Book Review: The Cairo House

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Finished Reading: 4th February 2025

I really wanted to love Cairo House and was so grateful to have found it. As someone born in London but of Egyptian origin, I naturally gravitate towards books like this—stories written by women who have lived between different worlds and cultures. I appreciate the effort to capture Egypt’s social and political transformations from the perspective of a woman straddling two identities.

The novel undoubtedly taught me many things about Egypt’s past—decades before I was born and before I truly knew the country. I was especially grateful for the personal reflections, as the book is semi-autobiographical, giving a glimpse into a world that is both familiar and distant to me. However, despite all this, I couldn’t fall in love with it.

That said, I loved the beginning of the novel. The way Serageldin described identity as a chameleon-like adaptation was incredibly powerful and resonated deeply with me. The photo album analogy, in which the protagonist’s identity shifts depending on which version of herself is presented—whether in Egypt, France, or the United States—was a brilliant and evocative way to capture the experience of living between multiple cultures. These early reflections on identity, belonging, and self-perception were some of my favourite parts of the book.

However, my main issue was the characters—even the protagonist, Gigi, failed to truly resonate with me. She seemed detached, and while I understood her struggles, I found it difficult to sympathise with her. This wasn’t necessarily because she left her son, but rather because her vulnerabilities weren’t exposed in a raw and authentic way. Instead, they felt more like justifications. She repeatedly stated that she was never someone who could make decisions, yet she made incredibly definitive choices—choosing to leave her son and country to move to France, and later choosing to marry Luc. These were life-altering decisions, and the claim that she was incapable of making choices did not quite align with the narrative.

Beyond Gigi, I struggled to connect with the other characters as well. Though they were all developed, I couldn’t see them, sympathise with them, or feel their sorrow or joy. Often, it felt as if the protagonist was speaking to imagined people, particularly in conversations with her son. We rarely learned his reactions or responses, which was somewhat unsettling. The relationships, especially her marriages, lacked depth for me. I could not fully grasp what warmth existed in them, or how they changed over time. The emotional exchanges that might have allowed me to feel part of those relationships as a reader were missing.

I also found the reflections on Egypt upon Gigi’s return to be somewhat superficial, occasionally leaning into western stereotypes rather than offering a more layered perspective. Given the novel’s premise, I had hoped for a more nuanced exploration of her reconnection with the country she left behind.

That said, there were many parts of the novel I appreciated. The descriptions of Cairo and the grandeur of her family’s past were beautifully written, evoking a strong sense of place and history. The exploration of exile and displacement, particularly the way personal choices are shaped by broader political changes, was thought-provoking. I also enjoyed the moments that captured the social dynamics of Egypt’s elite, the shifting class structures, and the political tensions that defined different eras.

Ultimately, Cairo House had elements I admired, but I found myself wanting more emotional depth and authenticity from the characters. It is an interesting read for those interested in Egypt’s changing landscape and the experience of living between two cultures, but I personally struggled to fully connect with it.