"Persepolis," by Marjane Satrapi

I am not familiar with the world (or the genre) of graphic novels. Furthermore, I might have a slight bias against them, due to their (but is there a “their”? is there an all-encompassing group sharing the same "nature"?) association, in my mind, with the “comic books” genre (which, for me, is somewhat synonymous with superficiality and childishness – surely enjoyable during one's childhood, but unsatisfactory for the adult).

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So I discovered this “graphic novel” almost accidentally; one day I was at the library and, to fill my time with some lighter reading, and because I have heard of it previously (and of the movie made by its author, based on it), I picked up this graphic novel, Persepolis – and it ”caught”. I returned later, during the following days, to continue the reading, and to finish it - which proved to be a very rewarding experience.

The (drawing) style employed in this graphic novel is very simple, simplistic even – but it is not artless, by any means. In fact, it has a specific artistry by virtue of this approach. It is in black and white, which I think fits its content – it somehow fits the early 70s period it describes, it certainly fits the period of the Islamic Republic, and it fits, why not, the disheartening adventures of Marjane in the West (in Austria), during her teen years.

But what is this book about? As the name might imply, it is about Iran, more precisely about a young woman in the Iran (Persia, by its ancient name) of the Shah (before the Islamic Revolution), then during the Revolution and the ensuing Shi’a Islamist regime (in 1979 and in the 80s), and then about her time in the West (more specifically, Austria - in the 80s).

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Why did I like this novel? Why did it resonate? And how did it resonate? Well, the sections of the book dealing with her life in Iran (which do form most of the book) are the most appealing and the most relatable, for me. This has to do with the historical and cultural period that they describe (the 70s and the 80s), to which I can certainly relate – and also with her and her extended family’s (and her friends’) life of muted dissidence versus both regimes - the authoritarian one of the Shah, and the totalitarian one of the Islamic Republic. I can relate to that, as well, because there are similarities between that and my own experience under a totalitarian regime, in Central Europe - also during the 80s. So I find that her experience of 80s rebellious teenage culture – manifested, for example, through the adoption of elements of Western pop culture, like music and dress items (e.g. jeans) – against (and in a minor key undermining) the existing authoritarian or totalitarian regime, is indeed similar in many ways with my experiences of the 80s anti-regime teenage culture. And not just the “teenage culture” – her middle, or middle-upper class family, of secular intellectuals, resonates with many similar families I have known, who faced and opposed, in their own small and imperfect ways, an oppressive regime.  

But this is not to say that this novel is about “regimes,” or about politics. To the contrary: its charm and attractiveness lie in the fact that this is a personal story, and that it is her voice, talking about her life, that we hear throughout.

I mentioned the fact that the part of the book dealing with her years in a Western European society, in the 80s, were, how to put it, disheartening; and that is true, and how strange that it is so! But let's try to explain what this means. To start with - as mentioned, her family was Iranian middle-upper class, belonging to what we could call the "technical intelligentsia” (her father was – what? – an architect, if I recall correctly; and I think that her mother was a teacher; so they might also be classified as part of the Bildungsbürgertum, the "educated bourgeoisie"). I know this type of family very well.

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And here a parenthesis is due, to explain the Iranian cultural context. Contrary to uninformed clichés, which might come from associating the Iranian society with its current regime, and from assuming that if a regime (the ruling institutions and leadership) is of a certain kind, then the people are of the same kind – the society and culture of Iran is not the same as the regime currently in power there; instead, the society and its culture is very much modern, developed, and secularized (especially its middle classes). To express it more synthetically, the society of Iran during the Shah’s regime (i.e. before the Islamic Revolution), and especially the middle and upper classes thereof, was the same or very similar as most Western societies (e.g. France in the 50s and 60s). Furthermore, the Iranian (Persian) culture is, in itself, very, very old. First of all, it is not an Islamic culture. Persia, as we know, was an ancient empire, and one of the most ancient cultures, which left us some of mankind’s major cultural artefacts, products of a rich and developed civilization. In fact, when Islam arrived there, in the 7th century AD (or thereabouts), it actually had to contend with and to solve significant tensions arising from its inadequacy with the existing, and already millennia-old, Persian culture (poetry, art etc.). Of course, the Persians are not Arabs, either, which also added cultural and linguistic obstacles.

