Azar Nafisi (50 page)

That day, when I left my magician's house, the sun was fading and the air was mild, the trees a verdant green, and I had many reasons to feel sad. Every object and every face had lost its tangibleness and appeared like a cherished memory: my parents, friends, students, this street, those trees, the withdrawing light from the mountains in the mirror. But I was also vaguely elated and, to paraphrase Muriel Spark's heroine in her wonderful novel
Loitering with Intent,
I went about my way rejoicing, thinking how wonderful it is to be a woman and a writer at the end of the twentieth century.

Epilogue

I left Tehran on June 24, 1997, for the green light that Gatsby once believed in. I write and teach once again, on the seventh floor of a building in a town without mountains but with amazing falls and springs. I still teach Nabokov, James, Fitzgerald, Conrad as well as Iraj Pezeshkzad, who is responsible for one of my favorite Iranian novels,
My Uncle Napoleon,
and those others whom I have discovered since I arrived in the United States, like Zora Neale Hurston and Orhan Pamuk. And I know now that my world, like Pnin's, will be forever a “portable world.”

I left Iran, but Iran did not leave me. Much has changed in appearance since Bijan and I left. There is more defiance in Manna's gait and those of other women; their scarves are more colorful and their robes much shorter; they wear makeup now and walk freely with men who are not their brothers, fathers or husbands. Parallel to this, the raids and arrests and public executions also persist. But there is a stronger demand for freedom; as I write, I open the paper to read about the recent student demonstrations in support of a dissident who was sentenced to death for suggesting that the clergy should not be blindly followed like monkeys and calling for a revision of the constitution. I read the writings of young students and former revolutionaries, the slogans and demands for democracy, and I know now as much as I will ever know anything that it is this dogged desire for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness by young Iranians today, the children of the revolution, and the anguished self-criticism of former revolutionaries that will determine the shape of our future.

Since I left Iran, respecting his wishes, I have not talked or written to my magician, but his magic has been so much a part of my life that sometimes I ask myself, Was he ever real? Did I invent him? Did he invent me?

Sometimes I get e-mail messages on my computer, like fireflies, or letters postmarked from Tehran or Sydney, and they are from my former students, telling me about their lives and memories.

Nassrin, I know, arrived safely in England. I do not know what happened to her after that.

Mitra left for Canada a few months after we moved to the U.S. She used to write me e-mails or call me regularly, but I have not heard from her for a long time. Yassi tells me that she enrolled in college and now has a son.

I heard from Sanaz, too, when I first came to the States. She called me from Europe to inform me that she was now married and intended to enroll at the university. But Azin tells me she dropped that plan and is keeping house, as the saying goes.

When I first came to America, I did not hear from Azin often; she usually called me on my birthday. A former student had told me that Azin was teaching at Allameh, the same courses and books that I once taught. The last she had heard of Azin, she added mischievously, she was moving into the room next to my old office on the fifth floor. I often thought of her and her beautiful little Negar. A few months ago, she called out of the blue, from California. Her voice was filled with that buoyant and flirtatious tone whose notes I seem to have memorized. She has remarried; her new husband lives in California. Her former husband had taken Negar from her and there was not much else to stay in Tehran for. She was full of ideas about enrolling in classes and starting a new life.

Mahshid, Manna and Yassi continued to meet after I left. They read Virginia Woolf and Kundera and others, and wrote about films, poetry and their own lives as women. Mahshid got her much deserved tenure and is now a senior editor, publishing books of her own.

During her last year in Iran, Yassi held her own private class, with students who loved her and with whom she went mountain climbing, about which she wrote me e-mails delirious with this newfound capability. She also worked hard to come to America for her graduate studies. She was finally accepted at Rice University, in Texas, in 2000 and is currently working on her Ph.D.

Nima teaches. He, I always thought, is what we call a born teacher. He also writes brilliant and unfinished essays on James, Nabokov and his favorite Persian writers. He still regales me with his stories and anecdotes. Manna writes her poetry, and when I recently told her I wanted to write an epilogue for my book and was wondering what to say about her, she sent me this:

Five years have passed since the time when the story began in a cloud-lit room where we read
Madame Bovary
and had chocolate from a wine-red dish on Thursday mornings. Hardly anything has changed in the nonstop sameness of our everyday life. But somewhere else I have changed. Each morning with the rising of the routine sun as I wake up and put on my veil before the mirror to go out and become a part of what is called reality, I also know of another “I” that has become naked on the pages of a book: in a fictional world, I have become fixed like a Rodin statue. And so I will remain as long as you keep me in your eyes, dear readers.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are numerous individuals whose real selves, ghosts or shadows make cameo appearances in the pages of this book. Some I have known for a long time, sharing with them many of the experiences narrated in the preceding chapters; others I feel as if I have known all my life, even if they were not there then. There is no way that I can acknowledge their contributions in these few words. Like the good fairies and genies protecting Nabokov's Pnin, they have been the guardian angels of my book. To them I owe more than I can ever articulate.

