Review of The Forty Rules of Love by Elif Shafak

Elif Shafak’s The Forty Rules of Love is an internationally acclaimed novel that intertwines two parallel narratives—one set in the 13th century, revolving around the legendary spiritual bond between Jalaluddin Rumi and Shams of Tabriz, and the other set in contemporary times, exploring the personal transformation of a housewife named Ella. Shafak, a celebrated Turkish-British author known for her works that blend mysticism, feminism, and politics, attempts in this novel to present the essence of Sufism through accessible fiction.
However, as a Muslim reader with a conscious engagement with the subject of religion, I found myself pausing often, questioning not just the storytelling but the theological and spiritual accuracy of the content. The way Islam, and Sufism in particular, is framed in the book sometimes comes across as if it were a separate, even alternative, religion to Islam. That portrayal raises important concerns about misrepresentation, especially when the subject matter is as sensitive and profound as faith.
To be fair, a writer doesn’t have to be Muslim to speak truthfully about Islam. But if one chooses to write about a faith, especially to center an entire novel around its spiritual core, it becomes imperative to rely on accurate, credible sources. That responsibility is heightened when the narrative draws heavily on historical figures like Rumi and Shams, who are revered in Islamic history not as saints with supernatural powers, but as devout scholars and mystics.
There are passages where the portrayal of Islam feels one-dimensional, often emphasizing severity or rigidity, while ignoring its expansive spirit of mercy, wisdom, and inner beauty. The book seems to construct a frame in which Islam is mostly rules and restrictions, while the “true” love and spirituality are implied to lie outside of that frame. This is a disservice not only to Islam but also to Sufism, which is in fact a deeply rooted Islamic tradition, not an independent or contrasting belief system.
One particular example that raised my concerns was the mention of a Hadith in which the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) supposedly expressed pity for three types of people. This Hadith is, quite frankly, nonexistent. Whether it was fabricated for the sake of narrative or simply a result of poor research, such inaccuracies are troubling. As someone who does not claim to have memorized Hadith literature, even I could sense immediately that something was off. This calls into question the level of scrutiny the author gave to the Islamic sources used throughout the book.
Another point of criticism is the infusion of magical realism or what I would call “spiritual science fiction.” Instances like Shams pulling soaked books out of water without damage, or Kimya speaking to ghosts, felt more fantastical than spiritual. While the intention might have been to create a mystical ambiance, such elements distance the story from the reality of Islamic spirituality, which is deeply logical, grounded, and never detached from the natural order except in the case of miracles, granted only to Prophets.
Rumi and Shams are not prophets; they are real historical figures whose legacy lies in their poetry, wisdom, and deep devotion to God, not in supernatural feats. Adding such elements not only undermines the authenticity of their story but also confuses fiction with faith.
In conclusion, while The Forty Rules of Love may appeal to a global audience looking for an easy introduction to Eastern spirituality, it unfortunately does so by diluting and distorting key aspects of Islam. As someone rooted in the tradition, I found many parts of the book troubling, sometimes shallow, sometimes unfair, and often inaccurate. For readers unfamiliar with Islam, it may seem enlightening. But for those who know the faith from within, the distortions are hard to ignore.

Syeda Nida Adilabad, Telangana, India