History isn't just a list of dates. It's people. Specifically, it’s people caught in the crossfire of decisions made by men in rooms thousands of miles away. If you’ve ever picked up Suzanne Fisher Staples’ novel, Under the Persimmon Tree, you know exactly what I mean. It’s a book that hits differently now than it did when it first hit shelves in 2005. Honestly, reading it today feels like looking through a telescope at a world that hasn't changed nearly enough.
The story is set right after the September 11 attacks, specifically during the 2001 U.S. bombing of Afghanistan. It follows two women: Najmah, a young Afghan girl whose family is torn apart by the Taliban and the war, and Nusrat, an American woman (born Elaine) who converted to Islam and is running a school for refugee children in Peshawar, Pakistan. Their lives are messy. Their grief is heavy. And the way Staples weaves their perspectives together isn't just clever storytelling—it’s a gut punch.
What Under the Persimmon Tree Gets Right About the Refugee Experience
Most war stories focus on the soldiers. They focus on the strategy. This book doesn't care about any of that. Instead, it focuses on the "collateral damage." That's a cold term, isn't it? In the book, it’s not a term; it’s Najmah’s reality.
When Najmah’s father and brother are conscripted by the Taliban, she's left alone with her mother and newborn brother. Then the bombs start falling. Staples lived in Asia for years as a UPI correspondent, and it shows in the details. She doesn't just say "it was dusty." She describes the specific smell of the air, the way the stars look when you're sleeping on a hillside because your house is no longer safe, and the paralyzing fear of being a girl alone in a landscape where gender is a death sentence or a prison.
It’s brutal.
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But it’s also incredibly human. You see the internal struggle of Nusrat, who is waiting for news of her husband, Faiz, a doctor who went to the front lines to help. She’s stuck in the "waiting room" of the world, Peshawar, which Staples portrays as a chaotic, vibrant, yet desperate hub for those with nowhere else to go.
The Dual Perspective Narrative
The structure is a bit of a gamble. We jump between Najmah’s journey across the mountains and Nusrat’s daily life at her school, "Fatima’s School," under—you guessed it—a persimmon tree.
Najmah’s chapters are told in the first person. They feel immediate. Raw. You're in her head as she disguises herself as a boy just to survive the trek to Pakistan. It’s a classic survival trope, but here it feels less like a plot device and more like a grim necessity. Nusrat’s chapters are in the third person. This creates a distance that mirrors Nusrat’s own feeling of being an outsider. She’s an American. She’s a convert. She’s a widow? Maybe? She doesn't know. That ambiguity is where the emotional weight of the book lives.
Realism vs. Young Adult Tropes
Is this a YA book? Technically, yes. But it’s not Twilight. It deals with themes that many adults find uncomfortable. We’re talking about the unintended consequences of American foreign policy, the extremist interpretation of religion, and the absolute vulnerability of women in conflict zones.
Some critics have argued that the ending feels a bit too "neat" for such a messy subject. I get that. Real life rarely offers the kind of closure we see under the persimmon tree. However, Staples isn't writing a political manifesto. She’s writing about hope. If you take away the hope, the book becomes an exercise in trauma porn, and she’s too good a writer for that.
- The Stars: Najmah’s knowledge of astronomy, taught to her by her father, is a recurring motif. It’s her map. In a world where every landmark is being blown up, the stars stay put.
- The Tree: It’s a symbol of growth and endurance in a place where everything else is being uprooted.
- Language: Staples uses Pashto and Dari terms naturally. She doesn't over-explain. You're expected to keep up.
Why the 2001 Setting Matters in 2026
We’re looking back at this from a distance of a quarter-century. The U.S. has since withdrawn from Afghanistan. The Taliban is back in power. The girls’ schools that Nusrat dreamed of are largely shuttered again.
Reading Under the Persimmon Tree now feels hauntingly cyclical. The "Persimmon Tree" could be any sanctuary in any conflict—Gaza, Ukraine, Sudan. The geography changes, but the story of a child losing their family to a "precision strike" is unfortunately timeless.
One thing people often miss is the nuance Staples brings to the portrayal of Islam. Nusrat’s conversion isn't portrayed as a betrayal of her roots or a whim. It’s a deeply intellectual and spiritual choice. It’s a bridge. In a post-9/11 world that was (and often still is) flooded with Islamophobia, showing a character who finds peace and purpose in the faith while fighting against the extremism that perverts it was a radical move.
Understanding the Cultural Nuance
Staples doesn't shy away from the flaws of her characters. Nusrat can be stubborn. Najmah can be paralyzed by her grief. They aren't saints. They’re survivors.
The book also does a great job of showing the different "types" of Afghans. There are the Taliban, yes. But there are also the villagers who just want to be left alone to farm their land. There are the urban intellectuals who lost everything. There are the refugees who have been in camps for decades, dating back to the Soviet invasion. It’s a layered look at a country that Western media often flattens into a single image of rubble and veils.
The Reality of the Journey
When Najmah travels, she’s not just walking. She’s dodging landmines. She’s avoiding "press gangs." She’s dealing with the physical reality of hunger and thirst. Staples’ background as a journalist is her secret weapon here. The pacing of Najmah’s journey feels sluggish in parts, but that’s the point. Refugee travel is 10% terror and 90% exhausting, dusty waiting.
If you’re looking for a fast-paced thriller, this isn't it. But if you want a book that makes you sit with the weight of someone else’s life, this is the gold standard.
Honestly, the middle section where Najmah is in the refugee camp is some of the most difficult writing to get through. Not because it’s bad—but because it’s so vivid. The smell of open sewers, the sound of thousands of people coughing, the sheer indignity of waiting in line for a handful of flour. It makes the "Under the Persimmon Tree" school feel like a literal Eden.
Actionable Steps for Readers and Educators
If you are reading this for a book club or teaching it in a classroom, don't just stop at the final page. The book is a gateway to a much larger conversation.
- Check the Map: Look at the geography of the Khyber Pass. Understanding the terrain Najmah crossed adds a whole new level of respect for her character.
- Compare Eras: Research the status of girls' education in Afghanistan in 1999, 2010, and today. The parallels are staggering and give the book a "living history" feel.
- Explore the Author: Read Suzanne Fisher Staples’ other work, like Shabanu: Daughter of the Wind. She has a consistent knack for writing about the crossroads of tradition and modernity.
- Look into NGOs: Research organizations like the Sahar Education or the Malala Fund. They are doing the real-world work that Nusrat’s character started under her tree.
- Analyze the Astronomy: Look up the constellations mentioned in the book. Seeing what Najmah saw connects you to the character in a way that prose sometimes can’t.
Under the Persimmon Tree isn't just a relic of the early 2000s. It’s a mirror. It asks us what we owe to the people whose lives are disrupted by the "big" movements of history. It doesn't give an easy answer, because there isn't one. But it forces you to look, and sometimes, that’s the most important first step.
The book ends not with a victory, but with a beginning. It’s a quiet reminder that even when the world is on fire, people will still try to plant trees. They will still try to teach children. They will still look at the stars and try to find their way home. That’s why it’s still on school curriculums. That’s why people are still discovering it decades later. It’s a tough read, but a necessary one.