The girl in the veil
I finally read “Persepolis,” the graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi that got so much attention two years back (and which was adapted into the Cannes-honored animated film, which I have yet to see). I picked it up during my Christmas shopping spree (wherein my family went nuts at a Borders which was closing and selling everything at 40% off)
I see what all the fuss was about! The book (I have the “Now a Major Motion Picture” edition which includes Persepolis 1 and 2) is autobiographical, and recounts an Iranian childhood before and after the Revolution in 1979. I should confess immediately that a huge part of the appeal of this book was that it plunged me into a world about which I am woefully under-informed. The story and art are both fantastic, but I was at least as compelled by learning about modern Iran from the inside, watching the dreams of change for the revolution dashed by the new regime and the heroes of the revolution be devoured by it afterwards. An embarrassing proportion of the historical information was new to me (like, say, the long and devastating war between Iran and Iraq that followed the Islamic Revolution). I’m certainly still not an expert, but it’s a voice I’d never tuned in to before, and that’s priceless.
That said, it’s also adorable, moving, and frank, the latter quality being the hallmark of its remarkable author throughout her life. The author has a few sort of “lost years” as a teenager that are laid out unsentimentally and are in some ways hard to get through (although always hard to stop reading). There and throughout the book, she’s as liable to make mistakes and bad decisions as a real human is, and it enriches the book immensely that they’re included. A book about home and family, identity and defiance needs some wandering, isolation, confusion and fear.
I will add that the book itself never made me feel bad about not knowing the Middle East intimately; in fact, it seems tailored to an audience who will need things explained. But while I can’t confirm it, I suspect that it wouldn’t be too much of drag to read if you already knew Iran well, because the explanations are always made brief and organic to the story. You also know that when you’re reading something funny, something is coming to kick you in the stomach, and vice versa, and sometimes you don’t know which is which until it’s too late.
In short, it’s wonderful. You should read it if you like stories. Or pictures. Or humans.
