What began as a trope heaped on trope, with the main character a romanticized author proxy, became an oddly charming book, published after 9/11 but pre-invasion, that seeks to sieve a culture for Western consumption. It is somewhat helpful that the protagonist is only half-Arab herself. At its core it is a novel of romance, for countries as much as people, and although my own personal experience with the subject matter skewed in a less...…sensuous direction, I still think this is a nice and light read for those who want an equivalently light immersion. Nothing so deep or dialectic, but probably worth it for those with at least passing interest in the plot summary.

I spent much of my time reading this novel in a sensory haze. The writing herein is plush, evocative, and sensuous. Sirine, Han, Nathan, and Aziz aren't always likable, but they exist on so many dimensions that we forgive them their flaws. The story, which might have been soap-operatic in less capable hands, is intricate, complex.

One passage of particular interest to me, from both a narrative and feminist standpoint, comes when Sirine stumbles across some candid photographs of her and Han together. She muses, "It is as though the whole of their relationship has been somehow invisibly noted and catalogued. Hans is the hero and Sirine the love interest" (327). This is a jarring marginalization of self. Most of the story unfolds from Sirine's point of view, with a few brief forays into Han's past. It is interesting, then, that she downplays herself as a mere "love interest" when it is her character who drives the story. This is reflective of a larger insecurity that plagues her throughout--no matter how close she gets to Han, no matter how many men show romantic interest in her, she sees herself as simple-minded, inferior. Perhaps she can thank her parents--dead now, but neglectful when she was a child--for these issues.

This book began as an exercise in sheer "cover appeal" for me. I have contemplated reading Abu-Jaber's Origin many times, but had never before seen Crescent on the shelf. It was a shallow choice that paid off. Crescent is a complex love story. It is a treatise on family. Perhaps above all else, it is a probing exploration of the Arab-American immigrant experience.

Sirine is 39, half-Arab (but never been to the Middle East), lives with her uncle (parents are dead), and cooks divine food at a Lebanese restaurant. She becomes obsessed with a handsome Iraqi literature professor with a troubled past, and they begin a love affair.

Despite the lush descriptions of food, I couldn't warm to this book. Sirine has absolutely no personality--why are men attracted to her? The backstory of her lover, Han, is more interesting, but it isn't covered until the latter portion of the book. Sirine's uncle spins, at the beginning of EVERY chapter, a fantastical tale about a man who has died multiple deaths, encounters mermaids and jinns, and may or may not become Omar Sharif.

Despite many rave reviews on Amazon and a recommendation from a book blog, I thought this 2003 release was a mess.

This was the first book I read for my block's book group, and what an inauspicious beginning it was. The intertwined stories were meandering and dull. The heroine had nothing interesting to say, nothing that made me care about her relationships or life whatsoever. Some of the recipes sounded pretty good, though.

Although the book takes place in LA, in a neighborhood of Middle East transplants, I liked the insight into Arabian culture, the life of common people in Baghdad, and the food they eat in the Middle East. Of course there is the love story. Sirine (American mother, Iraqi father) is the main character. I especially liked the magical/mystical story of Adulaman Rajudin (sp) which kicks off each chapter. The uncle, Um Nadia, and Han are great characters.

The level of navel gazing in this book is ridiculous

A lovely, sad, joyful lyrical, sensual read.

c 2003 Arab-American novel FCN: Sirine (single and 39 years old), King Babar (the dog). The Christian Science Monitor raved . 'Exquisite ... Readers stuffed on headlines but still hungering for something relevant will enjoy this rich meal.' Diana Abu-Jaber has been a restaurant reviewer for the Portland Oregonian. '"Mondays are for baklava, which she learned to make by watching her parents. Her mother said that a baklava-maker should have sensitive, supple hands, so she was in charge of opening and unpeeling the paper-thin layers of dough..

Fun read but I hated all the men and the frame story.

Read for class.
I really enjoyed this book despite it featuring one of the worst protagonists ever. Whenever I started sinking into the world of the story Sirine does something unhinged. Hate the way Arab women are represented in this book, (and men too.) Aziz was insufferable. My eyes hurt from the amount of dark skin/eye metaphors, I get it she loves cooking but my God it just gets too much.
Everything about the scarf was bizarre and angered me.

This was a sweet love story about falling in love and found family. I learned about Lebanese culture (especially food- the descriptions of the chef’s creations made me really curious about their food!). The main character is an Arab American and the boyfriend is an immigrant from Iraq and it all takes place in their LA community in 1999. Overall I enjoyed it. I will probably be adding Abu-Jaber’s other novels to my reading list.

I picked up this book after seeing it listed on a 'Food fiction' list. I was intrigued by the middle-eastern component since most of the other books in that list were European/American centric. Unfortunately, to call this 'food fiction' is a mistake. There are a couple of characters who work at a cafe of sorts but even three chapters in, there's very little to speak about the food.

On its own, it's a slightly whimsical book, written in a non-linear, rambling fashion that may not be to everyone's taste. I may come back to it when I'm in a mood for that, rather than sumptuous edible descriptions.