Author: Elif Shafak
This historical novel by Elif Shafak, “There Are Rivers in the Sky,” was published in 2024 and is a meditation on life, loss and love.
Anchored by the Tigris and Thames rivers serving as motifs, the story drifts across centuries, stitching together fractured lives bound by intimacy, trauma, and the quiet power of water.
There are three characters at the heart of this story.
Arthur is a 19th-century linguist whose passion for Mesopotamia’s ruins eclipses his ability to connect with the living.
Narin is a Yazidi girl surviving genocide in 2014 Iraq, her spirit as unyielding as the ancient lands she is forced to flee.
And then there is Zaleekhah, a hydrologist in modern London, drowning in family secrets until she learns to swim toward redemption.
Their stories collide, ripple and reshape one another. Water is not just a metaphor here, it is a character. The rivers breathe life into memories, erode pain, and carry the weight of history.
Arthur’s obsession with the “Epic of Gilgamesh” mirrors his own loneliness as a man chasing immortality through dusty texts while real love slips through his fingers.
Narin’s resilience, rooted in Yazidi traditions, becomes a lifeline in a world determined to erase her people.
As for Zaleekhah, her journey from guilt to grace feels like watching a storm clear — messy, cathartic, and utterly human.
Shafak’s writing is lush, almost tactile. You can taste the silt of the Tigris, feel London’s rain, and ache with the characters.
But here is the catch: this book demands your attention. The timelines —switching between Victorian letters, wartime horror, and modern angst —are a high-wire act.
While the layers add depth, some readers might stumble over dense historical nods or Yazidi cultural nuances. (A glossary would have been a welcome raft.)
Yet, even its flaws pulse with intention. The same complexity that overwhelms also rewards.
This is not a book you breeze through. It is one you wade into, letting the currents tug you into deep, uncomfortable places.
The pacing does drag at times, and Shafak’s ambition occasionally outruns clarity.
In the end, Shafak asks: Can we ever truly outrun history? Or do we, like rivers, carve new paths while carrying the scars of where we have been?
This novel does not answer so much as invite you to sit with the question, long after the last page turns.
