By the Sea

“Even as I recount them [memories] to myself, I can hear echoes of what I am suppressing, of something I’ve forgotten to remember, which then makes the telling so difficult when I don’t wish it to be.”

In this early passage of interior monologue, the narrator, Saleh Omar, establishes the novel’s central concern with the subjective and fragmented nature of memory. The diction—“echoes,” “suppressing,” “forgotten to remember”—characterizes memory not as a stable record but as an active, and often involuntary, process of selection and omission. This self-aware narration immediately positions the narrator as potentially unreliable, foregrounding the theme of The Unreliability of Memory and Competing Narratives and preparing the reader for a story built on partial truths and contested histories.

“People like you come pouring in here without any thought of the damage they cause. You don’t belong here, you don’t value any of the things we value, you haven’t paid for them through generations, and we don’t want you here.”

Immigration officer Kevin Edelman delivers these lines to Saleh, whom he believes cannot understand English. This use of dramatic irony exposes the xenophobia and colonial entitlement embedded in the asylum process, further underscored by the contrast between Edelman’s “soft-spoken” delivery and the hostility of his words. This speech exemplifies The Dehumanizing Process of Seeking Asylum, reducing Saleh to a generic, threatening otherness.

“A healthy aloe tree was useless, but the infected one produced this beautiful fragrance. Another little irony by you-know-Who.”

Saleh reflects on the origins of his precious ud-al-qamari, the incense confiscated by the immigration officer. This description functions as a metaphor for the way trauma and suffering can produce something of value, such as resilience or a compelling story.