Books like Women Without Men

I love “Persepolis” because the author very accurately and with a great amount of humor describes, and through graphics, portrays the very heavy topic of the 1979 Iranian Revolution. 

She makes it easy for people who weren’t there at the time and are not a part of the culture or history to imagine what happened. I like how she describes family relationships, especially with her parents, in a tribal culture. In a very transparent way, she accurately describes the differences between private family life and the one that is portrayed publicly.

I think the title pulled me toward this book. I knew it was about a carpetmaker in 17th-century Persia, and I guessed that the blood of flowers might refer to the dye used to color the wool for the rugs.

I found this way of describing dye to be extremely evocative. As it turns out, that was only the beginning of my fascination with this beautiful book. Following a young woman in the beautiful city of Isfahan, I had no idea that I would learn so much about the process of making carpets. I even found myself looking up ancient and medieval Persian carpet photos online (they’re amazing!).

The protagonist manages to do some extremely stupid things, and at one point, I found myself yelling at her. But she matures. That character development from an immature and reckless young girl to a strong, self-reliant woman was really lovely to experience. 

The choices Forugh Farrokhzad made shocked me at times, which made the story even more compelling. This Iranian poet broke my heart with her desperation to live her life true to herself. I’m gutted by the fact that in another country, Forugh wouldn’t have needed to make such drastic choices to be a poet and a woman with dreams and needs.

Listening to the story read by Mozhan Marno, a favorite actress of mine, magnified the intensity of the story. Feminism takes many forms and is highly impacted by our surroundings. This story made me dig deep into how far I’d push my personal boundaries for what I believe in. I will read anything Jasmin Dapzink publishes.

This is a memoir by a 32-year-old Iranian-American journalist who, in 2009, was accused and sentenced to 8 years in Evin Prison for being an American spy. Paraphrasing my review in The San Francisco Chronicle, Saberi's skillful reconstruction of dialogue leads to a spot-on chronicle of the paranoia and utter buffoonery of the Iranian government and its apparatchiks. I was especially impressed by the way she survives her time in solitary confinement – the resources of her mind that keep her sane. Beyond that, this memoir is a kind of coming-of-age story for those of us in the diaspora who can be a bit naïve about how safe we are as journalists and US citizens in dictatorships. Saberi is freed after 4 months, thanks to international pressures, but she’s haunted by those she met in prison who are left behind. 

This book tells the story of the Islamic Revolution in Iran through the eyes of a young girl. Satrapi uses simple black-and-white drawings to share memories that are both heartbreaking and honest, with small moments of humor and childhood mixed in.

She shows what it was like to grow up during a time of fear and change while also trying to figure out who she was in a society full of rules. It’s a personal story, but one that many people can relate to. More than just a history lesson; it’s a story that sticks with you and helps you understand how big events shape everyday lives.

I had the wonderful opportunity to read this YA novel as an ARC. It debuts on November 1st 2022, so put your patient pants on for this one. 

It’s 1979, and Jasmine Zumideh, an Iranian American music-journalist-in-the-making, embellishes on her application to NYU. When her coveted acceptance letter arrives, she must win her school’s election for Class President to turn her lie into the truth. 

What I loved about this debut was although it tackled the complications of embracing one’s identity and culture, and how confusing and messy this can be, it was also a fun romp down the halls of the decade without feeling forced or dated. Life-altering events of the time were woven in seamlessly—The Iran Hostage Crisis, making for a heartfelt story about the hidden strength and perseverance of a teenage girl navigating discrimination, family expectations, friendships and a new love. Put this one on your… show more.

My favorite line from this book is “When you have been a refugee, abandoned all your loves and belongings, your memories become your belongings.”

I appreciated this book when I read it the first time, and I recently re-read it. Immigrant stories are half-and-half: how it was there, and how it is here. For those of us who are second or third-generation, we rely upon those who remember or record how it was there. 

Often those stories focus on only the good things, omitting the trauma. Hakakian wonderfully balances the memories of Iran in its beauty and ugliness. This is an excellent snapshot of revolution-era Iran and how Jews were able to interact with their Muslim neighbors before and after the fall of the Shah.

This book begins with our inherited views of what constitutes victory – the proudly-displayed Greek panoply of captured weapons, the Roman triumph, the medieval view of battle as awesome divine judgment, and the modern quest for “decisive battle” in mind. By contrast, other cultures – Iran, Assad’s Syria, China, and Russia for example, which are covered brilliantly – may be content with indecisive, drawn-out conflicts which give them the chance to keep their fingers in many pies and incrementally increase their influence. 

Thus our modern Western construct assuming that peace is the norm and war the exception, or that war should aim for a neat victory, and a lasting peace settlement imposed on the defeated adversary, is just that: a construct, rarely reflecting views and practices in other times and in other parts of the world. 

I well remember following the sequence of events–a terrible fire that killed 430 trapped in a cinema in Abadan, riots, mass shootings by the army, strikes, politicization, and Islamicization of students–which culminated in the Islamic Revolution of 1979.

Like many others I was both excited and filled with foreboding at the time. To read Desmond Harney’s eyewitness account is to be carried right into the middle of things. I was utterly gripped as the Iranian middle classes grasped at forlorn hopes and as those hopes faded away in the face of the ‘single-mindedness, implacability, fierce puritanism and commanding authority’ of Ayatollah Khomeini. 

I only knew of this book because my British publisher introduced me to it. For that, I’m truly thankful. The book feels honest and unflinching and makes for a great read for both myself as an immigrant as well as for those navigating a world where immigration is a constant daily reality.

I read it over a weekend in 2020 and have read it once more in 2022. I had to return to it, especially when I was faced with microaggressions or felt unheard in my new home in Canada.