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Odd Girl Out by Tasneem Abdur-Rashid is the book she wished she had as a teenager.

A great book for teen readers, Odd Girl Out invites readers into the world of Maaryah who is negotiating the complexities of teenagerhood in a new school and a new country.  And it’s been carefully composed to be a genuine representation that shows that being a Muslim teenager means being – in Tasneem’s words – “as complex, vibrant, and diverse as any other group”.

She has very kindly written for us about the importance of authentic representation…

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A couple of weeks ago, a Muslim woman in Canada had her hijab almost set-alight whilst reading in a library. While the news sent waves of horror through me, I wasn’t shocked. It’s not the first time that Muslims have been targeted for their faith. In 2017, worshippers outside my local mosque in Finsbury Park, north London, were deliberately run over by a van after the nightly prayers in Ramadan. 2019 saw of the most devastating Islamophobic attacks in recent history – the Christchurch Mosque shootings in New Zealand, where 51 Muslims were murdered in a hate-fuelled attack. In that same year was the Chapel Hill shooting, where a newlywed Muslim couple were shot dead in their home.

Islamophobia has deep and complex roots, mostly stemming from a combination of historical conflicts, political agendas, media narratives, and social biases. When Muslim characters appear in mainstream media and literature, they are often misrepresented. They are shown as oppressed, hyper-conservative, or as perpetrators of violence – an image that has been fuelled by decades of biased narratives. These portrayals do serious harm. They reinforce stereotypes, normalise discrimination, and make it even harder for us to be seen as individuals rather than monolithic representations of our faith.

Growing up as a Muslim teenager in north London, I often felt like I was balancing precariously between two worlds. At home, my culture and faith were a source of comfort, yet outside, I was frequently reminded that I was different. The microaggressions, the stares, the constant need to explain my identity; it all added up and made me feel as though I didn’t belong. Even in diverse London, the feeling of being “othered” was inescapable at times.

It wasn’t just the big, obvious moments, like being called a ‘Paki’ in the street, but the smaller ones too. The way teachers would stumble over my name, the way people’s expressions changed when they realised I was Muslim, the questions that were asked to embarrass me, not because of a genuine desire to learn. I turned to books for solace, but I rarely found characters who looked like me or shared my experiences. That sense of invisibility was just as isolating as the discrimination itself.

I was twenty-two years-old when I finally read a book that I felt partly represented me. There is something profoundly powerful about picking up a book or watching a show and seeing a character who looks like you and shares your struggles and joys. It tells you that your story matters, that your experiences are worth telling. That moment was life-defining and made me realise that I couldn’t keep waiting for others to write the stories I wanted to read; I would have to write them myself. I wanted others to experience the same joy, the same breathless validation I did, when I read that book.

And that’s why I wrote Odd Girl Out – the sort of book I wish was available when I was growing up. Odd Girl Out is about fifteen-year-old Maaryah who is forced to leave her dad, friends, home and life in Dubai behind when her parents split up under mysterious circumstances. At its core, my debut Young Adult novel is about family, faith and fitting in. It’s about finding your feet in a brand-new country and life, the importance of staying true to yourself, and the power of friendship when finding your people. It explores everyday teenage struggles like complicated families, friendship group dramas and romance, but it also looks at deeper societal issues as well, like race, class structures, Islamophobia and bullying.

For young adult Muslim readers, authentic representation can be life-changing. It gives them permission to take up space and be proud of who they are. It tells them that they are not alone, that others have walked similar paths and have come out stronger. And for non-Muslim readers, these stories open doors to empathy and connection, breaking down the barriers that ignorance builds, because books have the power to foster understanding and empathy. I hope Odd Girl Out helps readers see beyond media stereotypes and political narratives, so that they can recognise and appreciate the shared humanity in all of us.

And ‘authentic’ is the key word here. Until recently, mainstream film, TV and books have missed stories that authentically represented Muslims, especially Muslim young people. When Muslims did appear on screens or pages, they were often portrayed through a narrow lens – either as oppressed or as villains, which reinforced damaging stereotypes. In reality, Muslim teenagers are as complex, vibrant, and diverse as any other group. They deserve to see themselves in books – and not just as background characters, but as protagonists whose stories are filled with joy, love, struggles, and triumphs.

 The landscape seems to be slowly shifting though, as more Muslim creatives have started to claim spaces to tell our stories. But representation is more than just a trend – it’s a necessity – and there is still a lot of work to be done in ensuring that all communities feel seek in the books that they read. We owe it to young people to give them stories that reflect the world they live in, in all its diversity.

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Many thanks to Tasneem for sharing her blog with us.  As she says the value of authentic representation is immense for both those seeing themselves as well as those seeing another’s perspectives and experiences.  Do click below to read more about Odd Girl Out and find out about our special discounts for schools.