Persepolis, or why a country that changes its name along isn't always so stable

It took awhile to get there, but I finally got my library copy of The Complete Persepolis, by Marjane Satrapi, and read it in 3 sittings on Sunday. (The complete version, by the way is Persepolis 1 & 2 - or 1-4 in the French. So it takes you from her childhood in Iran through schooling in Vienna and back to Iran for college and young adulthood.)

Without wanting to look for proof of this, I am sure that others have written more eloquently that I will about the ability of the graphic novel to address trauma and tragedy. (See also: Maus, by Art Spiegelman) Because in some ways it is really seeing the innocence in Marji's big dark eyes that hits home... but without feeling so overwhelming that the reader just turns away. (I was discussing this recently in terms of the way we deal with war veterans, and how our guilt in some ways makes us unwilling to hear and understand them.)

I'm not sure what all to say about the book. I am glad I got the complete version and got through everything at once. But I think that reading about the younger Satrapi separately from her teenage and older self would have been good. Clearly, the Islamic Revolution and its impact is a central theme throughout - but in many other ways the child and the teen have very different stories. All very eventful though. To say the least.

This is one of those times where I wish I felt more willing to write an insightful review. But I am not there. Maybe because there was an earthquake - and it's still earthquake weather - or maybe just because so much has already been said about Persepolis, the book and when it came out as a film as well. And I have yet to see the film. But I will.

(Oh, and I've written about memoirs of life in Islamic Iran before (and here). Just wanted to mention.)

PS - I loved the artwork. I was particularly fond of the depiction of all the little girls in their veils, and God, and more disturbingly the ghosts of the all the lives lost.

LibraryCat

Simon loves my books, or rather loves lounging in front of them. He also likes walking on newspapers.

Also, this is what happens when you have people bring over books to swap...

(Also, I would like to point out that Simon's book pile includes Catch-22, William T. Vollman, Bros. Karamazov, and Lady Chatterley's Lover. It also has some cheesy historical mysteries too. Plus! My Name is Will!)

Minus 2 points for sarcasm

Maybe I'm biased, because I seem to have a soft spot for Turkey, or at least for its Nobel laureates. So this story on Treehugger both attracted my attention and raised a little bit of pique.

It turns out that the Turkish government has provided free textbooks for schoolchildren. (Yay, obviously.) Except that they give them away, at a cost of $800 million and lots and lots of trees, and then they mostly get thrown out at the end of the year. And so they produce all new ones and the cycle continues.

"So [and here comes the snark] they’ve come up with an ingenious remedy that some folks have been practicing for centuries, book lending." Students will now return the books at the end of the school year, which is what I did through my years of public education. Not only is this good environmentally and economically, but it can offer Turkish children the opportunity to engage in such fun activities as seeing who had your textbook in years past, and writing in fake "funny" names to entertain future generations of textbook users.

Hopeless romantic

That is me. I kind of like this about myself - I think it's endearing. (If you don't think so, please don't burst my bubble by telling me as much.)

Anyway, I've been reading more sporadically than usual (and catching up on Stanford magazine, actually) but after several nights in a row where something kept me from the final 40 pages of The Painted Veil (by W. Somerset Maugham), I am through it.

This is the July book club selection, and is a particularly exciting choice because there will also be pizza and movie during the meeting. (Hooray!) I don't like to blog about books before the meeting, b/c then I am over all my "interesting" thoughts. But then I don't like to blog after, b/c by then I'm ready to move on. (This is clearly a dilemma. If you have solutions, let me know. Perhaps I could live-blog the meeting? Because that clearly wouldn't be annoying.)

I really liked this book. I could just start and end there; it was thought-provoking and human and obnoxious and unsatisfying and thus terribly satisfying. I was often distracted thinking about the film adaptation and wondering what they would change and whom they cast, etc. And I also found myself drawing analogies to Gone with the Wind, which I think was first published a decade later than this.

Instead of getting into all of those things, I'll just leave you with this early passage:

He did not speak because he had nothing to say. But if nobody spoke unless he had something to say, Kitty reflected, with a smile, the human race would very soon lose the use of speech.

ugh, depressing

So I read a novella last week when I decided to take the bus to work. This book was on my dresser, and I honestly don't remember how it came into my possession. Based on the handwritten notes inside, it belonged to one of two friends (was it you, Jen?) and was from some course or another.

What was this mystery book? Ellen Foster, by Kaye Gibbons. It is a coming-of-age tale of sorts. Really more just a girl's look back at how she survived a seriously f-ed up situation. And fortunately for her - and even more so for us as readers - we know that she survived. And has created/found a safe space for herself.

I found Ellen's voice fascinating. But I couldn't get into this book. I just wanted to escape. And to take Ellen with me. Too much of a downer for July. But I think it probably makes for excellent young adult fiction (for girls, at least).

Sometimes pretentious can be okay

I don't remember how I heard about Maynard & Jennica, by Rudolph Delson. Doesn't really matter - it ended up on my list so I requested it from the library. It's billed as a love story, with a lot of minor characters. In this it is perhaps like Beginner's Greek. But this is missing a lot of the sweet. You're not rooting against these lovers, but I'm not convinced that you like them very much.

I'm having trouble knowing what to say about the book, and perhaps that's because it is a very talky novel. It's a little like a written documentary - a series of (mostly) monologues by a variety of different characters, explaining what's happening from their point of view. And the characters include family, childhood friends, a kid on the subway, and a rap artist. Somehow this all makes sense. And they all have plenty to say, mainly about an ambitious California girl seeking an "illustrious" life in NYC, and a completely pretentious filmmaker who dresses like he's someone's grandpa. These are Jennica (aka Jenny) & Maynard (aka Arnie, aka Manny, aka Gogi). And these monologues are introduced like this: "Maynard Gogarty, in paradise, tells us something he isn't certain of." The uncertain thing, by the way, is whether Jennica knows he can be a jerk. Jennica follows up by being uncertain about whether or not he plans to propose.

Anyway, etc. etc. For just under 300 pages. Also there is September 11, and a really fantastic indictment of the way non-New Yorkers appropriated the city's grief. (I'm not entirely sure I agree, seeing as how I was not exactly innocent of the charge and seeing as how the attacks were on a nation, not just a city, but nonetheless...) And some very funny moments. Which is all to say... what? I liked it; I did. Maybe despite myself.