Things We Do Not Tell the People We Love

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Not only that— i experienced the angst of teenage love all over again; falling in love during the summer, and getting heartbroken by fall; peacefully outgrowing my friendships and leaving them in my past; encountering a past flame, and attaining closure after all these years; falling out of love from a seemingly-perfect marriage; and even the utter joy of childbirth after waiting for so long to conceive. Huma Qureshi writes like a psychotherapist, considering, analysing, explaining, seeking outconflicts, evasions, and discomforts . . . The form suits her: she succeeds in a short space in describing her settings and defining her characters . . . there are notes of optimism that sound from true love; and, as always, amor vincit omnia. -- Brian Martin * Spectator * My struggle: I think I found the middle-classness of this quite grating - Tuscany! Writers! Mildred’s in Soho! - although I was propelled by her voice in all the stories, especially the first. What can I say? I’m bored of *some* forms of recognition. Sometimes the tone of grievance could be samey, especially given the bougie lives of the characters. Underneath it all is alienation, playing out subtly like it does in real life. I think she comes up against a voice limitation when narrating from a hapless boyfriend’s POV, but in another story she perfectly captures an unwittingly oppressive mother’s tone.

Within each of the stories South East Asian identity is unsurprisingly prominent, highlighting the difficulties of organic love in the face of strict parents; strained parental relationships even as you grow up and apart into your own family. The struggle of interracial relationships was pinpointed from both sides, too, with both parties on the outskirts of a dynamic they otherwise weren’t party too. Other aspects of adulthood were there too, from outgrowing friendships to the loss of a parent to a thousand wishes after miscarriage. The following story, Small Difference, is complete confusion as a woman travels to Italy with her boyfriend and parents while also having trouble comprehending her own emotions. I have no idea what the author was attempting to say. Well told stories with well realised characters . . . Qureshi, like [Jhumpa] Lahiri, is a companionable and considered writer, and this is a collection you can read enjoyably, rain or shine. -- Shahidha Bari * Guardian *A luscious debut . . Qureshi is a dab hand at yanking the rug out from under the reader. Her immersive, poignant stories - written mostly in understated prose - often have a sting in the tale . . I fell for this lyrical, moving collection and the woozy intensity that infuses many of its stories. Qureshi creates gripping plotlines and vividly drawn characters and - most importantly - she is a writer with something to say. -- Gwendolyn Smith ― i

This collection has reminded me how much I love short stories . . . I devoured it cover to cover . . . the whole collection is seriously wise and moving; one I know I'm going to revisit. -- Anna Bonet * Well Read * It would have been the perfect summer; if not for my father’s death” – from the first lines, short story collection Things We Do Not Tell the People We Love, by Huma Qureshi, grabs attention with its simplicity and intimate honesty. With disarming frankness the author writes about real life, ordinary people, and their relationships with themselves and others. A unique tale that interweaves crime fiction with intimate tales of morality and search for individual freedom.

What annoyed me a bit though is how it seems most of the stories had a [Pakistani] Muslim woman with white man trope.

Set across the blossoming English countryside, the stifling Mediterranean and the bustling cities of London and Lahore, Things We Do Not Tell The People We Love illuminates the parts of ourselves we rarely reveal. But usually, Qureshi takes the reader plausibly inside the inner recesses of characters’ hearts and minds. Premonition beautifully recalls the intensity of a first crush, developed via “a private symphony of glances”, before a bewildering first kiss leads to disaster. And she captures how such incidents can, in adulthood, seem insignificant and still life-defining.Qureshi's stories keenly identify the everyday tragedies of feeling profoundly unknown or unheard, of holding secrets and misunderstandings . . . These tales vividly capture the experience of feeling constrained by family expectations, but also of not quite fitting the norms of British culture either . . . Qureshi takes the reader plausibly inside the inner recess of characters' hearts and minds. Premonition beautifully recalls the intensity of a first crush, developed via "a private symphony of glances", before a bewildering first kiss leads to disaster. And she captures how such incidents can, in adulthood, seem insignificant and still life-defining . . . there are so many striking images to relish. - Observer This really spoke to me. Mothers obsessed with covering up flesh! Talking to boys, even ones you’ve known all your life - controversial. Feeling weird around your white boyfriend’s family even when they’re nice. People still getting married after a few months of knowing each other. It’s all real! And the writer really captures the immensity of these experiences. The more magical stories refuse to bend to expectations, a quality I really liked. These stories are short and bittersweet, they tug at your heart strings. Lots of them centre on the divisions, the rifts, the distance that forms in familial and romantic relationships and friendship. How literally the things we do not say create divides so they're not necessarily always comfortable reads as they made my stomach clench in mild anxiety at the underlying tensions. Still, these are well told stories with well realised characters. Qureshi’s plots unfurl purposefully, sometimes to reveal a sting in the tale. Her concerns are domestic – first love, friendship, estranged mothers, discontented wives, families that fall apart, marriages that limp on – with the understanding that these are the things that matter most of all. She knows, too, that behind every relationship is some hidden wound, and she compels her characters to confront theirs. While this voice gives the collection its throughline, it also means that the stories blend together. No one story particularly stands out – although The Jam Maker, which won Harper’s Bazaar’s Short Story Prize in 2020, is undoubtedly the book’s strongest – but, rather, the collection works as one voice exploring the similar themes through different angles.