Review | Feted debut novelist Zain Khalid’s ‘Brother Alive’ is ‘stunningly ambitious and complex’

“Your grandfather knows memory is often a lie sealed with the hot wax of repetition,” writes Zain Khalid in the early pages of his debut novel in the voice of Youssef, one of three brothers adopted by an oddball cleric from Staten Island.

“Brother Alive” starts as a letter from Youssef to his niece Ruhi, recounting being raised by Imam Salim on top of a mosque his uncle bequeathed to him. Youssef and his brothers grew up with no knowledge of who their parents were or how Salim came to adopt them. But unlike his Korean brother Iseul and his Nigerian brother Dayo, Youssef also had no idea where his parents were from. The sprawling family saga slowly reveals these secrets — and the wounds they leave behind.

“Brother Alive” is a stunningly ambitious and complex debut from New York-based Zain Khalid, who has been published in the New Yorker, n+1 and The Believer, and has been dubbed a writer to watch by the New York Times.

The book opens with Youssef recalling being raised by a man who clearly cares for the brothers but keeps him at a cruel distance in particular, telling Youssef: “I have no interest in being your father.” Sensitive, lonely and more aimless than his siblings, Youssef has a secret playmate who provides company: a shape-shifting hallucination he calls Brother; Brother provides comfort but demands attention, pulling his focus from the real world.

As the boys leave for college, Salim appears to be aging at an accelerated pace — losing weight, patches of hair and, most alarmingly, his memory. But the distance he created between him and his sons — through silence and withholding physical affection — means there’s no hope of Youssef understanding what’s happening to Salim. Youssef only finds glimpses of truth by snooping: following Salim one night and discovering his lover, Adam; breaking into Salim’s office and finding photos of his mother and father.

As Salim unravels, so does the story of his past, including his connection with the boys’ parents. He addresses a letter to the brothers to read after he abruptly returns to his religious studies in Saudi Arabia, leaving them with little choice but to follow. Youssef, Dayo and Iseul discover their father figure had a murky past.

Khalid excels at both the micro and macro aspects of storytelling. Rich descriptions evoke the singular experience of being part of this accidental family: “The record player your grandfather would break out on special occasions was on the coffee table, spinning ghazals, reminding us that Urdu and Arabic sometimes sounded like cousins. The extended words hung on wet air, fusing with the enticing aromas of dinner.”

Khalid brings an interesting lens to how people wear being Muslim: for comfort, for access, for power. He also explores how the prescriptiveness of religion diminishes self-acceptance — Youssef discovers Imam Salim’s hidden sexuality while discovering his own queer identity. Salim asks at one point: “Why do we need so much forgiveness?”

But most profound is Khalid’s deep exploration of grief: for Youssef, the pain of not knowing where he came from and then the heavy weight of that knowledge. “The bereaved have no language of speaking to the unbereaved,” writes Salim in a letter to his sons.

“Brother Alive” is an engrossing read, a propulsive narrative with lyrical prose that will stay with you long after the last page.

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