A House Without Windows: A Novel

Nadia Hashimi’s new novel about life in Afghanistan is another gem, although readers will find little to celebrate in such a dark reflection of Afghani culture. The theme of the story is a heartbreaking one: the fate of women and girls in an intensely patriarchal society.

Much has been written about that country and its frequently hostile treatment of its most vulnerable populations. But Hashimi has done something else entirely: She’s woven a fictional tale about one woman to showcase the ups and downs the entire female population of a country faces.

That tale is not all gloomy, contrary to stereotypical western media images. In the novel there is much to be saddened by but also much to accept with joy. The story revolves around Zeba, a woman who murders her husband in the first chapter. The book starts with action, and readers are left to wonder why she did so, and whether they should hate her or not. All we can tell is that in Afghanistan, women are guilty until proven innocent, and often not even then.

To the trained eye, this is one point that is belabored almost constantly. Zeba is miserable in her married life, and when imprisoned in a women’s jail, literally all the prisoners are in the same boat as her: accused of crimes that wouldn’t be crimes in most other countries, such as being seen having dinner with a man. But such is life in Afghanistan, and women are aware of the risks they take to live their lives.

The prison, then, is a microcosm. It represents the Afghani woman herself, fitting since a major theme of the novel is violence against women. In the novel, as well as in Afghani culture, women often have no control over their lives or their destinies. The relationship between mothers and sons, between wives and husbands, is tenuous and often filled with violence. Zeba reflects upon this thus:

“No spell would change the fact that a woman’s worth was measured, with scientific diligence, in blood. A woman was only as good as the drops that fell on her wedding night, the ounces she bled with the turns of the moon, and the small river she shed giving her husband children. Some women were judged most ultimately, having their veins emptied to atone for their sins or for the sins of others.”

Zeba is an infinitely interesting character. She is the daughter of a “jadugar”—a witch—and in desperate times has practiced the witchcraft herself. Zeba has watched her mother take charge of her life through magic, and although she has looked down upon it all her life, she realizes its power when she is herself powerless in prison.

Through the lens of Zeba’s backstory we learn about her life as well as her mother’s. Through the conversations of her cellmates we learn of the horrific shame that is visited on their families because of their behavior. Readers may feel sorry, even horrified, but the women of the jail thrust all expectations upside down. Their conversations are in fact a commentary on the society outside the prison walls, and their attitudes are often refreshingly positive.

In a nutshell, the novel is not all doom and gloom, and as the reader reads on, she realizes why. There is much to learn here, much to gain in Zeba’s story as well as the stories of all the characters.

As Zeba, her mother and all the other women in the jail struggle against strict patriarchal norms, there are others who understand that some traditions need to be changed. Yusuf the lawyer, who is Afghani but has lived in the U.S. all his life, is drawn back to his homeland out of a sense of duty. Yet he is also searching for something else: a sense of belonging, an exploration into what he himself is and where he has come from. We see Afghanistan’s villages and cities, mountains and plains, through his eyes:

“The young lawyer breathed it in, dust and all. It was the smell of opportunity, rebirth and hope. He’d dreamed of this moment or years, imagined walking through streets just like this one and struggling to practice law here the way thrill-seeking doctors travel to field hospitals in Africa to test their skills.”

And with Yusuf, the reader, too, hopes for a better tomorrow for Afghanistan.