Ever since I heard about the book project of Love, Inshallah last Fall through the Facebook grapevine, I have been eagerly awaiting its publication. The co-editors of the anthology, Nura Maznavi and Ayesha Mattu, had to work hard to get their idea picked up by a publisher and only succeeded when they were picked at Pitchapalooza to present their idea in a one minute speech.

As a scholar and teacher of Islamic studies, I crave insightful primary sources that give the readers a realistic representation of Muslims’ lives. I am always on the look-out for books to recommend that offer a genuine reflection of real Muslims’ lives beyond the stereotypical portrayal. Having “friended” the book’s page on Facebook, I was teased along with short passages from some of the stories in the anthology for several months. The book finally came out at the end of January and I quickly obtained a copy and devoured it within a couple of days. It was a pleasure to take a break from the academic tomes I have been absorbed in recently for my PhD work. On the bright side, I could technically call reading Love, Inshallah “work” as it was about Muslims and as I read it, I pictured how students would react and learn from the book and how I might use it in my imaginary future class on Muslims in America.

In basic religion classes and textbooks on Islam, students usually learn about normative Islam and what is allowed and forbidden in Islam. They learn that Muslim women must wear the hijab, that they are only allowed to marry Muslim men, and that they always follow the rules verbatim–they are basically akin to Catholic nuns. Many Muslim girls in America are also raised with this understanding of Islam, but then they grow up and encounter different practices, customs, and beliefs in American society.

This book raises significant questions about Muslim practice and identity. Is a Muslim someone who comes from a Muslim family and considers herself a “cultural” Muslim but who neglects the five pillars? Or can a Muslim only be someone who strictly adheres to the literal interpretation of Shar`iah? The writers in the book grapple with these issues as they involve themselves in acts that they were taught good Muslim girls just don’t do. Despite their parent’s plans for them, many of the women in Love, Inshallah find their own versions of living as Muslim women in America and others leave behind the religion of their parents to embrace Islam.

There are stories that will make some conservative Muslims tremble with anger, like that of lesbian Najva Sol, who talks about her college flings, as well as stories that will make many liberal Muslims clench their fists, like Asiila Imani, who decides to become a second wife and waxes romantic about having a sister wife. One of my favorite stories is that of Angela Collins Telles, who, as a white convert in Southern California, became the spokeswoman of the Muslim community and principal of an Islamic school. She escaped from the pressures of the community on a trip with a girlfriend to South America, where she encounters a Catholic Brazilian man whom she falls in love with. Her story plays out like a Hollywood movie and their connection is too strong to deny, they keep finding their way back to each other and finally Marcelo converts to Islam and Angela settles down in Brazil to start her family.

It’s real life narratives like these that makes the book stand out from the countless books that claim to tear the veil off and explore Muslim women’s lives. I’ve read enough books about Muslim women for a lifetime, but Love, Inshallah isn’t about Muslim women, and that’s what makes it different–it is by Muslim women and gives them an outlet to speak about their experiences in their own voices.

While the writing is not exactly Pulitzer Prize quality, that’s not the point. Most of the women are not professional writers: there is a school principal, an engineer, several lawyers, a prison chaplain, a ghost hunter, community organizers, homemakers, and a translator, among the 25 contributors. They were brave enough to expose their private lives to the prying eyes of anyone who gets their hands on the book. Personally, I’m not brave enough to publish stories about my private life. I certainly admire the contributors who overcame their inhibitions to contribute to the ongoing process of asserting American Muslims as an intricate part of American society.

This book is a must read in anyone looking to learn more about real American Muslim women and their multivocal lives. If you cringe at the thought of reading another book about Muslim women that includes the word “veil” or “unveiling,” then Love, Inshallah is for you.