Title: Persepolis
Author: Marjane Satrapi
Synopsis: An adult Satrapi recounts her childhood experiences living in Iran during the Iranian Revolution and resulting turmoil. The story covers roughly four years of her childhood, between 1980 and 1984 (ages 10 to 14).
Rating: 3 stars
The Review:
I finally got around to reading this cult classic.
If I had a dollar for every time a friend of professor recommended this title, I’d have a solid 50 bucks. Persepolis appeals to a wide variety of people. In my media classes, we discussed Persepolis as an “inventive way to tell the story of the Iranian Revolution and its aftermath.” In my writing classes, we fawned over the flow of the narrative, dissected the symbolism in the images and fawned over the writer’s gender. In my political and Islamic circles, people hold Persepolis as the pinnacle of #MuslimahExcellence because she “gives a voice to those who would otherwise be silenced” (problematic, I know).
Curiosity eventually drove me to buy the book. I’m interested in the history of the Gulf States and figured this graphic novel would both help me learn a bit about what happened during the Revolution and give me a glimpse into Iranian lives. I suppose you could say the book served its purpose, but it was nothing spectacular. Perhaps I knew more about the Iranian Revolution than I thought I did, but I didn’t really learn anything new from Persepolis. The more interesting parts of the book dealt specifically with Satrapi’s life.
It’s impossible to tell whether she’s embellishing her story, but she seems to have had a pretty deep understanding of the situation despite her young age. I’m guessing her analytical skills came from her family’s apparent wealth, her parents’ political leanings and her secular French education. Based on Satrapi’s telling, the less-educated children were more susceptible to believing the propaganda of the “Islamic” regime. Still, her family’s status lead to several uncomfortable moments for me throughout the story.
Near the beginning, when Satrapi discusses the nation-wide veiling mandate, she drew an image that equates the veil to oppression, without much context. The protesters on the left are women covered head-to-toe in black garments while shouting, “veil! veil! veil!” The women opposite them have their hair exposed and they’re wearing light clothes while shouting, “freedom! freedom! freedom!” Here the reader is supposed to assume that wearing hijab is something evil, oppressive and wrong, whereas not wearing an outer covering is the “correct” choice.
Seeing as the regime mandated the covering, I can see how Satrapi would conflate covering with oppression, but the lack of nuance in the story telling is precisely what leads Western societies to assume all women who cover are doing so by force. It also leads Western governments to take actions that prevent Muslim women from exercising their choice to cover. Despite being irked by Satrapi’s choice, I appreciate that she later told the audience that both women and men were subject to strict dress codes.
About halfway through Persepolis, Satrapi begins discussing the exodus of her friends and family. The image she uses to illustrate this moment in history implies that the majority left simply by obtaining a passport and flying out of the country.
Passports at that time were expensive and increasingly hard to come by. This blatant display of wealth left me cringing and wondering about those who were less fortunate. How did they leave the country? Did they choose to stay or were they forced to? Did they use smugglers to illegally cross borders in hopes of seeking refugee status? This is her story, so I didn’t expect her to go into too much detail about it, but I expected such a smart child to at least consider the question. The only times we hear about people hastily crossing the border are when the people a) have a direct relationship with Satrapi and b) are being pursued by the police.
Perhaps this particular scene bothered me because in a way, I’m also choosing not to live in my own country for political and financial reasons. I chose to work outside of the US because I couldn’t find work that justified the insane amount of tuition I paid for my undergraduate degree. On top of not being able to find a decent-paying job, I’m constantly targeted for my race, gender and religion. Why would I live through that when I can just go find work elsewhere?
I’m aware that my choice to leave is an exercise of privilege, and sometimes I feel guilty about not “weathering the storm” but I’ve got health and other issues to worry about, without my environment making it worse. I don’t plan to leave the US permanently, at least not yet, but I’ve chosen to leave in search of a safer, more comfortable life, which is precisely what Satrapi’s friends and family did.
Right under the image of people lining up to leave, we see a picture of Satrapi’s family in their car. When her mother suggests they also leave, her father brushes off the idea, suggesting they’d “sink” to the level of taxi drivers and cleaning ladies in the US. This, to me, meant he was attached to his material wealth, and that he thought himself better than people in those service industries. I was raised to treat everyone equally, regardless of where they come from or what they do for a living (assuming they’re not in the business of harming people), so this scene rubbed me the wrong way. Satrapi’s father placed his wealth in higher regard than his family’s safety. This isn’t the only scene where we see his attachment to worldly goods.
While I was reading, Satrapi’s parents’ judgmental attitudes continued to bother me. Satrapi didn’t illustrate their judgement as a form of criticism. Rather, she illustrated their character in a way that was boldly honest. I’ve witnessed women all over the world criticize/judge anyone and everyone around them. Regardless of whether they were South Asian, Chinese, Black or Arab, they all found fault in the women (and teenage girls) around them. When I think about it, I wasn’t so much bothered by Satrapi’s parents specifically; I was bothered by global trend I’ve noticed. I could understand some level of political judgement during the Iranian Revolution or during other similar times of war and upheaval, but usually the judgement is petty and unnecessary, and it revolves around someone’s appearance.
Despite all of my issues with it, Persepolis isn’t a bad book. I can see how it’s important in the cannon of Middle Eastern female writers. Persepolis, however, obviously isn’t meant for people like me. If you know nothing about Iran or the Iranian Revolution, then perhaps you’ll enjoy the novel. If you’ve never met an Iranian person and have no hopes of meeting one, then give Persepolis a go. Since I’ve already learned at least the basic situation and having met several Iranians in my life, Persepolis didn’t add anything to my knowledge base. That said, I kept reading because I wanted to see what happened in Satrapi’s life, and the graphic novel ended on a little cliff hanger. I’m intrigued enough to want to read the second part, but I don’t feel compelled to read it right away.
Do I think Persepolis is overrated? Yes, absolutely. Would I still recommend it? Yes, why not? Persepolis gets three dim stars from me while I try to figure out what I missed. If you’ve read it or plan to read it, I’d love to hear your thoughts. If you loved it, please help me understand why Persepolis is so popular.
Read more Persepolis reviews on Goodreads.
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