The most recommended books about women in Islam

I can’t resist a queer femme YA story, and this one hit me so hard that I cried in joy and heartbreak.

Young lovers separated by culture and family made a Shakespearean drama that gripped me to the last word.

The world of arranged marriages, family honor, and homophobia reminded me of personal stories from friends in Vancouver. It echoed the fights that many queer people face coming out to family and being their true selves.

Motherhood features in diverse literary traditions, from antiquity to the present, as perhaps the most prominent aspect of female power.

Already in the womb and shortly after, during the formative stage of the child's upbringing, the mother occupied a unique, almost exclusive, position vis-à-vis its offspring, imbuing it with character and ideals. It is for this reason that maternal power and roles have been treated so extensively in diverse literary traditions and genres, constituting an object of religiously-charged imageries.

In Conceiving Identity, Keuny masters a rich Islamic literary corpus in order to show how literary images constituted a means for women to negotiate their patriarchal-designated office and imbue their office with their own set of ideals.

One of the first things people still ask me about living in Turkey is, do you have to wear a headscarf? Whether a woman covers or not and the manner in which she wears her scarf reflects much more than differing levels of religious conviction. Göle explores the extremely nuanced and conflicting relationships around the subject, combining sociological research with historical analysis and in-depth interviews. She examines the ways young women form their identities in relation to the issue of covering, how they adapt fundamental religious tenets in response to the pressures of modernity, what covering contributes to debates about politics, nationalism, and other issues. Anyone wanting to know more about the practice of veiling beyond the standard modern/backward, secular/religious divides should read The Forbidden Modern. By the way, if you’re still wondering, the answer is no.

In 1865, the 22-year-old Salama bint Said (later known as Emily Reute), daughter of the great Sultan Said of Zanzibar, become involved in a failed coup against her older brother. Fleeing for her life with her German lover, Rudolph Ruete, she would find herself widowed with two children and marooned in Germany without financial support at age 26. Written as a heartwarming series of letters addressed to her children, the first known autobiography and travelogue published by an Arab woman poses serious challenge to the rationales underlying both women’s subordination and economic dependence on men as well as European imperialism in Africa and the Arab world.

In this autobiography, Ahmed describes her childhood growing up in a Muslim family in the 40s and 50s in Cairo where she witnessed many of the formative events that transformed Egypt—the end of British occupation, the changes wrought by Nassar’s reforms, and the break-down of the largely peaceful coexistence of multi-ethnic and multi-religious groups after the establishment of Israel. Ahmed goes on to school in England and then later to a life in the U.S. where she has difficulty resolving the contradictions of her comfortable Islamic upbringing with a growing sense of feminist identity. Ahmed is professor of women’s studies at Harvard Divinity School. Although not veiling herself, she supports Muslim women who wear the veil as a symbol of their own version of feminism.

During the sixties, Atiya collected life stories of five Egyptian women from the lower and middle classes, ranging in age from twenty to mid-sixty. The stories show how to them, life starts with marriage. If they mention their childhoods, it is as preparation for marriage. Parents invariably arranged the women’s marriages or gave permission to potential husbands attracted to their daughters from a distance. Once the excitement of their weddings is over, however, most face an endless stream of difficulties. They recount experiences as co-wives, being forced into acrimonious divorces, family conflicts, and problems with children. They discuss witchcraft, female circumcision, poverty, and health issues. The book is unusual in that it conveys in their own words, the thinking of people not usually heard from in Middle Eastern writing.

We all know that the oppressive structures of patriarchy are all-pervasive. But can we see "oppression" in black and white? Certainly not! 

Unless we put things in context and see through their nuances, the vicious Islamophobic tendency (subtly or not) comes into play, caricaturing Islam as the sole source of gender-based oppression. No doubt, the condemnation of Islam flows from prejudice and half-baked Orientalist assumptions surrounding the religion.

Leila Ahmed, a pioneering figure of Islamic feminism, hits hard at the stereotypes surrounding Islam and challenges them. I learned from her that Islam is anything but monolithic, especially from the perspective of gender. She devotes chapters on Egypt to link the percepts of Islam with colonial modernisation.

For academics like me, this book adds a dynamic perspective and opens the big picture. However, for even those bearing the burden of prejudice, I am sure this book will be educative.

The title of the book alone is enough to pick it up.

Abu-Lughod’s book is the crux for so many other works focused on the misplaced victimization of Arab and Muslim women. Not only does she challenge the West’s flawed understandings of these women, but she also implicates the dangers of the West’s foreign intervention. But it’s not all academic jargon.

She includes real and moving stories from women’s experiences that helped me reflect on my own ideological stance as a feminist. 

Fatima Mernissi was a Moroccan feminist. This book is her memoir of growing up in a harem (an enclosed all-female space) in Morocco in the 1940s and 50s.

It dispels many of the stereotypes and prejudices that many Westerners hold about how Islamic society treats women. The harem Mernissi grew up in was a warm and loving space. One of the elderly women living in it had been a slave, but was now cared for by the family. It was also a space where women could talk about their condition and consider ways of rebelling against it.

I assigned this book to a class on women’s human rights in the 1990s. It was very popular among the students, including the one man, whose background on his father’s side was Palestinian.

This novel shows us how the sisters in our lives aren’t always connected by blood. That sometimes, our chosen sisters are the ones who carry us through life’s difficult moments.

Malek, Kees, and Jenna have been lifelong friends, but when a single argument threatens to pull them apart, can they find their way back to one another? Alternating between each woman’s story, the novel explores deeper themes of love, family, and faith while also shedding light on both the strengths and fragility of female relationships.