My mother, Nezhat Nafisi, died on January 2, 2003. I could not be with her through her last months of illness and her death. That grief will always be accompanied by a hatred I shared with her of evil totalitarian systems which Nabokov denounced for holding their citizens hostage by their heartstrings. For her, the fight against tyranny was not a political but an existential struggle. As a daughter and an individual I could never reach the standards of perfection she expected of me, but she did take genuine pleasure in my work and we believed in the same ideals and values. She had looked forward to reading this book, and I dedicate it to her in memory of her courage and sense of integrity, which were the main causes of her passionate failings. She and my father were the first, most enthusiastic and selfless supporters of my work.

My father was the first storyteller in my life, creating stories for me and with me. He taught me many things, among them how to believe in ideals and how to confront the real world with the possibilities created by fictional ones. With my brother, Mohammad, I shared my earliest dreams and stories (an experience I continue to share with my beloved niece, Sanam Banoo Nafisi); although we lived apart during the writing of this book, his critical and compassionate eye has been my constant companion. My husband, Bijan, with whom I shared so many of the experiences in this book, has been literally my better half throughout this ordeal as all others. He was the only one apart from my editor who read the finished manuscript of my book, helping me much through his impartial judgment, moral integrity and love. My children, Dara and Negar, provided me with the kind of love and support that at times reversed our roles.

Other family members and friends made the writing of this book easier with their support and encouragement: Manijeh and Q Aghazadeh; Taraneh and Mo Shamszad; Parvin, whose invaluable friendship and constant support cannot be acknowledged in words, and also Khosrow, Tahmineh joon, Goli, Karim, Nahid and Zari; my good friend Mahnaz Afkhami, who offered friendship and wise counsel during a difficult and lonely time; Paul (thank you for introducing me to
Persecution and the Art of Writing,
among many other things), Carl Gershman, Hillel Fradkin and the wonderful colleagues and staff at the University of Freedonia; Bernard Lewis (who opened the door); Hayedeh Daragahi, Freshteh Shahpar, Farivar Farzan, Shahran Tabari and Ziama (for teaching me about the relation between Beethoven and freedom); Lea Kenig for her friendship, support and love of books, which she generously shared with me; my retrieved childhood friends Farah Ebrahimi and Issa H. Rhode; and my voices of conscience and bosom friends Ladan Boroumand, Roya Boroumand and Abdi Nafisi.

I will always remain indebted to my students, who provided me with a new outlook on life and literature, but especially to Azin, Yassi, Sanaz, Mitra, Mahshid, Manna, Ava, Mozhgan, Nassrin and Nima. Almost every page of this book resonates with memories of my teaching experiences and in a sense every page is dedicated to them.

Since I left Iran in 1997, the Paul H. Nitze School for Advanced International Studies (SAIS) at Johns Hopkins University has been my academic and intellectual home. I have benefited from the openness, curiosity and intellectual freedom shown by past and present colleagues and staff. I would like to thank them for providing an atmosphere that is academically exciting and adventurous but never intellectually stilted or confining. My thanks especially to Fouad Ajami and the Middle East department and to the staff and my colleagues at the Foreign Policy Institute and to its director, Dr. Tom Keaney.

A generous grant from the Smith Richardson Foundation provided me with the opportunity to work on this book as well as pursue my projects at SAIS. My thanks especially to Marin Strmecki and Samantha Ravich for their belief in the rights of all individuals, no matter what part of the world they live in, to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. For quotations from Ayatollah Khomeini and facts about his life, I am grateful to Baqer Moin's
Khomeini: Life of the Ayatollah
(I.B. Tauris, 1999).

I would like to thank the staff at Random House for their support, enthusiasm and professionalism. I am grateful to Veronica Windholz for her scrupulous copyediting as well as her compassionate hatred of tyrannies, and to Robin Rolewicz, on whose smiles and generous and timely support, which went far beyond the call of duty, I came so much to rely. I had often wondered why some writers waxed lyrical over their editors until I started to work with Joy de Menil. Although very young, Joy decided to become this book's fairy godmother. I appreciate her friendship, developed over the course of writing this book, her imaginative insights and suggestions, her meticulous editing and not least her own passion for and appreciation of great works of fiction.

And then there is always the inimitable, incorrigible Mr. R, wherever he may be at this moment and whatever story he may be inventing or participating in.

PHOTO: LILI IRAVANI

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AZAR NAFISI
is a professor at Johns Hopkins University. She won a fellowship from Oxford and taught English literature at the University of Tehran, the Free Islamic University and the University of Allameh Tabatabai in Iran. She was expelled from the University of Tehran for refusing to wear the veil and left Iran for America in 1997. She has written for
The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal
and
The New Republic,
has appeared on countless radio and television programs, and is the author of
Anti-Terra: A Critical Study of Vladimir Nabokov's Novels
. She lives in Washington, D.C., with her husband and two children. Visit her website at
http://dialogueproject.sais-jhu.edu.

