If Palestine had a national bookshelf, it would not be neatly organized by genre, year, or author. It would be uneven, scarred, and beautiful. It would carry stories rescued from exile, whispered between generations, or scribbled in cell blocks. The shelves might lean from the weight of sorrow, but they’d stand—anchored by stubborn truth.
Every country has a canon. But for a land whose statehood is contested, whose people are scattered, whose identity is politicized even in death, the idea of a national bookshelf is not just cultural—it’s existential. It’s a resistance to erasure. A defiant act of memory.
This is how we started building ours. Not with official stamps or ministries of culture, but by collecting what was already there.
The First Book Would Not Be a Book
It might be a grandmother’s story about her olive tree. Or a child’s drawing from Dheisheh Camp, showing a key that doesn’t open any door in her house, but one in her mother’s dreams.
But eventually, paper took over. Words found ways into print. Authors began naming the pain, the loss, and the longing. What they wrote wasn’t always political. Sometimes it was just tender. And those are the books we hold closest.
Memory Wears Many Faces
Palestinian literature is not one voice. It’s a conversation across time and language. From Ghassan Kanafani’s devastating novellas to Susan Abulhawa’s emotional portraits of exile, every book adds another tile to the mosaic. You’ll find rage next to romance, folklore beside philosophy.
At the Palestinian literature collection we curate, we look not only for the well-known names, but also the books that were nearly lost: self-published titles, regional anthologies, and stories from authors whose names don’t appear in textbooks.
Why Build a Shelf That Could Be Burned?
Because it has been. Libraries in Gaza have been shelled. Archives in Jerusalem seized. Stories confiscated under the logic of security. But the words persist, sometimes only because someone decided to carry them.
Our team at Palestinian Books – Stories That Refuse to Be Forgotten doesn’t ask who will read them. We ask who must.
Each time we choose to stock a title on our independent Palestinian bookshop, we think of readers who search for their grandmother’s accent. For the exact scent of lemon blossom after a raid. For words that might not heal them, but will name the wound.
A Bookshelf as a Borderless Homeland
Imagine a shelf holding works from writers who lived in Haifa, Kuwait, Amman, Berlin, Chicago. Some were born in refugee camps. Others write from the safety of diasporic distance, trying to make sense of what they inherited. This imagined bookshelf would not recognize the green line. It would carry only the red lines of grief, exile, and hope.
The questions these books ask are not easily answered:
How do you raise children in a place that denies their birthright?
What do you do with longing when return is not permitted?
Can love survive the checkpoint?
The writers do not always offer answers. But their presence on the shelf tells us: the question itself is a form of survival.
We Don’t Curate for the Market
A national bookshelf can’t be a bestseller list. It needs to be a soul map. Some books we carry will never be reviewed in mainstream press. They’re too raw, too fragmented. Others are masterpieces but ignored because they weren’t written in English, or didn’t follow the expected narrative arc of suffering-then-redemption.
Still, we include them.
And sometimes, a book appears like a secret being told aloud for the first time. Like Flawless: For Those Who Argue to Live and Tell, a novel written from the voice of a Palestinian exile, now available here through the author’s own initiative. It doesn’t ask for sympathy. It demands attention.
Some Books Walk with Us
We don’t just read these books. We carry them.
In airport terminals, waiting rooms, military courts, border crossings, these titles often become more than literature. They become talismans. Witnesses. Proof that we existed before someone gave us permission to.
That’s why even our team bio at this page is shaped like a conversation, not a company pitch. Because this isn’t about selling. It’s about holding on.
Books That Refused to Die
Many books on our shelf were nearly silenced. Censorship, fear, fatigue—they’ve all tried to erase Palestinian literature. But it survives through readers who don’t let go.
We know people who keep photocopies of banned titles in hidden drawers. Others who transcribe oral stories for their children in exile. One man in Chile told us he reads only in Arabic to keep his mother’s memory alive. These are the reasons we keep doing what we do.
If Palestine Had a National Bookshelf… It Would Not Belong to Any Government
It would belong to anyone who understands that stories are what remain when land is taken. That identity is not decided by borders but by belonging. And that literature doesn’t need permission to speak.
It would include books banned in libraries, stories never translated, and essays that made some people uncomfortable. That’s the point. Comfort is not our goal. Continuity is.
We know we’ll never be able to carry every voice, every poem. But we carry what we can, and we keep the shelf open.
Because someone, somewhere, is still writing. Still remembering. Still refusing to be forgotten.
Frequently Asked Questions
1. What defines a “Palestinian book”?
It’s not just about the author’s nationality. A Palestinian book can be written by someone in exile, by someone born into occupation, or even by someone outside the identity entirely but committed to telling a truth that matters to the Palestinian narrative. The key is emotional and historical fidelity, not only citizenship.
2. Do you include books critical of Palestinian society?
Yes. A true bookshelf must include self-reflection. Palestinian writers have explored everything from internal displacement and gender norms to political betrayal. These stories deepen the discourse, not diminish it.
3. How do you choose which books to include in your store?
We prioritize works that are authentic, underrepresented, or in danger of being lost. This includes literature from within the territories, the diaspora, and even prison writings. We also make space for newer voices, hybrid forms, and experimental storytelling.
4. Are the books available in Arabic only?
No. While Arabic is central, many titles are also in English and other languages. Part of our mission is to ensure Palestinian literature reaches a global audience, regardless of language background.
5. Can literature actually help preserve Palestinian identity?
Yes. In fact, literature may be one of the only spaces where identity can be safely explored, reconstructed, and passed down without interference. Books carry memory, culture, and resistance long after flags are burned and buildings fall.
We built this virtual bookshelf so the stories would not vanish.
We are Palestinian Books – Stories That Refuse to Be Forgotten.