The hijab, the traditional head covering worn by some Muslim women, is a powerful indicator of more than just religious affiliation. In the world of Rum’s novel, it marks the wearer as not only foreign but also potentially dangerous. When Deya rides the subway into Manhattan for the first time, she is subject to hostile glares and judgment: “Watching them, she understood yet again what it meant to be an outsider” (107). Deya is only 18, she has been extremely sheltered, and she may be the most frightened passenger on the train, and yet she is viewed as someone to be feared and despised. In this story set only seven years after the 9/11 attacks, Deya’s hijab is viewed not as a symbol of religious devotion but as the mark of a terrorist.

Physical artifacts as markers of difference are nothing new. Nathaniel Hawthorne’s scarlet “S” and the Star of David pinned to the lapels of Jews during World War II are two obvious examples. Adam, who insists on traditionalism and deference from Isra, ironically urges her not to wear the hijab when they are out together. He wants to fit in and not draw attention to them.