Review of the Day: The Teacher of Nomad Land by Daniel Nayeri

The Teacher of Nomad Land: A World War II Story
By Daniel Nayeri
Levine Querido
ISBN: 9781646145669
$18.99
Ages 9-12
On shelves now

Daniel Nayeri keeps getting away with murder. Where other authors follow the beaten path and churn out respectable, comprehensible, perfectly decent works of historical fiction, Nayeri has this tendency to sort of pad in before blowing up assumptions left, right, and center. One Such Assumption: Historical Fiction is Boring. If the first few pages of Nayeri’s Newbery Honor winning title The Many Assassinations of Samir, the Seller of Dreams didn’t upend that idea entirely (running for your life from monks that want to stone you to death is always a good start) then I’m not sure what else could. Or how about the (unspoken) assumptions that historical fiction for kids is long, usually set in America (though you can get away with Europe if it involves a war), and should be deadly serious. The Teacher of Nomad Land should, by all rights, AT LEAST be joke-free, right? I mean, it’s friggin’ set in Iran during WWII. That sounds serious! And it has orphans and nasty German spies and Holocaust survivors. Yet I’ve noticed something about Daniel Nayeri. With every middle grade novel for kids that he writes he gets a little bit sharper. A little bit sleeker. A little bit funnier. A little bit faster. And this latest title? It’s a little bit one of the best books of the year and then some. It’s a little bit legendary.

It’s World War II in Iran (1941) and Babak and his kid sister Sana have been orphaned. Their father, who teaches the nomads how to read and write, was accidentally killed when he was mistaken for an enemy by British soldiers. When staying with relatives becomes intolerable, Babak and Sana set forth to join the nomads themselves. Their plan is simple. Babak will pick up where his father left off as a teacher, and Sana will do whatever odd jobs need doing. Unfortunately, this plan falls apart pretty quickly and the next thing the kids know they’re on their own, trying to trace their steps back the way they came over the mountains. Little do they know they’ll soon be escaping a Nazi soldier, take on the Jewish boy he’s tracking, befriend a British soldier, and solve a language puzzle all with the aid of the blackboard Babak keeps strapped to his back.

I wouldn’t say that I’m against war novels, but I don’t seek them out on a regular basis. So while I know that the subtitle of this book (“A World War II Story”) will probably lure in some readers, for kids like me they may need a bit of coaxing. Maybe you should tell them that it’s deeply enjoyable, because that was certainly my greatest shock upon getting a page or two into it. The two main characters have just been orphaned and they’re distraught but by page four Babak and his sister are debating the best way to write the word “Baba” on his gravestone and whether or not a stick or a dull knife is going to get the job done. It’s incredible how quickly Nayeri is able to not only catch up the reader in terms of time, place, and actions that have just occurred (the death of Baba), but he has the ability to establish both these characters’ personalities and their relationship to one another in record time. That’s impressive, but what’s extraordinary is that you also really like them. Some writers struggle and strain to make their characters likeable and then here’s Nayeri just making it happen almost instantaneously. Authors Beware: Reading this book may cause extreme bouts of envy.

I’m sure that the fact that the entire book is written in the present tense means something. I don’t know what, precisely, but the act is so rare in the world of children’s literature that it stands out. It would be as if this book were written in the second person. Clearly Nayeri did it on purpose, but why? If I were to loft a theory in your general direction, I’d wager that it had something to do with telling a tale from the past. WWII is ancient history of kids yet in the characters of Babak and Sana young readers find characters that (as I mentioned before) you relate to instantly. It all comes down to Nayeri’s writing, which is punctuated throughout not just with humor but with these little bright spots of writing. I listened to the audiobook which is a marvelous way to be introduced to this title (Nayeri reads it himself, and that’s a particular treat) but it didn’t allow me to highlight the lines I liked best. I’d just be listening and then all at once the text would be punctuated by these little spots of brilliance or insightfulness or cleverness. It’s incredibly good, and the plot? The plot is everything you would want. Danger, friendship, frustration, and a chase sequence at the end that you won’t be able to stop thinking about.

