Good For Nothing

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I’m not actively trying to teach anyone anything or trying to dispel a stereotype. I’m letting people be themselves. I work as a teacher in quite a deprived area. There’s a defiant “it is what it is” mentality here and I respect that. There’s this idea that we have to be palatable and soft and that we have to do all these things to be seen as exceptional. My three main characters are not the perfect representation of being Muslim or a person of colour. That was very intentional. I want all the children who make trouble in class to laugh.” She says if the novel feels authentic “it’s because I was thinking would the kids in my class like this? Would they find it funny? And if they wouldn’t laugh then I just wouldn’t write it.” Ansar hopes her pupils will connect with the book’s setting, too : “if they couldn’t say ‘I’ve been to that supermarket’, or walked in that park … it just wouldn’t work in the same way.” “My students are from deprived communities”, she says. “I want these characters to feel real, I think especially because they’re under-represented voices.”

Absolutely loved this book. I often wished when I was teaching in inner city Bradford 30 years ago that their were more books like this around. I want people to recognise the humanity of people and qualities that can seem abrasive, or angry, but are actually just misunderstood” Mariam Ansar says: ‘This book is a love letter to every forgotten northern town, every young person of colour that has struggled to feel understood not simply in the depths of their misery – but also in the depths of their private joy. This one is for those whose smiles are sometimes read as troublesome, whose laughter is falsely labelled disruptive, whose silences are often misinterpreted. I hope it soothes. I hope it provokes anger. I hope it causes laughter upon laughter – and a secret tiny sob. My endless thanks goes to Sara and the team at Penguin Random House for their support with nurturing Good For Nothing, WriteNow for seeing something in its ugly baby stage, and of course, Claire Wilson, for helping me walk the story – slowly and carefully – to life.’This is a true flavour of the diverse Yorkshire I love and I hope it makes its way onto the school curriculum. Jafari said: “As soon as we read this all of us at Puffin knew we had something seriously special on our hands. Good For Nothing is emotional and heartbreaking – but also funny and relatable – and completely unlike anything I have read before. We are so proud to be the publisher launching Mariam’s writing career as a new literary talent to watch.”

In part she feels responsible for widening pupils’ access to cultural capital, while not talking down to them. Her students know how much she loves Shakespeare (” Miss if you like him so much, why don’t you just marry him?“) but she emphasises her ability to code-switch, using the classroom to talk about everything from the celebrated bard to notorious bars. To the room, her love for teaching young people is obvious. To her students, she says “they should stop commenting on my TikToks”.It is a realistic dip into the lives of diverse communities in Yorkshire and is written with compassion and awareness of the many hurdles Northern teens from marhinalised groups have to overcome. As well as being a damn good story, Good for Nothing carries a valuable message that resonated with me. Good for Nothing is a tender, witty and heartfelt coming of age story that follows three teens grappling with grief and police prejudice in the North of England. This rich and warmly written novel redefines small town mentalities and explores the power of friendship and human connection. It is the perfect next read for fans of And the Stars Were Burning Brightly and The Hate U Give. I kept notebooks dedicated to shaping my characterisation of Eman, Amir and Kemi. I created a brother for Amir: Zayd Ali. The Hector to his Paris, the one who would always save him, even if it meant his own death. They’re students, shopkeepers, taxi drivers, teachers, accountants, journalists, doctors, entrepreneurs… Who writes for them? The real people? Including the northern, brown-skinned, kasmey-yelling bros who act hard, and feel hard, but aren’t, underneath it all? A picture of West Yorkshire Told from the points of view of three diverse teen characters, I became more invested in each character's journey in a world that is complex and where often they have no voice. Glimpses into their lifestyles, their thoughts and fears, their relationships and their desire to live their best life, evoked many different emotions.

My sister’s retelling of three South Asian women, clad in salwar kameez, sharing a purse to buy themselves chocolates. My students, arguing with such colourful aggression, and wondering why I can’t tell when they’re joking. Then there are the stories from Pakistan, Latvia, Romania, Croatia and - oh, just down the road. I am unsure if the silent majority recognises what stories they live every day. Certainly the young child that I was on my grandma’s street, arm in arm with a neighbour with the same name, face, and stance as my own, wouldn’t. Though the narrative changed after these initial thoughts, Zayd’s death did end up becoming the catalyst for the entire novel. Nor the mosque attendees of mine and my siblings’ youth, who drew unflattering images of our teachers and flashed them to the class with ease.My characters - much to the dismay of the students I teach every day at a school in Bradford - are not based on anyone in particular. Yet they are an amalgamation of everyone I have met, seen, spoken to, and not spoken to. I think that it is the job of the writer to bottle magic.