Crooked Teeth Book Review
Danny Ramadan, author of the memoir Crooked Teeth, explores all the facets of identity, taken and claimed. It is an unpredictable read, as it should be, and sends a strong, much-needed message to those in the West.
He starts the memoir by forcing the reader to see him as a person, not as the idea of a queer Syrian refugee that they’ve built in their minds.
Ramadan describes an incident with a woman on a flight in Canada. After reading a few pages of his romantic novel about gay lovers in Damascus, she cries. She sees him in these pages and feels bad about all he went through as a refugee.
She viewed Damascus as “A version seen through a North American lens, a country in a state of destruction... That version of Damascus is almost comical in its simplicity.”
This was just the beginning of a novel that faces different people who press identities upon someone. People who want Ramadan to be the expectations in their minds as opposed to who he truly is.
From his dad forcing him as a kid to be a man and shout like one, to hiding his queer identity in Egypt as a children’s writer appeasing his coworkers, to being used as a translator and the face of refugees for The Washington Post, to being a Canadian’s token for their own saviour complex.
He morphed himself many times, even changing his name from Ahmed to Danny depending on the location. He did it to survive.
As a fiction writer, Ramadan is aware of the tropes and reminds the reader that this isn’t a movie with a predictable, sappy or dramatic ending, this is his real life. As soon as the reader gets comfortable and starts making assumptions of what happens next, he calls them out, claims his story back, and keeps them from objectifying him.
He describes how we might think coming to Canada would be for a refugee: enjoying the peace of nature, greeted by friendly faces and warm hugs. But that wasn’t his reality, he faced abuse. He also tells us of serene city landscapes, partying in the streets, and beautiful moments of friendship in Damascus and Beirut, challenging our perception of the Middle East.
Ramadan is excellent at using symbols as a way to claim his identity. In Damascus, his family along with others were relocated due to the city wanting to build bridges.
He talks about bridges as a way to describe his identity of bridging between the worlds of masculine and feminine, never fitting in the tradition roles his family wants. He extends this to describe a purpose of his: to be the bridge for queer folks to find a safe space.
Ramadan opened a safe house for members of the LGBTQ+ community in Damascus, and currently works for Rainbow Refugee Society to bring queer people to Canada.
He uses crooked teeth as a symbol of pain that unexpectedly grows within you and is here to stay. But it doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t eat, talk and smile now that it’s there.
This book is for those who are looking for the reality of a queer refugee’s experience in its ups and downs, curious to know more about the culture in the Middle East, and love honest, nuanced descriptions of different relationships.
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