PRAISE FOR
Reading Lolita in Tehran

“Resonant and deeply affecting . . . An eloquent brief on the transformative powers of fiction–on the refuge from ideology that art can offer to those living under tyranny, and art's affirmative and subversive faith in the voice of the individual.”

—M
ICHIKO
K
AKUTANI
,
The New York Times

“[A] vividly braided memoir . . . Anguished and glorious.”

—C
YNTHIA OZICK
,
The New Republic

“Certain books by our most talented essayists . . . carry inside their covers the heat and struggle of a life's central choice being made and the price being paid, while the writer tells us about other matters, and leaves behind a path of sadness and sparkling loss.
Reading Lolita in Tehran
is such a book.”

—M
ONA SIMPSON
,
The Atlantic Monthly

“A poignant, searing tale about the secret ways Iranian women defy the regime. . . . [Nafisi] makes you want to rush back to all these books to experience the hidden aspects she's elucidated.”

—
Salon

“A quietly magnificent book . . . [Nafisi's] passion is irresistible.”

—
LA Weekly

“Azar Nafisi's memoir makes a good case for reading the classics of Western literature no matter where you are. . . . [Her] perspective on her students' plight, the ongoing struggle of Iranian citizens, and her country's violent transformation into an Islamic state will provide valuable insights to anyone interested in current international events.”

—H
EATHER HEWETT
,
The Christian Science Monitor

“An intimate memoir of life under a repressive regime and a celebration of the vitality of literature. . . . As rich and profound as the novels Nafisi teaches.”

—The Miami Herald

“An inspiring account of an insatiable desire for intellectual freedom.”

—USA Today

“Transcends categorization as memoir, literary criticism or social history, though it is superb as all three. . . . Nafisi has produced an original work on the relationship between life and literature.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Nafisi's passion for books is infectious, and her description of the
effect of the revolution on its people is unforgettable.”

—Denver Rocky Mountain News

“[A] sparkling memoir . . . A spirited tribute both to the classics of world literature and to resistance against oppression.”

—
Kirkus Reviews
(starred review)

“Nafisi artfully intertwines her own coming-of-age in pre-Revolutionary Tehran with the daily frustrations of her pupils. . . . [She] relates her girls' moving stories with great sympathy.”

—Entertainment Weekly

“[Nafisi] reminds us why we read in the first place.”

—
Newsday

“As timely as it is well-written. . . . As the world seems to further divide itself into them and us, Nafisi reminds her readers of the folly of thinking in black and white.”

—
Cleveland
Plain Dealer

“Readers will have a new appreciation for the worn Nabokov and James titles on their bookshelves after reading Nafisi's engaging memoir.”

—Minneapolis
Star Tribune

“Nafisi's writing has painterly qualities. . . . She is able to capture a moment and describe it with ease and melancholy. . . .
Reading Lolita in Tehran
is much more than a literary memoir; it becomes a tool for teaching us how to construe literature in a new, more meaningful way.”

—The Library Journal

“Brilliant . . . So much is right with this book, if not with this world.”

—The Boston Globe

“I was enthralled and moved by Azar Nafisi's account of how she defied, and helped others to defy, radical Islam's war against women. Her memoir contains important and properly complex reflections about the ravages of theocracy, about thoughtfulness, and about the ordeals of freedom—as well as a stirring account of the pleasures and deepening of consciousness that result from an encounter with great literature and with an inspired teacher.”

—S
USAN
S
ONTAG

“A memoir about teaching Western literature in revolutionary Iran, with profound and fascinating insights into both. A masterpiece.”

—B
ERNARD LEWIS
, author of
What Went Wrong?

“Anyone who has ever belonged to a book group must read this book. Azar Nafisi takes us into the vivid lives of eight women who must meet in secret to explore the forbidden fiction of the west. It is at once a celebration of the power of the novel and a cry of outrage at the reality in which these women are trapped. The ayatollahs don't know it, but Nafisi is one of the heroes of the Islamic Republic.”

—G
ERALDINE BROOKS
, author of
Nine Parts of Desire
and
Year of Wonders

“When I first saw Azar Nafisi teach, she was standing in a university classroom in Tehran, holding a bunch of red fake poppies in one hand and a bouquet of daffodils in the other, and asking, what is kitsch? Now, mesmerizingly, she reveals the shimmering worlds she created in those classrooms, inside a revolution that was an apogee of kitsch and cruelty. Here, people think for themselves because James and Fitzgerald and Nabokov sing out against authoritarianism and repression. You will be taken inside a culture, and on a journey, that you will never forget.”

—J
ACKI LYDEN
, author of
Daughter of the Queen of Sheba