I was a little surprised when I got the email from the library saying this book I’d requested, Finding Nouf by Zoë Ferraris, had finally come in. I didn’t remember requesting it, and it didn’t sound like the kind of book I’d normally seek out. First, it has one of those two-word titles where the first is a transitive verb ending in ing and the second is a proper noun: I have an irrational prejudice against those. And second, it’s a murder mystery, not my favorite genre. I’m just not that interested in figuring out who dun it. I used to love mysteries, but now… meh. So, two strikes against this book. Whatever review I read on someone’s blog somewhere that led me to put this on hold must have been a really good one.

And hoo boy, I hardly know where to start. It was a really good one! Plot summary: a young woman disappears and then her body is found in the desert. For some reason the family is not anxious for the police to investigate so instead they ask their friend who is wise in the ways of the desert to see what he can figure out. The friend gets help from someone who works in the medical examiner’s office and together they solve the mystery. Sounds typical of the genre, no?

There’s a catch, though. All this takes place in present-day Saudi Arabia, the land where women are not allowed to talk to men outside their family, not allowed to drive, not allowed to show their faces outside the home. Where you have to stop whatever you are doing five times a day, throw down a prayer mat (even in the middle of the street!) and start praying.

Now, I bet you already have some inkling of the sexist, repressive nature of Saudi society, as did I. When I thought about it, I felt a sort of abstract anger and indignation. But I never really thought about it until I read this book. The author, too, is angry and indignant, and she knows whereof she speaks. According to the book jacket, Ms. Ferraris “moved to Saudi Arabia in the aftermath of the first Gulf War to live with her then husband and his extended family of Saudi-Palestinian Bedouins, who had never welcomed an American into their lives before.” Oooooh, wouldn’t you love to know more?

Anyway, she uses this murder mystery as a vehicle for what is essentially a scathing indictment of Saudi society. And best of all, she never rants. She lets the story do the ranting for her. Because the thing I had never really thought about is the sheer logistical implications of extreme gender segregation. Such as:

• A woman envies her co-worker (yes, some Saudi women do have jobs) because the co-worker is the sister-in-law of the boss and therefore allowed to speak to him.
• Even female cops (there are a few, now) are not allowed to drive.
• A man can’t even recognize his own fiancée when she’s wearing a burqa.
• At the zoo there is a sign that says “Children may be accompanied by either their mother or father but not both parents. Boys over the age of 10 are considered adults.”
• Single guys sometimes carry around blank marriage certificates so that in case they are caught speaking with a woman outside their family they can quickly fill in her name and thereby avoid being executed for the crime.

These are small details, not central to the plot. But the mystery — both the murder and its solution — are also inextricably wound up with the problems of this repressive culture. I can’t explain it without giving away spoilers but believe me it is absolutely fascinating.

And last but not least, it’s a good read. The prose is rock solid, the ending came as a surprise, and the main characters are totally likeable. I highly recommend this book and I’m very grateful to the blogger (if it was you, let me know) who led me to it.

[Update: that article that Veronica linked to in her comment is excellent. It reminded me of something I forgot to mention in my list above: what a ridiculous waste of resources is necessary to maintain the gender separation. For example, in the medical examiner's office they had separate, presumably duplicate, labs for male and female employees.]