Name: It Ain't So Awful, Falafel
Price: 6.99 USD
Availability: InStock
Rating: 4.7 (465 reviews)

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author Firoozeh Dumas was born in Abadan, Iran, and moved to Whittier, California at the age of seven. After a two-year stay, she and her family moved back to Iran and lived in Ahvaz and Tehran. Two years later, they moved back to Whittier, then to Newport Beach. She lives in Munich, Germany, with her husband and three children.

Product Description

Zomorod (Cindy) Yousefzadeh is the new kid on the block...for the fourth time.
California’s Newport Beach is her family’s latest perch, and she’s determined to shuck her brainy loner persona and start afresh with a new Brady Bunch name—Cindy.
It’s the late 1970s, and fitting in becomes more difficult as Iran makes U.S. headlines with protests, revolution, and finally the taking of American hostages. Even puka shell necklaces, pool parties, and flying fish can't distract Cindy from the anti-Iran sentiments that creep way too close to home.
A poignant yet lighthearted middle grade debut from the author of the bestselling Funny in Farsi. California Library Association’s John and Patricia Beatty Award Winner Florida Sunshine State Young Readers Award (Grades 6–8) New York Historical Society’s New Americans Book Prize Winner Middle East Book Award for Youth Literature, Honorable Mention Booklist 50 Best Middle Grade Novels of the 21st Century

Review

"This book is a sheer delight—rambunctious and rich. . . . Firoozeh Dumas writes with the perfect light touch that makes us wonder once again: Who is running the big world and why not this person, please?" — Naomi Shihab Nye, novelist and poet
"[A]n honest, witty, and moving portrayal of what it means to be an Iranian immigrant in the late 1970s, during the Iran hostage crisis. — Scholastic Teacher Magazine

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

NUMBER FOUR
Today’s Sunday and we’re moving, again. Not everything fit in the moving truck, so our huge light blue Chevrolet Impala, or “land yacht,” as the used-car salesman called it, is filled to the brim with boxes, pillows, and kitchen appliances. The back window’s rolled down so the vacuum cleaner handle can stick out.
I am eleven years old, and this is my fourth move. I haven’t met anyone who has moved so many times before sixth grade. Normal families move once or twice because they find a house with a swimming pool or more closet space, in the same town. Every time we move, it’s to a new city or a new country.
I was born in Abadan, Iran. When I was in second grade, we moved to Compton, California. We stayed two years. For fourth grade, we moved back to Iran. Fifth grade, back to Compton. Now we’re moving to Newport Beach. The two cities are only an hour apart, but they might as well be in different galaxies. In Newport Beach, there’s no graffiti on the walls or overturned shopping carts on the sides of freeways. You don’t see any stores with broken windows. There are trees everywhere and the city looks like it has just come back from a visit to a beauty salon. Where are the rusty cars with missing tires? Not in Newport Beach. There are a lot of those in Compton, usually on people’s front lawns.
If our crazy nomadic life has taught us one thing, it’s this: Don’t buy stuff that breaks easily. Everything has to be packed sooner or later. Even our plants are made of plastic. Wherever we live, we have our fake red roses in the living room and the fake yellow daisies in our kitchen. They’re ugly and don’t look real at all; they look like those plants in horror movies that come to life and eat people. But they’re one of the few constants in my life. At least they’re always there.
The only time a kid came to my house after school in Compton, we were walking to my room when she suddenly stopped in front of the plants and asked what they were for. I thought that was a stupid question. I mean, how many possible uses could there be? They’re just plastic flowers. But later, I realized that they are so big and ugly that they look like they

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