Both Homes and The Boy on the Beach humanize a conflict that has too often been condensed to numbers, statistics, and nameless victims. The western gaze reduces Syria to an abstraction of civil war, hunger, violence, and conflicting political and religious factions. But these books force the reader to face the complexities of place. In addition to war and suffering, Syria is also a home, a locus of family and memory. Kurdi and al Rabeeah are both aware of the magnanimity of Syrian hospitality – the kindness of neighbours and strangers alike, regardless of faith – that prevails even in the face of death. To reduce Syria to a hollowed-out symbol of war is to wilfully ignore the spirit of its people, which persists even in the most dire circumstances.

In Homes, al Rabeeah recalls the challenges of adapting to Canadian culture, weather, and language, and he expresses guilt for struggling to find his footing in a new land. He speaks of the solitude that descended on his family: “we were each so wrapped up in our own kinds of loneliness that we got used to our little islands of grief.” Fear remains in his body but manifests now in the aching absence of gunfire – it lives in what is unheard and unseen, and what is left behind.