Oh, where to begin with “My Friends”? Hisham Matar’s latest novel, My Friends, is like a long, lingering embrace—warm and comforting, yet tinged with an undercurrent of sorrow that stays with you long after you’ve turned the final page. It’s a book that sneaks up on you, really. At first, you think you’re settling in for a straightforward story about Libyan exiles in London. But before you know it, Matar has you by the heartstrings, tugging gently but insistently, until you find yourself completely wrapped up in the lives of Khaled, Mustafa, and Hosam.
Now, full disclosure – I’m a bit of a Matar fanboy. His previous works, “In the Country of Men” and “The Return,” absolutely floored me. So when I heard “My Friends” had been longlisted for the 2024 Booker Prize, I wasn’t exactly surprised. But I was thrilled. Because this book? It deserves all the accolades it can get.
A Dance of Friendship and Memory
At its core, My Friends by Hisham Matar is a meditation on friendship—that curious alchemy that can turn strangers into family. Matar explores the bonds between Khaled, Mustafa, and Hosam with such tenderness and nuance that you feel like you’re right there with them, sharing their joys and sorrows, their triumphs and disappointments.
The novel unfolds in a series of vignettes, jumping back and forth in time. We follow the trio from their university days in Edinburgh to the fateful demonstration in London that changes everything, and through the years of exile that follow. Matar’s prose has a dreamlike quality to it, blurring the lines between past and present in a way that perfectly captures the hazy, fragmented nature of memory.
There’s a moment in the book where Khaled reflects on the nature of friendship: “If friendship is, as it often seems, a space to inhabit, ours became small and not terribly hospitable. This was wordlessly acknowledged and lamented by both of us.“ It’s a line that kept echoing in my head as I read, because isn’t that just it? Friendship as a space we inhabit together, sometimes cramped and uncomfortable, but always, always vital.
The Weight of Exile
Now, let’s talk about exile. Because while “My Friends” is very much a story about friendship, it’s also a deeply moving exploration of what it means to be cut off from your homeland. Matar writes about the experience of exile with such raw honesty that it’s almost painful to read at times.
There’s this constant tension throughout the book—the pull of the life they’ve built in London versus the magnetic draw of Libya. It’s in the little things, you know? The way Khaled savors the taste of Libyan food, or how Mustafa clings to his accent like a lifeline. It’s in the big things too—the agonizing decision of whether or not to return when the revolution finally comes.
In My Friends, Hisham Matar captures that feeling of being caught between two worlds so perfectly. There’s a passage where Khaled says, “I suffered an opinion about nearly every detail of my new life.” And man, doesn’t that just sum it up? The exhaustion of constantly comparing, constantly questioning, never quite feeling at home anywhere.
A Cast of Unforgettable Characters
Let’s talk about our main man, Khaled. He’s our narrator, our guide through this tangled web of memory and emotion. And what a guide he is—thoughtful, observant, often painfully self-aware. Khaled’s voice is so intimate, so confessional, that at times I felt like I was reading someone’s private diary.
Then there’s Mustafa—a passionate, impulsive Mustafa. He’s the one who drags Khaled to that fateful demonstration, the one who later throws himself headlong into the Libyan revolution. I found myself alternately cheering for him and wanting to shake some sense into him.
And Hosam—oh, Hosam. The writer of the group, the one who seems to understand something about life that the others don’t quite grasp. His relationship with Khaled is particularly fascinating, this dance of admiration and envy and something deeper that neither of them can quite name.
The women in the novel—Rana, Claire, Hannah—are beautifully drawn too. They’re not just love interests or side characters, but fully realized people with their own hopes and disappointments. I especially loved the scenes with Khaled’s mother and sister—there’s such tenderness there, such a palpable sense of longing.
A Master of Prose
Can we just take a moment to appreciate Matar’s writing? Because hot damn, the man can write. His prose is like… I don’t know, like honey. Rich and smooth and oh-so-satisfying. He has this way of capturing moments that just takes your breath away.
There’s a scene where Khaled is watching Hosam walk away at King’s Cross station, and he describes it like this: “I am watching my old friend, the distance growing between us, from within its grip.” It’s such a simple line, but it conveys so much—the physical distance, yes, but also the emotional chasm that’s opening up between them.
Or this bit, when Khaled is reflecting on his life in London: “I am convinced, as I watch him go to his train for Paris, that city where the two of us first met so long ago and in the most unlikely way, that he is carrying, right where the rib cages meet, an invisible burden, one, I believe, I can discern from this distance.” The way Matar weaves together the physical and the emotional, the seen and the unseen—it’s just masterful.
A Reflection on Home and Belonging
You know, as I was reading My Friends by Hisham Matar, I couldn’t help but think about what home really means. Is it a place? A feeling? The people we surround ourselves with? Matar doesn’t give us any easy answers, but he sure as hell makes us think about it.
There’s this moment where Khaled is talking about his reluctance to return to Libya, and he says, “I must hold on to it with both hands. It is the only life I have now. I would have to abandon it to go back, and, although I wish to abandon it, I fear I might not be able to reconstitute a new life, even if that would be in the folds of the old one.” And man, doesn’t that just hit you in the gut? The fear of losing what you’ve built, even when what you’ve built isn’t quite what you wanted.
It made me think about my own life, you know? The choices we make, the paths we take or don’t take. How do we know if we’re making the right decision? Can we ever really go home again?
A Timely Tale
Look, I know “timely” is one of those words that gets thrown around a lot in book reviews. But in this case, it really is apt. With the ongoing refugee crisis, with political upheaval happening all over the world, “My Friends” feels incredibly relevant.
It’s not just a story about three Libyan exiles – it’s a story about displacement, about the search for belonging in a world that often seems intent on pushing us apart. It’s about the weight of history, both personal and political, and how it shapes our lives in ways we can’t always see or understand.
And yet, for all its weighty themes, “My Friends” never feels preachy or didactic. Matar is too skilled a storyteller for that. He lets the story unfold naturally, letting us draw our own conclusions.
In Conclusion: A Must-Read
So, should you read My Friends by Hisham Matar? Absolutely, unequivocally yes. It’s a beautiful, thoughtful, deeply moving book that will stay with you long after you’ve finished it. It’s the kind of book that makes you want to call up your oldest friends and tell them how much they mean to you.
Is it always an easy read? No. There are moments of real pain here, real loss. But there’s also so much beauty, so much warmth and humanity. It’s a book that reminds us of the power of friendship, of the resilience of the human spirit.
And hey, it’s nominated for the Booker Prize for a reason. So do yourself a favor – pick up a copy of “My Friends.” Settle in with a cup of tea (or maybe some Libyan coffee, if you’re feeling adventurous). Let Hisham Matar’s words wash over you. I promise, you won’t regret it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go call my best friend. And maybe book a trip to Libya. You know, just in case.
