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UNVEILING IRAN'S EVERYDAY LIVES
by Zena Alkayat
Metro
April 26, 2012 Thursday
UK
Iranian author ZOYA PIRZAD says it was worth waiting ten years to
have her novel translated into English By Zena Alkayat
AMONG the terraces of a mundane new town, a middle-aged motherof-three
laments marrying her disengaged, thoughtless husband. Clarisse is
a typical, unfulfilled suburban housewife, and author Zoya Pirzad's
decision to place her in the mid-1960s, in the Iranian town of Abadan,
is almost by the by - Clarisse could just as easily live in modern
day Milton Keynes.
Certainly, Pirzad's debut novel, Things We Left Unsaid, barely
acknowledges Iran's religious or political character. Instead, the
author delves into the domestic story of a housewife, making it yet
more universal by sidestepping the poetic and exalting prose so common
in traditional Persian literature.
'My writing has been compared to Raymond Carver,' says Iranian-Armenian
Pirzad, who, like many Western authors, demonstrates rather than
describes. 'I think it's the honest dialogue that people originally
found exciting. In Persian novels, people do not talk like real
people. So when I started out, I offered a simple, real approach.
It was a new way of writing.'
It's this economic style, as well as her frank portrayal of everyday
family life and sympathy for female characters, that first brought her
attention in Iran in the 1990s. She has published three short-story
collections and another bestselling novel since her debut but her
output means she has repeatedly faced the stringent, compulsory
reviews of the country's publishing censors.
'It doesn't change the way I write,' Pirzad attests. 'I write for
myself and I don't even think about getting published. If I get
permission, great. If not, I will wait.' But it's a wonder Things We
Left Unsaid ever made it to the bookshops, what with it containing two
of the censors' key deal-breakers: sexual content and politics. 'They
either didn't mind or they didn't understand,' she jokes. But despite
the subtlety of these themes, they are plainly evident.
Clarisse, fed up with her hobby-socialist husband, finds an electric
connection with her new neighbour, the attentive and charming Emile,
and dances around the idea of an affair. She also experiences the
thrill of caring for a cause outside of her family when she befriends
a women's rights campaigner. Her blossoming independence is almost
ironic, given what we know in hindsight: the Iranian Revolution of
1979 was just a few years off and Clarisse's new, strappy-dresswearing
confidence would soon be quashed by the Islamic Republic.
PIRZAd never gives an overt or knowing nod to the impending and brutal
clampdown on freedom of speech and women's rights but she also insists
that, despite the revolution, the country hasn't become, as we might
have it, subsumed under the shadow of violence and discrimination.
'What Western people think about Iran is untrue,' she says. 'Even
nowadays, after the revolution, we are quite Westernised. Yes,
there is a contradiction between your life at home and outside -
it's true Iranian women must wear a headscarf, for example - but we
lead a full life. This is not Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. We have women
in traditionally male roles - estate agents, officials - we have
fashion and parties.'
Though Things We Left Unsaid was Pirzad's breakthrough debut and
has been translated into many languages, it's taken more than ten
years for it to be published in English. The wait, she says, has been
largely down to the intricacies of finding a suitable publisher.
'I had been asked a few times to translate my work but it was often by
a university or academic publishing house,' she explains. 'When your
book is published by a university press, it sort of kills it. It has
a sort of patronising effect. I don't want to be translated because
I'm Iranian. Or because of politics. I want my books to be translated
for their literary value. For their universal subjects.'
Things We Left Unsaid (Oneworld) is out on Tuesday, priced £11.99.
by Zena Alkayat
Metro
April 26, 2012 Thursday
UK
Iranian author ZOYA PIRZAD says it was worth waiting ten years to
have her novel translated into English By Zena Alkayat
AMONG the terraces of a mundane new town, a middle-aged motherof-three
laments marrying her disengaged, thoughtless husband. Clarisse is
a typical, unfulfilled suburban housewife, and author Zoya Pirzad's
decision to place her in the mid-1960s, in the Iranian town of Abadan,
is almost by the by - Clarisse could just as easily live in modern
day Milton Keynes.
Certainly, Pirzad's debut novel, Things We Left Unsaid, barely
acknowledges Iran's religious or political character. Instead, the
author delves into the domestic story of a housewife, making it yet
more universal by sidestepping the poetic and exalting prose so common
in traditional Persian literature.
'My writing has been compared to Raymond Carver,' says Iranian-Armenian
Pirzad, who, like many Western authors, demonstrates rather than
describes. 'I think it's the honest dialogue that people originally
found exciting. In Persian novels, people do not talk like real
people. So when I started out, I offered a simple, real approach.
It was a new way of writing.'
It's this economic style, as well as her frank portrayal of everyday
family life and sympathy for female characters, that first brought her
attention in Iran in the 1990s. She has published three short-story
collections and another bestselling novel since her debut but her
output means she has repeatedly faced the stringent, compulsory
reviews of the country's publishing censors.
'It doesn't change the way I write,' Pirzad attests. 'I write for
myself and I don't even think about getting published. If I get
permission, great. If not, I will wait.' But it's a wonder Things We
Left Unsaid ever made it to the bookshops, what with it containing two
of the censors' key deal-breakers: sexual content and politics. 'They
either didn't mind or they didn't understand,' she jokes. But despite
the subtlety of these themes, they are plainly evident.
Clarisse, fed up with her hobby-socialist husband, finds an electric
connection with her new neighbour, the attentive and charming Emile,
and dances around the idea of an affair. She also experiences the
thrill of caring for a cause outside of her family when she befriends
a women's rights campaigner. Her blossoming independence is almost
ironic, given what we know in hindsight: the Iranian Revolution of
1979 was just a few years off and Clarisse's new, strappy-dresswearing
confidence would soon be quashed by the Islamic Republic.
PIRZAd never gives an overt or knowing nod to the impending and brutal
clampdown on freedom of speech and women's rights but she also insists
that, despite the revolution, the country hasn't become, as we might
have it, subsumed under the shadow of violence and discrimination.
'What Western people think about Iran is untrue,' she says. 'Even
nowadays, after the revolution, we are quite Westernised. Yes,
there is a contradiction between your life at home and outside -
it's true Iranian women must wear a headscarf, for example - but we
lead a full life. This is not Kuwait or Saudi Arabia. We have women
in traditionally male roles - estate agents, officials - we have
fashion and parties.'
Though Things We Left Unsaid was Pirzad's breakthrough debut and
has been translated into many languages, it's taken more than ten
years for it to be published in English. The wait, she says, has been
largely down to the intricacies of finding a suitable publisher.
'I had been asked a few times to translate my work but it was often by
a university or academic publishing house,' she explains. 'When your
book is published by a university press, it sort of kills it. It has
a sort of patronising effect. I don't want to be translated because
I'm Iranian. Or because of politics. I want my books to be translated
for their literary value. For their universal subjects.'
Things We Left Unsaid (Oneworld) is out on Tuesday, priced £11.99.