The best writers for kids respect kids. Or, rather, respect kids’ capacity for complexity. If you view childhood through the gauzy glass of nostalgia, conveniently forgetting all its sharp edges and contrasts, then your writing will reflect that. If, on the other hand, you’ve a fair view of it and a willingness to give kids something to chew on, your book will be all the better for it. Take the soldiers in this book. There is a moment in the book when Babak is reunited with a British soldier who has been kind to him. Until now Nayeri has done an exquisite job of explaining why the citizens of Iran aren’t particularly fond of the British. Yet the man has been a kind face in a harsh war. Even so, there comes a moment when soldiers, including this one, from a variety of nations engage in a demand of bribes that isn’t just expected, it’s perfunctory. This isn’t something that is seriously challenged, not even from the seemingly kind British man. Being nice to kids is one thing, but getting a cut of profits is another entirely.

Even more complicated and difficult is the character of Ben, the Jewish boy on the run. He’s lived through horrors, lost his family, escaped and starved and survived, and through it all Nayeri adamantly refuses to make him two-dimensional. Considering what he’s lived through, it almost feels dangerous for the author to give the guy a distinct personality, but that’s precisely what’s happened here. Ben, you absolutely know, isn’t looking for pity. Not from the other characters and not from the reader. He has goals and dreams and he’s determined to follow through on them. As a result, he’s spiky and difficult at times, and watching the dynamic between him and the siblings is utterly unique. When they first find him, you think you know where the relationship might go, but it’s isn’t like that at all. Ben is completely real, and you get the sense that he wouldn’t want to be predictable. It’s something you have to respect.

For the record, I didn’t know where any of this was going either. I have a tendency to avoid plot descriptions when I pick up books, just on the off-chance that there’s some big reveal spoiled there (it happens more often than you’d think). I like walking into a book cold, trying to predict where the author is going with the story. I’ve read enough novels for kids that often I’m right. However, with The Teacher of Nomad Land I felt completely out to sea. For example, there’s a big significant moment that happens at Chapter 11 that had me completely baffled. Wait.. the story’s going in THAT direction now? But… but… what???

Oh. Quick warning, by the way. I’m invoking the “Grace Lin Rule”. Which is to say, read this book on a full stomach. Years ago I sat on the tarmac of an airport as my flight decided it would rather just sit without moving for hours on end, as my stomach rumbled. Having decided that it would be a good idea to read a Grace Lin book to pass the time, I found myself drooling over long passages involving descriptions of food that made my hunger far worse than it would have been otherwise. Nayeri does something similar in this book. Babak and Sana don’t have a lot of food with them, but when they prepare meals you might feel inclined towards voraciousness. One particular meal involves flatbread, cooked shallots and zalzalaks (similar to crabapples), ghee butter, cheese, and honeycomb. Doggone it. I’m hungry just writing that.

I dunno. It’s just sort of the best. The kind of book you read and then instantly recognize as incredible and a future classic (though we’re not supposed to invoke the “C” word so soon). But anyone that reads this title will recognize that fact. Apparently, if you just reduce Nayeri’s words down to their most essential parts, you get a book that kids will genuinely enjoy reading and that their adult gatekeepers will acknowledge as “great literature” and all that. Humor and heart. Kid-friendliness and scintillating writing. Characters you care about, a plot you can’t predict, and a setting I am almost certain has never appeared in an American middle grade novel before. This review is probably just as long as the book is, and not half as interesting, so I’ll end it there. And if you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself a copy and start reading it yourself. See what all the fuss is about.

On shelves now.

Source: Reviewed from eaudiobook borrowed from library.

Misc: I was able, earlier in the year, to show off a SLEW of alternative book jackets for this title earlier this year. Take a gander at what could have been here.

Videos: Here’s one Daniel made about creating the book:

Filed under: Best Books, Best Books of 2025, Reviews