The Caliph's House

Sometimes you find a book by an author you’ve never heard of, in a place where you’d never expect to find a book, let alone a book as good as this.

I went to my local garden centre, decided to stop for a coffee, and looked around for something to read. (I always have to have something to read.) Tucked away on the bottom shelf of a bookcase full of old magazines and dog-eared paperbacks was The Caliph’s House. It looked like it would help pass the time for fifteen minutes, so I picked it up and started to read. I finished it the next day.

The book describes what happens when the author – an Anglo-Afghan writer living in London, who had visited Morocco as a small boy – decides to move his family to Dar Khalifa, the house he’s just bought in Casablanca. That's when his troubles begin.

The house is semi-derelict and in urgent need of repair. He hires an architect who takes his fee in advance before disappearing with the work only a quarter completed. He learns that the building and grounds are occupied by jinns – spirits – who always need to be placated. His staff are walking, talking exercises in hair-tearing frustration. Then there's the shanty town next door and the gangster who has his own eye on Dar Khalifa. Life in Morocco is 180 degrees from what he knew in London.

If this sounds like a depressing catalogue of disasters, it’s anything but. The Caliph’s House is very, very funny. It’s also fast-moving and quite beautifully written and if I had to choose just one word to describe it, I’d settle for charming. Following Tahir Shah as he and his family adapt to a world for which they have had absolutely no preparation is the most fun I’ve had reading this year.

An absolute treasure.