Good People

Patmeena Sabit

73 pages 2-hour read

Patmeena Sabit

Good People

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2026

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Themes

Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of death, child abuse, racism, and religious discrimination.

Social Status and the Fear of Public Opinion

Concerns about reputation inform what other characters say about the Sharafs, as well as what the Sharafs themselves do. The media framing of Zorah’s death as a potential honor killing implies that this concern is specific to the Afghan American community. However, the novel refutes this idea, showing that reputation structures broader US society as well, if sometimes in ways that conflict with the values of immigrant cultures.


The first part of the novel shows how Rahmat makes several attempts to build his wealth out of nothing, even turning to his peers to borrow money from them to pursue potential business opportunities. By building his wealth, Rahmat effectively elevates his social status, such that Sayed Nawab comes to aspire to entering the family through various means, from partnering with Rahmat to marrying his son into the Sharaf family. Rahmat goes from being the object of his peers’ ridicule to a being respectable member of their community. Simultaneously, his purchase of a home in an upscale neighborhood telegraphs his success in archetypically American fashion—through status symbols—reminding the reader that concerns about reputation are not unique to Afghan culture.


Soon, however, this American framing of reputation in terms of economic prosperity comes into conflict with other readings of public image. When Zorah starts dating Sahil, her actions clash with the traditions of the Afghan American community to which the Sharafs belong, making her relationship akin to scandal. However, the community attributes her behavior to Rahmat and Maryam’s failure to raise their daughter according to their cultural traditions, claiming that their wealth has encouraged them to spoil her. This links Zorah’s perceived rebelliousness directly to the family’s financial success, and ultimately, there is little question of which matters more. As Zarghoona observes, “For good people, name is everything. The beginning and end. Once my good name is lost, it’s lost forever. As long as men live and have memory, my family’s name is stained […] The shame of it is worse than death” (139). The fear of this kind of shame is implied to inform Rahmat’s attempts to hide the further scandal of Zorah’s departure from home. However, by prioritizing their social status in the eyes of the Afghan American community, the Sharafs unwittingly open themselves up to scrutiny from the rest of American society. Despite the fact that the Sharafs embody the “American dream,” multiple news articles depict them as tyrannical fundamentalists who oppose all things American, further revealing the difficulty of reconciling different conceptualizations of social standing.


Through the Sharafs’ story, Sabit demonstrates that public opinion can have immense consequences for the way people choose to act. Even though the Sharafs regain the sympathy of their Afghan American peers by the end of the novel, the ostracism they face from non-Afghan Americans forces them to flee from Virginia, abandoning all status and wealth to restart their lives. This resolution reaffirms that reputation functions as a form of social currency while also showing how difficult it is to manage in practice.

The Xenophobia of American Culture

In exploring the tension between American and Afghan cultural norms, the novel challenges the US’s reputation as a country that welcomes immigrants. By showing how American society bristles at Afghan cultural values, Sabit proves that American culture is essentially inelastic and hypocritical. It preaches freedom while paradoxically demonizing cultural traditions outside the white mainstream.


Throughout the novel, Sabit depicts the Sharaf family as simultaneously committed to maintaining their cultural heritage and to embracing their new life in the US. The welcome feast that other members of the Afghan American community bring to the Sharafs’ first apartment exemplifies this balance: It both celebrates their arrival in the US and suggests their joy in maintaining a connection to Afghan culture. Such moments suggest that the ideal of immigration—one in which people of many cultures and ethnicities also share in a larger societal project—is not unattainable.