Anyway - and to return to our topic – uninformed Western eyes often tend to confuse a political regime (which might have been instated through violence) with the actual reality of the underlying society. And this is another reason why I found the portions of the book dealing with the clash between this established middle class culture, and the authoritarian / totalitarian regime (of the Shah or of the Ayatollah), relatable and partially familiar – as Central and Eastern Europe experienced a similar (albeit not identical) thing, in which an (in this case) culturally alien regime was imposed by force, and in which the bourgeois culture, which had its own norms of civilized life, clashed with this “primitive” political regime. And this is also where the issue of the emptiness of the time Marjane spent in the West, compared with her time in her Iranian middle class environment, comes up. Because it is strange, isn’t it, that the ”emptiest time" (in terms of human and civilizational values), among the periods covered in the novel, was the one spent in early 80s Austria? Wouldn’t it be expected, and couldn’t we expect, that the time spent in the West would be the most flourishing among the ones described in the book? And yet it is in fact the opposite. Mind you, she does not express this, as such, directly; and I am not sure that she fully acknowledged it to herself, in the end; but for us readers it is apparent - and somewhere underneath she must, she surely knows this; after all, she “escaped” the Austrian existential disarray by returning to Iran – yes, the Iran of the totalitarian regime of the Ayatollah. And yet, this does not mean that that regime was better than the liberal democracy and the capitalism of Austria – to the contrary, obviously. But what she returned to was not the “regime,” but the slightly and slyly dissident, oppositional culture of her middle class family and of her environment – who head to sneak around to avoid the all-powerful and all-controlling tentacles of the regime, just to have a dance party, or to have some drinks. And this is where it’s at – that what gives that time meaning, the time she spent in the Iranian environment, is perhaps exactly the fact that one of the effects of oppressive regimes, especially on those who oppose them (perhaps simply by keeping to their own cultural and social “marching orders”) is to “purify” their lifestyle and norms, to force them to cling to (and to redefine and reassume, over and over again) a set of norms and guidelines about how one should live “normally," "in the right way," comme il faut – so as not to be swallowed by said regime. Thus there is a lot of talk in Marjane's family about what one should or should not do, what one does and what one can not do; by contrast, the period she spends in Austria is defined, if by anything, then by a dissolution of norms and guidelines – and, in fact, by a dissolution of all meaning, by a drifting around and a sliding downwards, all of which she does not take well, eventually (although I think that she will keep a part of what she has “learned” there, with her) - and from which she will seek refuge, as said, by going back to her family in Iran (even if she hated, as they all did, the regime there). But, as said, it is not to the regime to which she goes back, but to a life of bounds and direction (and purpose, inherent) – compared with the meaninglessness and the adriftness of her life in Austria. (Certainly the fact that she was a teenager, while she was in Austria - i.e. at a time when one is at a loss, anyhow, to a degree - might have contributed also to the scatteredness and purposelessness of her life there.)

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In any case, talking about these issues is not in fact the main purpose of the book - it is not her purpose, when narrating the story. No; as said, this is her story; that is, it is a personal narrative, or the story of a person – and that is what makes it so charming and engaging, The things discussed above are the impressions of the reader - of a reader who enjoyed this book, especially in those sections and aspects where he found familiar or similar experiences, and which gave insight into a specific society, a social class, and the culture of (modern) Iran.

(For similar experiences, for similar encounters with all the facets of Iran - of this modern Iran, and in order not to confuse Iran proper with the idiotic regime ruling it - I heartily recommend Iranian cinema, which is one of the great cinema traditions of the world. And, as said, Marjane Satrapi also made a movie out of this graphic novel – an animated movie, with similar aesthetics as the graphic novel; an award-winning movie, by the way, but which I have not had the chance to see as yet.)

Speaking of aesthetics, and as it was mentioned in the beginning, the black-and-white palette seems very suited to her narrative style and to the periods that she covers. Also as said, this style has a simplicity, well almost a childish simplicity to it – the way the people are drawn, and even in its choice of a black-and-white palette. All this gives her narrative a kind of directness - just like a story told by a child might be simpler and more straightforward; and yet what she talks about are at times grave and weighty matters. Nevertheless, this simplicity of style should not be mistaken for artlessness; no, it is a style, a style developed into a specific language. This is most evident if and when one pays attention to the framing, to the mis en scène used in various panels; or to the ways in which she uses this very basic color scheme to create symbolic communication (expressing a lot with a scarcity of means; yes, symbols are more expressive, and expressive of a richer content, than a straightforward description; also, sometimes the complexity and impact of reality, and one’s experiences and feelings about it, can be best described through symbolic means.)

All in all, then, this was a delightful find. One also got to know, through this, a very likable person – likable not because of certain traits, or not just because of those (her overall sensitivity and her artistic bent, for example) - but lovable simply by being a human being; namely, as any or most human beings would be, if one would get to know their story directly, in all its genuineness. Because this is what strikes us most, or remains with us most, I think, from this novel – its genuine, simple, direct storytelling; its personal tone and narrative; it being, in a way, “the story of a soul.” Needless to say, a person and a story with lights and with shades, with good and with bad, with things that we agree with and with things that we disagree with – with all that, this is an occasion to encounter a person directly, and to make a friend, as it were; and that is (perhaps) what draws us into and to this novel, and what remains with us thereafter: a genuine encounter with a real human being. (And so we leave off the novel worrying and thinking about what happened to her next – after she went to Paris etc.)