Let’s be honest: when someone says genie, most people picture Robin Williams, belting out “Friend Like Me” while conjuring elephants and jazz hands. Fun! Whimsical! Safe!
But the original stories? Yeah, not so much.
While the Western world gave us wish-granting sidekicks with heart and humor, the djinn of Middle Eastern folklore are a whole other entity—literally. Born of smokeless fire long before humans came along, djinn have their own societies, religions, and moral codes. And unlike Disney’s blue buddy, they don’t take kindly to being bottled up and bossed around. Enslaving a djinn is more like poking a cobra and calling it a pet.
During research for Hollow, I fell down a particularly dark rabbit hole (as one does), and discovered that the term “genie” is a mistranslation—“djinn” or “jinn” is the real deal. And real djinn? They don’t just twist your wishes. They weaponize them.
These aren’t magical vending machines. They’re cunning, immortal beings who loathe being under human control. That whole “three wishes” rule wasn’t a gift—it was damage control. Folktales are full of poor souls who ended up cursed, corrupted, or creatively dismembered while technically getting what they asked for. (Yay semantics!)
In Hollow, Asma is my nod to the original djinn legends. She’s not some misunderstood cutie stuck in the sand. She’s a predator with a porcelain face and a centuries-long grudge. Her dynamic with Ruth isn’t one of master and servant—it’s mutual destruction, masquerading as control. Ruth thought she was in charge. She wasn’t. And by the time she realized it, Asma had already turned desperation into dependency—and dependency into something far more dangerous.
So why did the Western world declaw the djinn and stuff them into decorative lamps? Maybe because we like magic with a side of safety. But the old stories weren’t meant to comfort. They were cautionary tales—reminders that true power always comes at a price, and some forces were never meant to be tamed.
Wish carefully, my friends. The fine print may be written in fire.
Thanks for reading, and remember: sometimes the wish isn’t worth the price. Until next time, keep your wishes wicked and your cocktails wickedly good.
— Heaps of Love,
Lynda
