In parts of Finding My Way, Malala sounds like a typical young woman attempting to fit in, have fun, and enjoy new experiences during her college days at Oxford University. However, there is nothing typical about Malala at all. She was born in the Swat Valley in northern Pakistan, and despite the conservatism of the local culture, from an early age she became a fervent advocate for the education of girls and young women. When she was only fifteen, she was shot in the face by a Taliban assassin, lapsed into a coma for almost two weeks, and woke up in a hospital in Birmingham, England. As she recovered from her injuries, as an exile in England she continued to speak up for the rights of girls under repressive regimes, and at the age of seventeen she received the Nobel Peace Prize for her efforts; she was the youngest person ever to win a Nobel Prize. This was followed by meetings with world leaders as she traveled internationally to advocate for her cause. This background is covered extensively in the memoir I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and Was Shot by the Taliban.

Finding My Way begins in England, and most of it takes place during her years studying at Oxford University. As I alluded to above, though, it was impossible for her to completely blend in with the other college students. For one thing, she had two bodyguards assigned to her on a twenty-four-hour basis. Even when she lived in a college dorm, they slept in the room next door; for another, despite her heavy study schedule she traveled extensively to continue her advocacy for education. Because she was an international icon, everything she did made its way onto social media in text and photos, and if any of her activities were judged to be even remotely improper, her accounts would be inundated with abusive comments. She also developed PTSD from the shooting incident, which caused devastating nightmares and severe anxiety attacks.

Out of deference to her parents and apprehension of the rabid online community, she did not date, but she did gain a circle of friends with whom she went out for meals, attended parties, and engaged in a variety of other activities. She eventually met a young Pakistani man to whom she became engaged and then married.

All of this is told in an intimate, elegant style that draws readers in as confidants. One chapter might deal with college pranks, but then in the next Malala might be in New York having facial surgery to restore feeling to the nerves damaged by the Taliban bullet, meeting world leaders at an educational conference, or undergoing trauma brought on by memories of the gunman shooting her.

In a touching chapter near the end of the book, she travels with her new husband to Shangla, in the mountains of Pakistan, to visit a school for girls that the Malala Fund had founded but she had never seen. She writes: “I wanted the school to be a place where students didn’t feel the limitations of the outside world, where they could dream of the future and believe in themselves. I also wanted to see that the deficiencies in my own education, the things lacking for most Pakistani girls, were remedied here.” This is the heart of the book and what sets Malala apart from typical college students: she has devoted her life – indeed, has put her life on the line – to advocate for the rights of others. This fervent dedication continually illuminates her words. Read Finding My Way; you’ll see what I mean.