
I’ve seen this book countless times online and honestly have never given it a second glance. I mean Cinderella is a classic fairytale and I have a few different versions from around the world, but an Islamic one? It seemed like it would be awkward or overly preachy and forced. I should have given Fawzia Gilani’s version a chance though, she has surprised me with her other re-tellings of Eid Kareem Ameer Saab and Nabeel’s New Pants. And, mashaAllah, to her credit she manages to weave a decent story full of Islamic tenants, void of magic, and more feminist than the Disney or Grimm versions.
I’m not going to summarize such a familiar tale, but I will point out major twists. Zahra is a practicing Muslim who is very devout in her prayers, fasting, and reading of the Quran. Her step-sisters nickname her Cinderella after some cinders from the fire burn holes in her clothes. A bit of a stretch, from Zahra, but I think even the youngest readers will know the original Cinderella story and be ok with it.

Cinderella is constantly remembering to be patient despite the treatment of her step family through various duaas, ayats in the quran, and fasting on the day of Arafah. When an invitation to an Eid Party at the palace comes, she naturally is forbidden from going unless she completes all her chores. Luckily her Grandmother returns from Hajj with servants to help clean the house and a new abaya to wear to the party. At the palace the women and men are in different rooms, but Cinderella catches the King, the Queen, and Prince Bilal’s attention when passing in the hallway for being in full hijab. She continues to impress the Queen, when she remains quiet during the athan, prays in jammat, and shows grace in her manners and speech. After winning over the mom, the slipper and happily ever after follow the traditional script, however, like the story of Yusuf (as) and how he forgives his brothers, Zahra forgives her step-family as well.

The 41 page story is heavy on the text and is not AR. I would imagine that it would be on a third grade level for Muslim children familiar with the vocabulary, and fourth grade for those that are not. There is a glossary at the back, but not all of the Arabic words are included, and I’m not sure that the context would allow for them in some cases to be understood. This book would be hard to do in a story time setting because of the length, at bedtime, however, the pictures are detailed and rich enough that one-on-one could hold a five or six year olds’ attention.
Overall the story doesn’t feel forced, and you’ll find your self smiling at some of the “islamicifaction” of the plot. Most of it flows really well. I love that it isn’t focused on her appearance alone. I also like that she isn’t helplessly waiting to be saved or alleviated from her burdens. By and large it doesn’t feel like a love story, Prince Bilal is pretty much a minor story point. The book works for Muslims and non-Muslims alike. It isn’t preachy, but it definitely is strong in it’s moral messages. I think non Muslims will find the Islamic version just as fun as the hundreds of other “twists” on Cinderella and Muslim children will love to see someone like them living happily ever after as well, inshaAllah.
I ordered this book a while ago online. There is a whole series of Nasreddin Hodja, so I picked a title at random. I read it when it arrived and the story seemed to wander more than my attention span could follow. So naturally, I had my children read it, and they said it seemed funny, but they didn’t understand it. I glanced through it again and figured maybe it was one of those beloved cultural characters that just lost some of their charm in translation. In this case, Nasreddin Hodja is a folktale type character born in the 13th century from Konya, Turkey, who is the star of short stories that teach a point in a silly way. The opening page tells a bit about him and what you can hope to learn in the story, but it didn’t help understand why the book was so fragmented.


I really like how when discussing Jannah, they talk about the rivers of milk and honey, and I absolutely loved how they talk about Grandpa (hopefully) being in Jannah and being young and strong. I couldn’t figure out why when in the woods and marveling at nature the characters didn’t use Islamic expressions like, mashaAllah, subhanAllah, and inshaAllah, and when I read it aloud I had to add them when we got to the pages about Grandpa. It seemed awkward not too. The book is clearly for Muslim children, there is a reference page in the back with the ayats from the Quran and hadeeth that tell us about Paradise, and the characters are discussing an Islamic concept, so I’m not sure why their language isn’t reflective of that.











Nadia’s aunt is getting married and she gets to be the flower girl in the Pakistani-American wedding. She also will get mehndi put on her hands for the big event. Her cousins warn her that she might mess up and even in the midst of her excitement she begins to worry what the kids at school will say when they see her hands on Monday. As her aunt prepares the mehndi and the application process begins, various uncles peek in on her and her aunt gifts her a beautiful ring. The mehndi has to sit on the skin for a while to set and as Nadia practices sabr, patience, I couldn’t help but think something seemed off in the story. I’ve been at, in, and around a lot of Pakistani and Pakistani-American weddings, and this story didn’t seem to reflect the tone of such occasions. The book doesn’t reflect the hustle and bustle and near chaos, it doesn’t sound like the tinkle of jewelry and laughter as the women sit around chatting and getting mehndi put on together, the pots on the stove are referenced but not described so that the reader can smell the sauces thickening and hear the pans crashing and taste the deep rich flavors. It is lonely. Nadia is lonely and filled with anxiety about Monday. Durring the wedding she is walking down the aisle and suddenly freezes when she looks down and doesn’t recognize her hands. Her cousins seem to show unsupportive “I-told-you-so” expressions as she searches for some comforting encouragement to continue on. When she finishes her flower girl duties, her grandma asks if she understands why looking at her hands makes her feel like she is “looking at my past and future at the same time.” Nadia doesn’t understand and the author doesn’t explain. At the end she is ready to embrace that her hands are in fact hers and that she will show her friends on Monday. But the reader has no idea how it goes, or what exactly the significance of her painted hands are. The book fails to give any insight or excitement for a culture bursting with tradition at a time of marriage.




