A cartoon in the Boston Herald in 2002 showed the Statue of Liberty swathed head-to-toe in a burka. Underneath were the words: “Muslim fanatic terrorists struck at the Statue of Liberty last night”. For some people today, the veil has become a symbol of terrorist tyranny. For many feminists, veiling is synonymous with the oppression of women. What women in Muslim societies need are American liberties, the story goes. If they don't willingly embrace “bikinis and boobs”, they can be bombed into submission.

This volume was conceived to contest such sentiments. It is a book for non-Muslims. What is it about “the veil” that elicits such passions? It is an interesting question since there is no such thing as “Islamic dress”. There are vast differences in style between Muslim societies in Paris, Indonesia, Nigeria, and Uzbekistan. Flimsy face veils are required in some communities; in others, all-enveloping burkas. For some Muslim women, the veil is a symbol of repression, while for others it is a way to register protest against the sexual objectification of women and express solidarity against Western colonialism.

Furthermore, not all who wear veils are Muslim women. In some communities, men also veil their faces (most notably the men of the Tuareg who inhabit western and central Sahara). Prior to the Second Vatican Council, Roman Catholic nuns were veiled and Catholic laywomen customarily wore head coverings at Mass. The Amish, Mennonites, Hutterites and Mormons also impose certain principles of modesty in female attire. In London and New York in the 1950s, fashion-conscious ladies of no particular religious persuasion donned veiled hats when paying formal visits.

But most of this book is about veiling practices within diverse Islamic communities. Ironically, one of the themes of this book is that there is too much talk about veiling. Some of the authors even sigh audibly about being expected to give their views. “I am just really, really tired of talking about it,” says Kecia Ali, an assistant professor of religion at Boston University. After all, “the veil” is not the main problem for women in Islamic communities - war, neo-colonialism and domestic abuse are much higher priorities.

The question is not really about veiling but the right to choose whether or not to veil. Compulsory veiling is oppressive, but many women have found compulsory unveiling equally damaging. In fact, for much of the 20th century, the veil has been banned in much of the Middle East.

Some Muslim women who live in secular, Western societies claim that the veil protects them against being sexualised and objectified as women. It is ironic, therefore, that many have found that wearing the headscarf has led to a different kind of objectification by Muslim and non-Muslim men. One form of political Islam sees the hijab as a way of suppressing women's “dangerous” sexuality. And, since 9/11 and the 2003 US invasion of Iraq, American Muslims who opt to wear the hijab have been characterised as extremist Islamists. Either way, it has led some Muslim women to lament that, whether they veil or not, they are stereotyped by certain men within the community.

The articles here are thoughtful, intelligent and each tells an individual story. But readers seeking a more historically nuanced analysis would do better to turn to Joan Wallach Scott's recent book, The Politics of the Veil (Princeton University Press). This volume, however, is more personal, intimate even, urging us to focus on more serious threats to women's lives, including wars that claim to bring liberty while raining down bombs.

The Veil: Women Writers on its History, Lore, and Politics edited by Jennifer Heath
University of California Press, £12.95; 360pp Buy the book here

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