However, those outside the Afghan American community see only difference when they look at the Sharafs. For instance, when Zorah starts attending high school, she observes certain practices that, in her words, do not go “against [her] culture” (113), such as wearing sweatpants instead of shorts in gym class. Her peers respond with tacit judgment. While recalling the incident concerning Zorah’s gym attire, Zorah’s friend Hannah comments, “[T]hat’s weird—like what culture is against gym shorts, yanno?” (113). Hannah’s response is indicative of the wider social environment that Zorah inhabits, where she’s made to feel that her cultural identity makes her an outsider. It is ultimately unclear how much of Zorah’s resentment of her family stems from that alienation, as opposed to the practices themselves, but what is clear is that it is an incomplete understanding of the Sharafs’ relationship to their adoptive country. From the perspective of the Afghan American community, the Sharafs are “more American than the Americans” (104), yet the Americans they reference are unable to see any resemblance.


This xenophobia becomes more marked in the aftermath of Zorah’s death. A news article from The Washington Standard strongly implies its cultural position with a telling headline: “Dead teen lived in constant fear of tyrannical Muslim parents; imprisoned for being ‘too American’” (281). The article goes on to depict Zorah at extreme odds with her family, though the voices of those from within the Afghan American community suggest that the opposite is true. These articles drive the anti-Muslim violence that marks the peak of the media frenzy around the Sharafs. On the other end of the US conservative-liberal political spectrum, Christine Hodge, who represents the progressive National Alliance to End Domestic Violence, doesn’t budge on her assertion that the Sharafs abused Zorah, even if the evidence to prove this assertion is tenuous at best. The two ends of the American political spectrum thus overlap in their villainization of the Sharaf family. In this way, Sabit shows that American freedom is conditioned on one’s cultural values reflecting dominant norms, which the novel implies isn’t really freedom at all.

The Subjectivity of Truth

The structural design of Sabit’s novel illuminates one of its central thematic ideas. Without a singular authoritative voice to anchor the narrative, the reader is forced to rely on multiple voices, each one asserting its own truth. This narrative choice simultaneously privileges and undermines all the voices that speak throughout the novel. Everyone has their own version of the truth, but no one’s voice is necessarily “truer” than the others in an objective sense.


Sabit emphasizes the subjectivity of truth by having her characters frequently contradict each other. Sara Bashar, for instance, commonly serves as an advocate for the Sharaf family, defending them in instances where rumor and speculation have tainted their image. Her characterization of Zorah as the “light of the house” clashes with the descriptions given by observers like Torpekey Rasul (73), who claims that Zorah had “[n]o respect for young or old” (97), or Zarghoona Hamdard, who calls Zorah a “monster.” The novel asks the reader to make sense of these contradictions, but there is no easy way of doing so. That the majority of voices cast Zorah’s behavior as problematic lends credence to that interpretation, but Sara’s close familial relationship with Maryam can be seen as giving her testimony additional weight, as she would have known the family better than anyone else. Then again, that closeness could itself lead to misrepresentation, and Zorah’s friends, in describing her frustration and inconsistency, tend to reinforce the wider community’s assertions around Zorah, albeit from a different angle. In the end, Sabit suggests that both things can be true: To some, Zorah was beloved, while to others, she was frustrating.


The details surrounding the investigation into Zorah’s death further reinforce the theme. There is no evidence that the Sharafs were directly responsible for Zorah’s death, whether through action or negligence, nor is there any evidence that specifically exonerates them. Instead, different characters interpret the same circumstances in diametrically opposing ways. In Part 5, Christine Hodge asserts that the Sharafs are guilty because they failed to tell a consistent story about the night Zorah died. Later, Ustad Khairyar relitigates the inconsistencies in the Sharafs’ story to assert that the Sharafs were overwhelmed with grief; the discrepancies that Hodge sees as damning are here exculpatory. These conflicting interpretations, all true enough to the person offering them, are all the novel ultimately offers by way of explanation regarding Zorah’s death.


What is certain is the truth that remains despite the contradictions that surround the investigation: Whatever caused Zorah’s death, the Sharaf family is inconsolable over her loss. Tellingly, this is the note that Sabit ends the novel on, which suggests that the Sharaf family’s grief is not merely the only truth that will ever be known but also the one that ultimately matters most.

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