Iranian riches, rags, and carpets

Two debut novels set 300 years apart feature the plight of fatherless families in patriarchal Iran

By Yvonne Zipp

from the July 17, 2007 edition

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What do you do if your dad disappears? That question takes on even greater significance in a patriarchal society and it's the one confronting by two Iranian girls living 300 years apart. In The Septembers of Shiraz set in 1981 Iran, Shirin Amin's father is grabbed at work by the Revolutionary Guards for the double crime of having lived well under the shah and for being Jewish. The unnamed heroine of The Blood of Flowers loses her father to a farming accident, but the results cause just as much upheaval – if less emotional devastation.

Both "The Septembers of Shiraz" and "The Blood of Flowers" are first novels by talented Iranian-born writers now living in the United States, and both seem primed to enjoy the success among book clubs that helped turn "The Kite Runner" into a runaway bestseller. But "The Septembers of Shiraz" by Dalia Sofer is the more gripping work, perhaps because it is tied to real-life events that continue to echo in world politics today. Sofer fled Iran in 1982 at age 10, and the level of detail with which she crafts her story about a family under duress makes it seem likely that some of the events have been drawn from life.

While Isaac Amin, the jailed father, tries to persuade his interrogator that he is just a gemologist and not a Zionist spy, his wife, Farnaz, struggles to navigate her new world. As the days pass, the beautiful former journalist can hardly get out of bed. Their daughter, Shirin, deep in her own depression, is reminded of a lesson her father once shared with her on ghazals, an Arabic poetic form. " 'There is no end.... That's the first thing you should learn about ghazals. There is no resolution. Imagine the speaker simply throwing his hands in the air.' Maybe in life, as in a ghazal, there is no resolution. She finds relief in the idea of throwing her arms in the air. Maybe there are no solutions, nothing to be done." Farnaz's inertia is no doubt realistic, but it can make for frustrating reading, as can her son Parviz's self-pity, as the architecture student tries to define himself without access to his father's money.

Isaac is the real heart of the novel. The man who made shadow puppets by candlelight so his daughter wouldn't be frightened by the Iraqi bombs falling overhead, uses memories of his family and a life of reading poetry to sustain him as he and his fellow prisoners are tortured and executed. Shirin, meanwhile, finds secret surveillance files in a friend's basement, and steals several, hoping it means the Revolutionary Guards will lose the scent of a few people.

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