Tahmina Anan's "The Good Muslim" is beautifully written and has much to say about the effects of war and the nature of love and faith.
Maya and Sohail Haque lost their father when young and are very close: "he was father and mother and bhaiya to her. Her closest human." When the Bangladeshi War of Liberation breaks out in 1971, they and their friend Joy are each of student age. Sohail joins the guerillas. Maya, a trainee surgeon, is assigned to perform abortions on women raped by the enemy. Joy is captured and tortured while in prison. After the victory, all three embark on separate journeys in reaction to their trauma. Joy becomes a taxi driver in New York. Maya ends up a country doctor in Rajshahi. Sohail's journey is inward: he abandons his sharp western clothes, burns his scholarly books and reincarnates as a strict, reformist Muslim, converting his mother's "upstairs" into a jammat where he presides over readings and prayer meetings.
Twelve years later, Maya returns to Dhaka. She must rebuild relations with her mother, Rehana, who becomes seriously ill, her friends, including Joy who is also back following the breakup of his green-card marriage, her hospital colleagues and especially her brother. She also tries to "save" Sohail's neglected and wayward son, Zaid, which like other of her well-intentioned but overly zealous interventions has tragic, unintended consequences.
The novel is titled "The Good Muslim" and indeed the subject of Islam is central, if by no means exclusive. The book is peppered with Arabic salutations, salawat and imprecations to God. We see a fierce, uncompromising form of the religion spread across the countryside, squeezing out older, more tolerant local practices involving saints and seasons, and we see the name of Islam being cynically suborned by the corrupt "Dictator" who has subverted the promise of this "poor broken wish-bone of a country." We also see the contrast between the generosity of Rehana's traditional interpretation of her religion and the meanness of the reformist version practiced in her "upstairs" and the madrassa to which Sohail sends his son.
Above all, we see it play out in the relationship between Maya and Sohail: for Maya, her brother "was going somewhere, somewhere remote and out of reach, somewhere that had nothing to do with her." For Sohail, "It is the greatest thing that has ever happened to him. He has found something, something that explains everything." Maya cannot break through Sohail's new persona - there are mere flickers of a glimpse that he is the same person. At the same time, she herself catches a sense of the attraction of his faith. During her mother's illness she attends taleems in the upstairs and finds comfort in the community and shared ritual: "it felt like the only place in the world where I had hope she wouldn't die."
Anam's writing is superb. Her characters and the complex relationships among them are finely developed. The novel, though narrated in the third person, is written mainly from Maya's perspective and it is her persona that supplies its exquisite emotional intensity and torque. Here, for example, is part of a conversation between Maya and Joy:
"She felt the tears coming again. `Twice in one day,' she said dabbing her face with her free hand. `You might think I cry all the time.'
`No, I imagine you hardly ever cry at all.' "
Maya is driven: "she worrie(s) ... because she might never be able to love anyone enough, love them enough to swallow their loneliness and make it her own." From her brother's perspective her failing is that "she put her will before God's." By the end of the book, she achieves some form of redemption but it is the emotional charge that comes before that will stay in the reader's mind.