Good Girl
By Aria Aber
Hogarth Press
Aria Aber's newly published “Good Girl” is an evocative debut novel that takes readers deep into the heart of a young Afghan woman’s struggle to carve out her identity in the fractured, racially divided world of Berlin. It is a story of rebellion, loss, and the complicated search for self in a world that seems determined to impose labels and expectations on its characters.
The novel follows Nila, the daughter of Afghan doctors who fled their homeland before her birth, as she tries to break free from the cultural constraints of her upbringing.
Nila’s story begins in the shadows of her parents' trauma, the deep fears and unresolved pain that they brought with them when they left Afghanistan. Raised in a brutalist social housing complex, Nila grows up with the weight of her family’s history of displacement, while trying to reconcile her Afghan identity with the realities of living in a city that feels foreign both to her and to her parents. From the very beginning, Aber paints a portrait of a young woman caught in a push-and-pull between the traditional values of her heritage and the lure of a modern, seemingly liberated Western life.
At the age of 19, after the death of her mother, Nila returns from boarding school, still clinging to the grief and emotional wounds left by that loss. She finds herself looking for a way out—out of the grief, out of the suffocating confines of her upbringing, and out of the social housing she was raised in. She begins to explore Berlin's night scene, throwing herself into the chaotic world of nightclubs, self-medication, and fleeting moments of escape. “A girl can get in almost anywhere, even if she can’t get out,” Nila states.
It’s in this world that she meets Marlowe Woods, a 36-year-old American man who, though charming, is ultimately the embodiment of the entitled, cringeworthy figure of the artist-mentor. Marlowe is a washed-up author who offers Nila the promise of drugs, artistic guidance, and a way out of her troubled life.
Nila and Marlowe’s dynamic is toxic but compelling. Marlowe is everything that Nila is both drawn to and repulsed by. He manipulates her emotionally and physically, taking advantage of her vulnerability. Despite these flaws, Nila finds herself caught in his orbit and lies about her identity to avoid confronting her Muslim background in a city where Muslims are stigmatized. Marlowe’s lack of questioning underscores the power imbalance between them. Despite the destructive relationship, Nila’s desire to become a photographer emerges as she attempts to establish a sense of agency and control over her life, to capture and make sense of the world around her in a way that feels true. Marlowe, however, sees himself as her guide, using the opportunity to further assert his influence over her.
Aber’s beautiful, poetic prose keeps the reader rooting for Nila even as she spirals deeper into her own lies and self-doubt. The complexity of her character—her vulnerabilities, her self-destructive tendencies, and her yearning for something more—makes her journey gripping. Her addiction to drugs, her lies, and the toxic choices she makes throughout the novel, her self-destruction and her flaws — despite having met this character trope time and again, Aber’s writing ensures that the reader remains invested in her story, rendering Nila undeniably compelling. Never more so than when she describes walking among those with the supposed freedom of choice; “people drinking mulled wine at Christmas markets, and between them, everywhere, there was a Mohammed or an Ali or an Aisha trying to get by.” Nila “hated everyone who had the same fate as I did … I was ravaged by the hunger to ruin my life.” Her loathing of her existence in the dual city of an impoverished immigrant and the Berlin beyond housing projects is palpable.
As Nila’s actions increasingly alienate her from those around her, especially her family, she feels the weight of shame. Not just of her behavior, but over her origins, and Nila begins to explore this shame, taking self-portraits in an attempt to reclaim her image. They become her way of seeing herself, to assert control over how she is perceived in a world that often reduces her to stereotypes.
In the novel, the phrase "good girl" takes on a central, powerful meaning, referring not only to Nila’s struggles with her parents' expectations but also to the societal and cultural pressures placed on her as an Afghan woman. In her family, being a "good girl" means adhering to the strictest standards of behavior—no drugs, no boyfriends, no rebellion. It is a concept loaded with the weight of tradition and honor, but for Nila, it represents everything that holds her back from being herself. As she rejects this ideal of "goodness" in favor of exploring her own identity, she takes risks, makes mistakes, and ultimately seeks out freedom in the spaces where she can express herself most fully. In the process, she also grapples with the guilt of not living up to the ideal of "goodness" her parents have set for her. Nila’s journey is one of rejecting the constraints of that label, only to realize that this rejection is not as simple as she once thought.
Aber’s ability to delve into complicated emotions, without offering succinct or easy resolutions makes “Good Girl” so remarkable. Nila’s story is one of self-discovery, yes, but it’s also a story of navigating cultural and generational divides. Her lies, to herself and others, speak to the larger theme of identity: how much of who we are is defined by the world around us, and how much of it is something we must create for ourselves.
