Binnaz/Auntie Binnaz Character Analysis

Her gut said, Oh, I like it here; I’m not going up there again.

Her heart protested, Don’t be silly. Why stay in a place where nothing ever happens? It’s boring.

Why leave a place where nothing ever happens? It’s safe, her gut said.

[...]

Just because you think it’s safe here, it doesn’t mean this is the right place for you, her heart countered. Sometimes where you feel most safe is where you least belong.

Leila had come to understand that feelings of tenderness must always be hidden—that such things could only be revealed behind closed doors and never spoken about afterwards. This was the only form of affection she had learned from grown-ups, and the teaching would come with dire consequences.

Auntie glanced out of the window, intimidated by the world far and beyond. It was one of the endless troubles of her life that, even after all this time, and even after she had had two children, her fear of being kicked out of this house had not abated in the slightest. She still did not feel secure.

Like a trapped butterfly, thought Leila. That’s what her brother had been in their midst. She feared they had all let this beautiful child down, one by one, including herself, mostly herself.

“My shiekh says Allah will curse you and I will live to see the day. That will be my compensation.”

There were drops of condensation on the window. She touched one gently with her fingertip, held it for a second, and then let go, watching it roll down. A pain throbbed somewhere inside her body, in a place she was unable to locate.

“Don’t phone us again,” he said. “If you do, we’ll tell the operator we are not accepting the call. We don’t have a daughter called Leyla. Leyla Afife Kamile: you don’t deserve those names.”

“My mother—I used to call her Auntie—she often felt the same way, maybe worse. People always told her to fight depression. But I have a feeling that as soon as we see something as our enemy, we make it stronger. [...] Maybe what you need to do is befriend your depression.”

Her gut said, Oh, I like it here; I’m not going up there again.

Her heart protested, Don’t be silly. Why stay in a place where nothing ever happens? It’s boring.

Why leave a place where nothing ever happens? It’s safe, her gut said.

[...]

Just because you think it’s safe here, it doesn’t mean this is the right place for you, her heart countered. Sometimes where you feel most safe is where you least belong.

Leila had come to understand that feelings of tenderness must always be hidden—that such things could only be revealed behind closed doors and never spoken about afterwards. This was the only form of affection she had learned from grown-ups, and the teaching would come with dire consequences.

Auntie glanced out of the window, intimidated by the world far and beyond. It was one of the endless troubles of her life that, even after all this time, and even after she had had two children, her fear of being kicked out of this house had not abated in the slightest. She still did not feel secure.

Like a trapped butterfly, thought Leila. That’s what her brother had been in their midst. She feared they had all let this beautiful child down, one by one, including herself, mostly herself.

“My shiekh says Allah will curse you and I will live to see the day. That will be my compensation.”

There were drops of condensation on the window. She touched one gently with her fingertip, held it for a second, and then let go, watching it roll down. A pain throbbed somewhere inside her body, in a place she was unable to locate.

“Don’t phone us again,” he said. “If you do, we’ll tell the operator we are not accepting the call. We don’t have a daughter called Leyla. Leyla Afife Kamile: you don’t deserve those names.”

“My mother—I used to call her Auntie—she often felt the same way, maybe worse. People always told her to fight depression. But I have a feeling that as soon as we see something as our enemy, we make it stronger. [...] Maybe what you need to do is befriend your depression.”