Mustafa Marwan didn’t just wake up and imagine the trauma, chaos, and moral ambiguity that fill the pages of his debut novel, Guns and Almond Milk—he literally lived it. As a humanitarian worker in some of the world’s most volatile conflict zones, including Libya, Yemen, and other Arab Spring countries, Marwan has seen war up close. He’s witnessed the devastating effects of violence, displacement, and survival—experiences that have deeply informed his writing, lending it an authenticity and moral complexity that few authors can achieve.
But Marwan’s journey as a writer was not easy. “I had written just one page and then got stuck,” he told MILLE, noting that he left the manuscript untouched for years before returning to it. The lesson he learned, he says, is that “writing a book is 90% persistence and 10% talent.” After picking up where he left off, he committed to seeing it through. However, once the book was completed, he faced a long struggle to get it published, highlighting the cutthroat nature of the publishing industry, where even writers with powerful stories and unique perspectives can still struggle to find a place.
“I pitched to more than 300 literary agents and presses before finally getting published,” the writer shared. The book, which took around two years to write, took another three years to sell, due in part to the onset of COVID-19 in 2020. The global pandemic made it especially difficult to break into the industry, as more people than ever were writing books. Ultimately, networking played a key role in Marwan’s breakthrough when the managing editor at ArabLit Magazine got a copy of the novel and shared it with a few publishers. “Some of them responded, and I eventually chose my current publisher,” he revealed.
“Many of the scenes in my novel are real events that happened to me or people I encountered,” Marwan explained during our conversation. In one particularly harrowing instance, he recalls seeing a man killed by a shell during an aid mission. “The person got out of the car, looked up, and a shell hit him between his legs. He died right in front of us,” he recounted. “We may have had the same fate as this man. We were just lucky by fractions of seconds.” This moment, like many others, found its way into the opening scene of Guns and Almond Milk—a brutal explosion at a checkpoint that sets the tone for the novel’s exploration of survival in a chaotic, morally ambiguous world.
For Marwan, writing is not just a creative outlet but a form of testimony. He views himself as a witness to stories that might otherwise go untold, using fiction as a means of asking difficult questions rather than providing easy answers. “There are no clear good or bad guys in my stories,” he explained. “Everyone is flawed, just like the people I’ve met in real life.” This dilemma is central to Guns and Almond Milk, where characters grapple with addiction, violence, and ethical compromises in the face of war and survival.
The book may be set in the volatile landscape of Yemen, but it is far from a traditional war novel told by outsiders who often lack the depth of understanding that comes from cultural proximity. While Marwan is not from Yemen, as an Arab humanitarian aid worker, he shares more cultural, historical, and regional ties with the people there than a Western observer would. This gives him a unique perspective—he is an outsider, but one whose shared context and knowledge bring deeper layers to his storytelling.
At its core, the novel is a noir thriller, a genre known for its exploration of moral ambiguity and flawed characters. Marwan uses this genre not only to make his story more accessible but also to create a space where his firsthand experiences of war can be processed and understood.
His protagonist, Luke Archer, a British Muslim war surgeon, is taken hostage in a besieged hospital, caught between rebel forces and ruthless security contractors. As Luke navigates the physical dangers around him, he is also forced to confront deeper questions about his identity and moral compass. This dual tension—both external and internal—drives the narrative forward, showing that survival in a warzone isn’t just about staying alive, but about grappling with the cost of survival.
Yet what sets Guns and Almond Milk apart from other thrillers is its grounding in the absurd realities of modern humanitarian work, particularly in the SWANA region. “Many of the surreal moments in the novel actually happened,” Marwan revealed, recalling how an aid worker once asked about almond milk during a tense security briefing in a war zone. It’s this blend of dark humor and life-or-death stakes that gives the novel its unique tone, mirroring the absurdities Marwan has witnessed in real life.
“I believe in the power of sarcasm,” the author said, reflecting on how he uses dark humor to lighten the heavy themes in his work. “It’s a way to cope with the absurdity of what I’ve seen.” This biting humor runs throughout Guns and Almond Milk, offering moments of levity amid the tension of war and survival, and reminding readers that even in the darkest situations, there is space for the absurd.
For Marwan, writing is also a way to bear witness to the horrors and complexities of war. He sees it as a form of testimony, a responsibility to give voice to the stories of those who may never have the platform to tell their own. “I once asked someone at a frontline hospital what they needed most,” he said. “They replied, ‘Just for someone to witness our story.’ That stayed with me. I feel a responsibility to tell these stories, to witness for those who can’t.”
Marwan’s journey as a writer is deeply tied to his need to process the trauma he has witnessed. “There are things I couldn’t fully understand or cope with until I wrote them down,” he admitted. “Writing helps me retain my sanity.” This therapeutic approach to writing is evident in Guns and Almond Milk, where Marwan blends real-life events with fictionalized characters, using the narrative to grapple with the psychological toll of witnessing violence and destruction.
While Guns and Almond Milk is a fast-paced thriller, it is also a deeply reflective novel about identity and survival. Luke Archer is not just trying to escape a life-threatening situation—he’s also grappling with his identity as a British Muslim navigating a world that views him with suspicion. The novel raises complex questions about assimilation, loyalty, and belonging, themes drawn directly from Marwan’s own life.
The writer’s personal experience navigating multiple identities across borders—moving between Western and Middle Eastern contexts—permeates the novel. “One of the major themes in my work is the integration of Muslims in the West,” Marwan explained. But instead of offering neat solutions, the novel leaves readers with more questions than answers, reflecting the real-life complexities of identity in a fractured world.
Luke’s struggle with his cultural identity mirrors the moral grey zones of the war-torn landscape he finds himself in, forcing him to confront not only external threats but also the internal conflicts that have defined much of his life. As a British Muslim, he’s caught between two worlds, unsure where he truly belongs—a theme that resonates throughout the novel. This tension between personal survival and cultural identity adds depth to Luke’s journey, making him more than just a character fighting to stay alive—he is a man searching for meaning and belonging in a world that is constantly pulling him in opposite directions.
With Guns and Almond Milk, Marwan has emerged as a fresh voice in contemporary fiction. His novel offers a rare combination of gritty realism, dark humor, and psychological depth, drawing on his personal experiences to create a story that is both thrilling and thought-provoking.
For readers seeking more than just an action-packed thriller, Guns and Almond Milk provides a window into the human side of war—exploring the moral dilemmas, identity crises, and absurdities of survival that define life on the frontlines. It’s a novel that lingers in the mind long after the final page is turned, leaving readers to wrestle with the difficult questions it raises.
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