For a book which has received so much acclaim: the longlist for the Booker prize, shortlist for the Costa best novel award, and winner of the Women’s prize for fiction, Home fire by Kamila Shamsie was completely unkown to me. It’s a small book which promises a lot, while the promise of a version of Antigone for our times will appeal to lovers of literary fiction too.

The story of the book follows two sisters: Isma pursuing her dream of studying in America, and Aneeka reading for a law degree in London. However, for both sisters, their father, who died while on Jihad, casts a long shadow over their lives. Meanwhile, their brother, Parvaiz belives that he is fulfilling his destiny when he is targetted by extremists. When Eamonn, the son of the Home Secretary, enters the lives of the two sisters does this represent a further complication, or an opportunity?

Although the plot is comparatively simple, this book has much to recommend it. It is a timely read exploring the clash between familial love and politics, and the equally difficult choices facing Western Muslims wishing to integrate into their adopted communities, while seeking to maintain their own identity, customs and family ties. This book is a timely reminder that the current state of politics, dictated as it is by the right wing press, and motivated by fear, only serves to create yet more division. Terrorism is always unjustified, and some of the fear is understandable, but it is important to put this into context: the number dying as a result of terrorist attacks is dwarfed by the numbers dying as a result of, say, climate change.

This is not only a problem of the clash of Western and Middle-Eastern cultures, but a religious one too. Although the vast majority of Muslims, and religious adherents around the world, are able to coexist, regarding their faith as a personal resource, religion is a less benign force for a small minority who regard their scriptures as offering literal commands for governing our lives. Parvaiz’s example is surely an extreme one, but it highlights the promise of a strong group identity and sense of purpose offered by religion, along with the promise of fulfilling destiny: “For girls becoming women was an inevitability; for boys, becoming men was an ambition” (p. 36-37). You don’t need to kill anyone before that can prove divisive, witness all those students going up to university for the first time and joining the Christian Union in the hope of making friends. Ironically the promise of friendship and group identity soon proves to be isolating.

While the book can be commended for takling topical themes, I found other aspects of the story to be less good. The characters are adequate, but in my mind not exceptional. Its probably fair to say that all of them are in the wrong on occasions, even while other aspects seem rather far fetched, thinking, in particular, of the relationship between Aneeka and Eamonn.

The book also lacks any significant plot; the basic details can be understood from the first two chapters, and subsequent sections add very little. While it is good have a different perspective from each of the five major characters, there seems to be a lack of overlap, particularly with Isma’s section at the beginning. Similarly, much of the writing is unexceptional, again with the exception of the first chapter. It is therefore a pity that we didn’t hear more from Isma. Admittedly, the writing does offer the occasional phrase that really makes you think, such as this from the Home Secretary's wife: “Karamat: look at this sad child you've raised to your enemy, and see how far you’ve lowered yourself in doing that.” (p. 253) Perhaps this indicates the greatest travesty: as governments promise to be tough on terrorism, and introduce ever more restrictive policies which impinge on the innocent and guilty alike, we are actually giving power to the terrorists.

In conclusion, this is a topical book offering an insight into the choices faced by Western Muslims, and the implications for social policy as a whole. While I believe the author’s intentions are good, the book is partly let down with a simple storyline and unexceptional writing. While some fear of terrorism is natural and justifiable, it is important for policymakers to put this into context and avid being distracted by headlines in the populist newspapers. If this book can contribute to a sensible and balanced debate then it is to be welcomed, especially as we face the prospect of another religiously motivated war in the Holy Land.