Beautifully written, a subtle and elegant analysis of the state of our world today. Such intelligent prose, such clarity of thought and exposition . . . I was enormously impressed
Philip Pullman on, The Reluctant Fundamentalist
Extraordinary. . . Not often does one find a first novel that has the power of imagination and skill to orchestrate personal and public themes of these consequences and achieve a chord that reverberates in one's mind. Of the best novels I have read this year
Nadine Gordimer on, Moth Smoke
Mohsin Hamid is one of the most talented and formally audacious writers of his generation. When you reach the end, you want to go straight back to the beginning. And yes - that does mean you
Telegraph on, How to get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia
Lucid, informative and drily funny . . . Hamid is one of our most perceptive commentators on contemporary global politics
Sunday Times on, Discontent and its Civilisations
In a city swollen by refugees but still mostly at peace, or at least not yet openly at war, a young man met a young woman in a classroom and did not speak to her. For many days. His name was Saeed and her name was Nadia and he had a beard, not a full beard, more a studiously maintained stubble, and she was always clad from the tips of her toes to the bottom of her jugular notch in a flowing black robe. Back then people continued to enjoy the luxury of wearing more or less what they wanted to wear, clothing and hair wise, within certain bounds of course, and so these choices meant something.
It might seem odd that in cities teetering at the edge of the abyss young people still go to class – in this case an evening class on corporate identity and product branding – but that is the way of things, with cities as with life, for one moment we are pottering about our errands as usual and the next we are dying, and our eternally impending ending does not put a stop to our transient beginnings and middles until the instant when it does.
Saeed noticed that Nadia had a beauty mark on her neck, a tawny oval that sometimes, rarely but not never, moved with her pulse.