in the doorway. "What's the matter?" he said said, menacingly. "Don't you like our bar?"
I think I deserved an Oscar for fast thinking, if not the performance I put on next. "We were supposed to meet some friends here, but I think they've jammed out on us," I said in a very put-out tone of voice. "Is there a payphone?" (This was long before the era of cellphones, of course.)
To my immense relief, the guy actually cracked a smile and his tone softened. "Sure -- it's just down the hall there."
"THANK you SO much!" I beamed sweetly at him and batted my eyelashes. We stood at the payphone -- within sight, but not earshot -- while I took a quarter from my wallet, picked up the receiver, pretended to dial and then carried on a brief, one-sided conversation.
Then we exited out the nearest door. It was not the door we'd come in, and we had to walk around the building to get to where our car was parked. But outside the door we'd exited was another parking lot we hadn't seen when we arrived. It was completely full of motorcycles.
Yikes!
