Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2016, 336 pages

At a time when media coverage of the Middle East and North Africa is full of images of war, destruction and repression, and Arabic is increasingly associated with terrorists, Zora O’Neill’s book provides another perspective. “It’s about the Arabic language and how it’s used every day: to tell stories, sing songs, and discuss personal troubles, aspirations, friendships and fashion choices… a key to a culture and the three million people who speak the language.”

They say it takes seven years to learn Arabic and a lifetime to master it. O’Neill studied Arabic in university and after a long break, decides to take it up again, focusing this time on spoken Arabic. Arriving in Egypt just after the Arab Spring, she travels to the Gulf (Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Ras al-Khaimah and Doha), Lebanon and Morocco. She attends Arabic classes throughout, in an attempt to learn the local dialect.

The Arabic taught in university is Fusha, the language of the Koran. This forms the basis of the other dialects—Egyptian Ammiya and Moroccan Darija, for example. O’Neill, having already spent some time in Egypt, speaks Fusha and Ammiya (which tends to the dramatic: “And you do this to me why?”). She finds Darija almost impossible to understand: Moroccans not only talk fast but tend to swallow the consonants.

In Egypt, O’Neill finds herself chatting and making jokes in Ammiya (a sure sign you’ve arrived, linguistically speaking). She loves the flourishes of the language: good morning could be sabah an-noor (“morning of light”) or sabah al-full (“morning of jasmine”). She spends time with young people like Medo, Hassan and Moataza, who talk to her about the revolution. O’Neill remains long enough to watch the initial optimist turn to doubt and disillusion.

Dubai is a big city with a large foreign population, with few opportunities to practice her Arabic. She does, however attend an Emirati poetry festival (and watches the two interpreters in the booths switch off their mikes and collapse with laughter at a particularly bad poet). She meets people from all over the region: her hostess in Abu Dhabi is Farah, a Libyan woman. In Doha, she meets up with Shatha (a Palestinian), Sara and Mariam, a group of students collecting oral histories of Qatar. In Beirut, she has to negotiate the divisions in society that persist even after the civil war.

The trip to Morocco is, in a sense, going back to her origins. This is where her parents spent time in the 1960s, and she was named after one of their neighbours. She arranges for her parents to visit it with her, and sees the country through their eyes.

O’Neill is funny, not least about her own attempts to communicate. She seeks out opportunities for conversation (including going home with a young woman for an afternoon nap), so you get a real impression of the local people. Her love for the language really comes through: she explains meaning, structure and the calligraphy of Arabic. She is never pedantic and I found her enthusiasm infectious.

This is a book that is long overdue.

This review first appeared on Women on the Road.