University campuses are ripe for creative inspiration. But where Australian authors have recently leveraged the campus novel to explore gender equality and coming of age (see Diana Reid’s 2021 debut Love and Virtue, and Higher Education by Kira McPherson), Zeynab Gamieldien’s The Scope of Permissibility provides insight into a side of student life rarely explored in fiction.
Her novel is set at an unnamed Sydney university, within the small and complex world of the campus Muslim Students’ Association (MSA). Sara Andrews is a 20-year-old Muslim woman of South African descent. She is an active member of the MSA alongside her best friend Abida, a Bangladeshi Australian Muslim who is politically engaged and opinionated – and correspondingly unpopular with her peers.
The two friends are both devout Muslims, but Sara finds herself drifting into the territory of sin when she begins developing feelings for Naeem, a fellow MSA member, a devout scholar of the Qur’an and a medical student.
In their world, men and women do not mingle except within sanctioned environments and in the company of others. But Sara and Naeem are drawn together and must navigate their desire with the pressure of Naeem’s family’s expectations and, more importantly, the expectations of Allah.
Abida, meanwhile, is running for the presidency of the MSA, an institution that has only seen two other women presidents in its lifetime. As her best friend disappears into Naeem, Abida battles against the gendered double standards in the MSA and the racist stereotyping of her non-Muslim peers, desperate to have her voice heard while combating the limitations of how both communities – Muslim and non-Muslim – see women like her.
This is an ambitious debut and a slow burn. Though the driving force is the tension between Sara and Naeem’s desire for each other and their obligations to their faith, the initial attraction is a little undercooked. They have never directly spoken, but spark a love affair entirely off the back of a single Facebook message. The characters and their relationship are more developed in the second half of the novel, but the reader has to fight against this initial barrier to entry.
Adding to the disconnect is Sara’s two-dimensionality. As the only character in the novel whose strong connection to Muslim faith isn’t reflected in her home life (her parents are Muslim but less strict in enforcing the religion’s social expectations), it is hard to understand where Sara’s devoutness has come from. More backstory and context could have fleshed out her motivation, which would have made her ill-fated love affair feel more authentic.
In contrast to Sara, Naeem’s interior and exterior world are drawn with detail and provide an arresting insight into the world of a devout, honourable and committed Muslim son trying to do right by all of the conflicting influences in his life and struggling to avoid falling short on all sides. At one point, the author describes Naeem’s mother entering his bedroom: “She did not knock or announce her presence; Naeem had learned other parents did these things from watching television.” Passages like this are not only cleverly written, but – having grown up in a strict Muslim household myself – felt viscerally real and relatable to me, while helping readers understand his behaviour.
The character of Abida is complex, frustrating and incredibly likeable at once. Her equal passion for Islam, feminism and social justice are convincing and reflect the common energy of politically involved university students across Australia; it’s certain to connect with any reader who has dabbled in student politics.
Throughout the novel, Gamieldien incorporates passages, usually from Abida’s point of view, that reference many of the social and political grenades Muslim Australians navigate daily – the contradictory attitudes of white feminists to the hijab, the casual racism experienced from strangers and peers, the alienating stereotypes. But these sections are told from a distance; I would have preferred to have these themes explored in scenes, to give us a better access point to the characters themselves.
These less-developed aspects of the novel only somewhat detract from what is ultimately an enjoyable and intellectually engaging read. The Scope of Permissibility has established Gamieldien as a novelist who has a lot more left to say.
The Scope of Permissability by Zeynab Gamieldien is out now through Ultimo Press
