As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow is a debut novel of remarkable emotional force. Set against the devastating backdrop of the Syrian Revolution, Zoulfa Katouh’s story follows Salama Kassab, a pharmacy student who has exchanged her studies for the grim reality of volunteering in a besieged Homs hospital. Caught between a fierce loyalty to her homeland and the urgent need to escape with her pregnant sister-in-law, Salama carries a burden few novels ask their protagonists to bear so honestly.

One of the novel’s most striking formal choices is the personification of Salama’s fear as a physical hallucination she calls Khawf — the Arabic word for fear — who shadows her throughout the narrative. It is a bold and largely effective device, grounding her psychological fracture in something tangible and confrontational. Alongside this, an unexpected romance with a young man named Kenan offers warmth without softening the novel’s harder edges. Katouh refuses to let hope become naivety.

“A masterful portrait of the horrific cost of oppression” — NPR

Critics have responded with considerable enthusiasm. NPR awarded the book a starred review and named it one of the year’s best, while the Observer described it as “enormously moving” and the i Newspaper called it “heartbreaking and poignant.” A Horn Book starred review praised its unflinching representation of the revolution’s early days, and the novel went on to become both a Governor General’s Award finalist and a Yoto Carnegie Medal nominee — recognition that speaks to its literary ambition beyond the YA category.

At its heart, As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow is a love letter to Syria and its people — to their resilience, their grief, and their enduring capacity for beauty amid ruin. It is not always an easy read, nor should it be. Katouh has written something genuinely necessary: a novel that insists on bearing witness while never losing sight of the human beings at its centre.

Recommended