"I can't say that I haven't harmed a living soul. I sold books, after all." 
 I found myself captivated by the profound, often melancholic musings of the elderly Lebanese narrator, Aaliya. Her analysis of literature, religion, aging, loneliness, her family and the history of her hometown of Beirut were so subtly fascinating. She is open about her life experience, raw and self aware. I felt like I was reading letters from a close and interesting friend. 
 A woman who basically rebelled against the Patriarchy and the social norms of her country early on, with a combination of courage and circumstance. The title is a reference to what society around her saw her as because she was not married (it ended badly and she was glad of it) and never had or wanted children. By circumstance she ended up working at a book store most of her life where through literature, she expanded her world and solidified and owned her independence. She decided to devote her time to translating literature that she only did for herself. The story drags a bit with the name dropping of philosophers and authors, most of whom I've never heard of (some I looked up to consider the books she mentions). The stories of the people in her life from Ahmed to Hannah unfold in such an elegant way, placing them both in historical context and within Aaliya's personal life seamlessly, both entertaining me and giving me new information about a civil war I knew nothing about. Despite the tone of her words as she describes aging, I did not end up feeling empty as I often do after reading stories of people in the sunset of their lives. The ending was hopeful, happy even, in a very sincere and satisfying way.