When I read a book I normally read it faster than it could be spoken aloud. I quickly skim my finger over the page and the words fly past the part of my brain that turns thought into sound, right into my memory banks.

That wasn’t the case for this book.

When I was reading A Thousand Farewells, I heard the voice of Nahlah Ayed, the author, reading aloud to me. I’ve heard her speak many times on TV as a foreign correspondent for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, and as I slowed down and let her crisp, descriptive writing bring people and events to life, her voice grew even stronger in my head. Her journalist’s voice was loud and clear behind my eyes.

Ayed was born in Winnipeg, but her family moved to live in a refugee camp in Jordan for some of her childhood before moving back to Canada again. Her upbringing gave her an enhanced understanding of the cultures of the region she would later cover as a reporter.

A Thousand Farewells doesn’t focus on Ayed, even though she spends a great deal of time talking about her experiences. It feels like she is part teacher and part tour guide as she takes us from Baghdad to Beirut, and all across the Middle East. I admit that everything about how the culture and the politics of the region is tied to every day life is fascinating to me. The rich history and deep family memory that is carried between generations is both amazing and sometimes saddening. Ayed tells these extended stories simply and clearly, and at no point was I confused, even with all the dates and names that she mentioned. But I enjoy history, so the explanations for what she has experienced in a broader cultural context might not be for everyone.

Where A Thousand Farewells shines is in the realness of the people Ayed meets and whose stories she tells. Brilliant description, which is never too flowery or too detached, turns the people she meets from strangers on the television into people one could shake hands with. The book jacket says that “People are not quotes or clips, used to illustrate stories about war and conflict. People are the story, always.” Ayed stays true to that declaration throughout the book. While she might delve too deeply for some into history for some, that history is anchored to a real person, living and breathing, who gave her an interview.

Many people didn’t just give her interviews, they became her close friends as she lived her job. Without her having to delve deeply into her feelings or spend time drowning us in inner monologue, we realize that her work not only takes all of her time, but also takes a toll on her. It allows us to realize that there truly is a person doing difficult work because she believes that people need to have their story told, and because there is some rush that she gets from it too. Her work, without her saying so directly, is an addiction that can only be satisfied by being in the field, reporting.

That is definitely something that can provide a lesson for any aspiring, or current, journalists. The weight of needing to tell people’s stories can crush someone if they aren’t careful. Ayed carries the weight well, but we aren’t all built for it.

It can also teach anyone, not just journalists, how important it is to learn about and appreciate the cultures of other people before diving into their lives. A lot of Ayed’s insights, contacts and ability to clearly show us what going on comes from her understanding of the region. Some of that understanding came while she was working, but it also came from her family’s connection to the Middle East. Her writing is stronger and clearer because she knows what she is talking about.

A couple of weeks ago I saw the documentary film The Waiting Room. In that film, there was no narration, just cameras quietly following the stories of people. For the most part, A Thousand Farewells could be considered the book version of a documentary with little to no narration. When she is talking about individuals and their personal stories, her personal voice fades away and all we are left with is a scene. It’s not consistent throughout the whole book, but at the best of times, I didn’t hear a CBC Television report, I simply watched a scene unfold.

There were times while I was reading that I got emotional. Reading about people in situations that they have no control over, finding hope and then losing it, has always been able to get right at my core. People die. Contacts and friends close to Ayed go missing, and while much of the time she didn’t seem to crack, I did.

I think that the ability to do that to me, even if some parts of her book might seem more professional than personal, is the mark of a great book.

Here is an interview with Nahlah Ayed on The Hour on CBC.