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Towelhead
By Alicia Erian
Simon & Schuster
Paperbacks, $12
The original, 2005 paperback cover of Towelhead, by Alicia Erian, was deceptively playful and sexy. A teen in a clingy, see-through red dress stood with her back to viewers, braids popping up to each side. The girl seemed to be a tomboy turned temptress, and that was all that was revealed.
The new and improved cover, revamped thanks to the movie version being released a few weeks ago, provides a more telling, tension-filled picture—one of a teen with olive skin, dark, innocent eyes, and an incongruously well-developed body.
She may or may not be near adulthood: Her tight sweater and pink sneakers are at odds.
She may or may not be shy: Her face is turned slightly, but her eyes meet you straight on.
And she may or may not fit into her surroundings: She’s well-enough dressed to be part of the middle class, yet she’s standing outside a row of suburban houses—on the street, alone.
All of these scenarios are somehow true in Towelhead: Thirteen-year-old Jasira is still a little girl who needs her mother’s love, but she’s intrigued by Playboy. She’s uncertain about talking to classmates at her new school, but she finds excuses to spend time with the father of the boy she babysits.
They’re the neighbors next door who stop by to welcome her and her father when they move in. Jasira and her father’s Arab roots soon becomes the focus of their conversation, and both neighbors make hurtful assumptions.
Jasira finds herself in this strange, new neighborhood after her mom has sent her to live with her father. The reason: Her mom’s live-in boyfriend was paying too much attention to her. Soon, she isn’t allowed to see her father’s girlfriend either because the girlfriend was paying too much attention to her as well.
At school, Jasira is mistaken for a Hispanic, not the Lebanese-Irish-American that she is. At first, this mistaken identity may be a blessing, because the 1990 Gulf War has just gotten underway and Arabs everywhere are under suspicious. Yet, still, no one is friendly, except an African-American boy.
Her father and mother forbid Jasira to see him, and in typical teenage style, she disobeys them.
Even more disturbed by her interracial relationship, though, is her young charge’s father—who has his own ideas about who Jasira should be spending time with. Never mind that he taught his son to refer to Arab-Americans as "towelheads."
Surrounded by demanding, narcissistic adults, teens normally crumble. Jasira, however, goes numb. Erian’s simple language, short sentences, and heavy use of dialogue show action but no emotion. Jasira doesn’t whine to friends, write in a diary, or visit the school counselor—although she recognizes the various injustices she encounters.
This lack of expression is particularly striking because the book is written in the first person, a style which lends itself to a main character baring her soul. The reader is left to feel what Jasira should—frustration, disgust, anxiety, embarrassment and loneliness.
The only spot of normalcy in Jasira’s life is a young mother-to-be neighbor, the only true adult in the story and Jasira’s only link to reality. She says little but watches all—until it’s almost too late.
The overriding emotion in Towelhead is angst, even if it’s never acknowledged, making for a depressing but important read. Based on the previews, the movie (directed by Alan Ball of American Beauty and Six Feet Under fame) appears to take the book’s almost-exact language and turn tragedy into comedy.
Deadpanning the disturbing may be the promoters’ sneaky way to get audiences to view a story about prejudices, near-personality disorders and the need for all of us as a society to do more to protect our youngsters from ourselves.
Kristen De Deyn Kirk blogs about books at www.thefamilythatreadstogether.blogspot.com. | 
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