Name: Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen
ISBN: 9780008306083

Amrou Al-Kadhi

From a god-fearing Muslim boy enraptured with their mother, to a vocal, queer drag queen estranged from their family, this is a heart-breaking and hilarious memoir about the author’s fight to be true to themself ‘It should be read far and wide’ Ian McKellen

Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen

From a god-fearing Muslim boy enraptured with their mother, to a vocal, queer drag queen estranged from their family, this is a heart-breaking and hilarious memoir about the author's fight to be true to themself My name is Amrou Al-Kadhi - by day. By night, I am Glamrou, an empowered, fearless and acerbic drag queen who wears seven-inch heels and says the things that nobody else dares to. Growing up in a strict Iraqi Muslim household, it didn't take long for me to realise I was different. When I was ten years old, I announced to my family that I was in love with Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. The resultant fallout might best be described as something like the Iraqi version of Jerry Springer: The Opera. And that was just the beginning. This is the story of how I got from there to here: about my teenage obsession with marine biology, and how fluid aquatic life helped me understand my non-binary gender identity; about my two-year scholarship at Eton college, during which I wondered if I could forge a new identity as a British aristocrat (spoiler alert: it didn't work); about discovering the transformative powers of drag while at university (and how I very nearly lost my mind after I left); and about how, after years of rage towards it, I finally began to understand Islam in a new, queer way. Most of all, this is a book about my mother. It's the journey of how we lost and found each other, about forgiveness, understanding, hope - and the life-long search for belonging.

Unicorn: the Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen

priya

4.5 stars for an amazing, honest and heartening memoir.


  CW: 
  (view spoiler)[verbal homophobia from family and peers, OCD, drug use in chemsex parties, verbal Islamophobia, bullying in school, depression (hide spoiler)]


  But that Edinburgh night, as the beautiful girl in the hijab held my hand and reassured me of Allah's unconditional love and I stood in front of her in a sequin leotard and a melting face of sapphire glitter, I felt as if I finally belonged.

this is the representation queer Muslims deserve. yes, it is possible to be a Muslim who is queer and nonbinary and gay and a gender nonconforming drag queen. it's amazing to read about Amrou Al-Kadhi who has managed to integrate their queerness with their Iraqi Arabic culture, Islamic faith, family in Britain, and actually thrived after combining all these aspects of their identity. i thought Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen was the first book i'd read about queer Muslims and only remembered We Have Always Been Here: A Queer Muslim Memoir a few hours after i finished this. i definitely appreciate this memoir more because Amrou is more relatable as a nonbinary person and because they interrogate their attraction to white men in terms of their mental health and racial discrimination in Britain.

Amrou lived with their parents and twin Brother, Ramy, in Iraq for their early childhood. they write about their really close relationship with their mother: just spending time together, giving their mother fashion advice and going shopping for feminine clothes. they developed an interest in acting and performance, which their mother fully encouraged.
To my knowledge, this character existed in no version of Cinderella throughout history, but I was ecstatic nonetheless. For I was going to be premiering the never-before-seen role of ... the Fairy Godmother's gecko. You heard it. A gecko. In Cinderella. My first foray into show business was to play a GECKO in a story that had nothing to do with geckos.
Amrou recounts how they frequently questioned Islamic practices, enjoyed dressing up and expressed their attraction to boys. all of these, as expected, angered and upset their parents, who believe homosexuality is incredibly haram. so, Amrou was forced to repress their gayness throughout their childhood at home in Iraq and Britain. thankfully, they had the freedom to be gay in primary school in Britain, and later at Eton and Cambridge. Amrou takes us through all their transgressions (they use this word a lot) in exploring their sexuality with the constant fear of being found out and the mentally crushing consequences each time their parents find more evidence of their gayness.

Amrou writes about their greater freedom to explore and experiment with their sexuality and gender presentation in Cambridge, when their parents move back to Iraq. they talk about queer envy, which isn't a very commonly discussed issue, and racism within the gay community.

  How could I tell him I was proud of him for coming out when I could only feel shame for my own sexuality? Surely a flamboyant, public drag queen would feel nothing but warmth and joy for their best friend finding the courage to come out in some part through their friendship? Instead I felt bitter that my queer positivity could help someone else find happiness when that very same queer positivity was ripping me ever further from my family.

Amrou started a drag troupe called 'Denim' at Cambridge and assumed they role of drag mother, where performing gave them an incredible sense of power. however, throughout their exploration of queerness, Amrou had been pushing away all aspects of their Muslim and Arabic identity - rather identifying as Christian (for some time) and British. it's only when they meet more Muslim queer people and gain to courage to slowly introduce Arabic elements into their drag outfits and performances, mostly inspired by their mother's fashion sense, that Amrou attains a sense of authentic wholeness and relief.

i really loved reading Amrou's thoughts against their parents' homophobic comments. i'm glad i'm not alone in having solid arguments in my mind, but not articulating them out of fear. okay but, they did eventually call out their mother and i screamed.

  'Actually, no Mum. What you did was fucking homophobic and has made me a paranoid, often depressed person with severe mental health issues. Most parents would be proud of a kid who has had the life that I have - you're only embarrassed.'

they also discover how homophobia and transphobia is linked to misogyny in Middle Eastern households. (thought they say Middle Eastern, i find the exact same thing in South Asian culture.)

  In fact, in Middle Eastern households, you'll often find the mother as the mouthpiece of the patriarchy; while the father silently benefits from his male privilege, the women are left to enact the structures that the men profit from, perhaps even dictate. My dad's apathetic response to this entire odyssey pointed to the fact that it mostly fell to my mother to be the bearer of the patriarchal hand - as such, I had always punished her more in my mind.
i would've liked to read more about Amrou's gender exploration, in terms of their identity rather than presentation. they do state that they identify as nonbinary and use 'them/they' pronouns, and mention dysphoria a few times. but, i wanted a bit more attention to the gender aspect, since they discuss their sexuality a lot. this would've made Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen a five star read in my eyes, but of course, there's no need for Amrou to include more about their gender and i'm grateful for how honest they are already.

the memoir ends with really positive links between queerness and Islam, especially Sufism. it made me so happy that they met other queer Muslims and had these experiences.

  There were Muslim men in female Islamic robes and a trans woman wearing a hijab, and I thought about little Amrou in Islam class, and how I wished I could tell them that one day they'd be sitting in a room full of other queer Muslims, and that love, not eternal fire, awaited them.

here's another from near the end because it really is that beautiful.

  I soon found myself among a group of queer Arabs and Muslims, flaunting the costumes of their pasts in true queer glory, many in drag, belly dancing to the Middle Eastern sounds that had raised them (and for some, excluded them). Layla was by my side, as if in that moment out traumatic associations with our heritage were suddenly silenced, and all we felt in front of us was love, solidarity, and beauty. The two runaway Arabs had finally reached their destination.

Unicorn: The Memoir of a Muslim Drag Queen

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