In her debut novel Fundamentally (Hachette UK, 2025), Nussaibah Younis ambitiously tackles one of the thorniest contemporary issues to land on the desks of policymakers and inspire the impassioned op-eds of many a columnist: what to do with so-called “ISIS brides.” Even more ambitious is her decision to opt for satire as a vehicle to explore the question. The choice quickly reveals itself to be an ideal one, highlighting the absurdities involved in managing the fallout of the Islamic State’s dissolution via protagonist Dr. Nadia Amin, an academic from London who arrives in Iraq tasked with deradicalizing the women who traveled there in support of the caliphate.
When the UN calls on her to assist in their program (aptly named “UNDO”) to rehabilitate and repatriate foreign women affiliated with ISIS, Nadia accepts. Initially spurred to action less by ideals than by heartbreak over her failed relationship with lover Rosie, Nadia is nevertheless a woman of conviction—even if that conviction is in the ability of her willpower to effect change in an area of the world notoriously associated with the word “quagmire” and bogged down by foreign incursions, decades of conflict, and a reign of terror.
Once Nadia arrives in Iraq and is ready to transform theory into practice, it becomes apparent that she is out of her depth. Complicating matters further is the ineffectual administrative mill she must go up against to fulfill her mission: From petty infighting and ministers who squander UN budget on lavish trips to local tribal leaders who expect bribes and direct reports who hinder her progress (either resentful of the position she occupies as a newbie or genuinely concerned over the ethics of the project), the odds against her seem stacked.
Nadia’s mission becomes personal at the camp for ISIS women in Ninewah, where she meets Sara, the widow of a fighter. The wisecracking, foul-mouthed, painfully young East Londoner tells Nadia she traveled to Iraq at the earnest petitioning of her best friend, who told her, “It’s paradise here.” The parallels between Sara’s story and that of real-life ISIS bride Shamima Begum are pronounced—including their East London background, the young ages at which they embarked on their journey to ISIS-controlled territory, and the status of statelessness they incurred as a result. The encounter reminds Nadia of a summer she spent at Muslim camp when she was fifteen years old, listening to the rousing speeches of a preacher—none other than Anwar Al-Awlaki:
“He told stories about the Prophet Muhammad and his followers; the charm of their foibles and the humanity of their doubts. He described heart-wrenching defeats, grinding years of suffering and ecstatic victories. His words spun vivid images of the utopia they fought to create, the world as it could be if we emulated their self-sacrificing ways. A place that thrived in the service of God, where fairness and generosity prevailed, where communities of faith overcame isolation, disconnection and ennui. The more he taught, the higher we rose above our petty, ordinary lives.”
Nadia confesses she “would have gone with him,” had he traveled to join Al-Qaeda at that time.
Using her own fundamentalist background to bond with Sara, Nadia defies her colleague, who warns her she is “getting attached” and behaving unprofessionally. She draws closer to the young woman, her initial affection spiraling into obsession when she discovers that Sara has a baby girl who was taken from her. Nadia embarks on a daring journey to rescue Sara from a life languishing in the camp for what Nadia perceives as a juvenile mistake, placing her reputation on the line and, later, her own life, “navigating the Zagros Mountains on a freezing September night, wearing a trouser suit and ballet flats” to smuggle Sara across the Iraqi–Turkish border.
Younis, given her expertise in Iraqi politics and international affairs, offers welcome insight into a realm that is often only shown in snippets on the news. What’s more, she does so with humor that offsets the serious nature of the topics at hand, taking playful jabs at Western expectations of Iraq in contrast to its reality, the universal nature of misogyny, and the ego-driven motives belying the pompous rhetoric of many humanitarian workers. Indeed, among the novel’s strengths is its portrayal of agencies whose incompetence and self-serving behavior harm the very people they purport to help. Nadia sees this pattern play out in her own actions as she, while well-meaning, inadvertently compromises Sara’s chances at repatriation, leading her to wonder whether she is really doing the right thing or indulging in a savior complex—and whether her identification with Sara is not in itself a form of selfishness.
Younis excels where she asks the big questions: Are the seeds of failure not inherent in a mission that seeks, as its name suggests, to undo the damage wrought by the very foreign powers it represents? Is it at all possible to act independently of one’s own interests, and does it even matter if the right results are achieved? How should women affiliated with ISIS be viewed—as naive victims, perpetrators with agency, or both? While these conundrums are, for the most part, treated with refreshing ambiguity worthy of their complexity, the novel takes a clear stance on the last one. It portrays the women as a motley crew of hapless—and ultimately harmless—victims of utopian ideals who don’t deserve to be in the camps. This portrayal neglects the abundant evidence of ISIS wives enabling the inhumane practices of their husbands by inflicting torture upon victims and helping form an all-women morality police brigade. It is difficult to deny the gruesome violence of ISIS or construe it as enemy lies when the militant group itself proudly disseminated footage of its executions as part of its propaganda.
Less impressive than the novel’s portrayal of the red tape involved in similar missions and its exploration of redemption are the characters who make up Nadia’s Western coworkers and love and lust interests, who seem inspired by starter-pack memes: the Jordan Peterson–quoting, benignly chauvinistic (if there exists such a thing), well-muscled meathead Tom; the self-righteous, polyamorous, hypersexual, love-bombing-and-discarding Rosie; the sassy, worldly, fashion-forward, gay Frenchman Pierre; the yoga-loving, reiki-healing, inner-light-summoning Californian convert imam Jason; and the stiff, social justice warrior Sherri, enamored with abstract ideas that have little basis in the world outside her academic ivory tower. With a single exception, conspicuously absent from the main cast are ordinary Iraqis themselves who, while among the principal victims of the atrocities perpetrated by ISIS, are relegated to the background.
Younis’s prose is replete with quips reminiscent of Marvel one-liners, and the humor, while brilliant in many instances, relies heavily on sexual innuendo. Additionally, the narrative’s dynamic energy culminates in a rushed ending that would have benefitted from a more measured pace. Despite these shortcomings, Younis delivers a robust and unique story that addresses pertinent topics from the qualified perspective of someone who’s been in the bureaucratic trenches of post-war Iraq.
