Originally billed as a memoir, now pretty conclusively revealed to be fiction. In a way I was glad to learn this, since the story contained puzzling discrepancies (for example, and glaringly, why would the families allow the young women to operate a unisex salon?). In addition, the story was told with such chick-lit bathos that I felt bad because I couldn't muster up sympathy for the women in this dreadful situation. I'm glad it turns out to be fiction, and not a regrettable failure of empathy on my part.The plot, which can be summarized as "boy meets girl, girl dies" would be tragic if true, and is tragic in the greater sense that women are victims of honor (sic) killings in the world at large. Had this work been represented as fiction, I would comment on how this theme was expressed in the novel. Since it was represented as a memoir, however, I have the same bad feelings about Khouri that I do about James Frey. I think it's disgusting for writers to co-opt the horrific experiences that others have suffered and represent them as their own. or this reason, though I could count this novel for Jordan in my Books of the World Challenge (since Khouri was born in Jordan and lived there for for 2-3 years. However, I'd rather read a book by a writer who hasn't attempted to deceive me.