With poignancy, a daughter of Iran sets the record straight

Growing up female in Iran during the reign of the shah and through the 1979 revolution and its aftermath, when wearing the veil became mandatory and all education was separated by gender and the universities were later closed, was not an easy thing. Using the strengths of the graphic novel -- in this case, black-and-white comic-strip drawings, bubble dialogue and captions -- Marjane Satrapi brings to life in a “graphic memoir” her girlhood in Tehran, leavening poignancy with humor, to present one of the freshest and most original memoirs of our day. (Compared by many to Art Spiegelman’s graphic novel of the Holocaust, “Maus,” the book was originally published to considerable acclaim in France, where the author now lives.)

Since the revolution, she tells us, her homeland “has been discussed mostly in connection with fundamentalism, fanaticism and terrorism. As an Iranian who has lived more than half my life in Iran, I know this image is far from the truth.” Her memoir triumphs in setting the record straight, by portraying herself and her parents as intellectual, compassionate people who embody the opposite of the image that the Westerner often associates with the country.

“Persepolis” offers a keen view into the recent history of Iran as seen through the ingenuous eyes of a child, from the ages of 10 to 14. Satrapi pulls us into the story, which looks harmless, almost cute amid its cartoon-like illustrations. No sooner have we read the first page, however, than we’re drawn into a heartbreaking tale that includes state-sanctioned torture, executions, political demonstrations and the inherent fear of reprisal. The Satrapi family waits and hopes that the political and religious situation in Iran will improve, that the strong-arming fundamentalism will abate, but the circumstances only deteriorate as young Marji grows. Eventually, her parents, who fear that their daughter’s outspoken ways and Westernized habits might get her in trouble with the Islamic regime, send her away to school in Vienna at age 14.

They have reasons to be worried. Satrapi is the child of well-educated, politically active parents whose acute awareness of the injustices of the reigning fundamentalism rubs off on her. We see Satrapi’s outspoken nature, the way she rails for what’s right and takes to her child’s heart the plight of her country.

When worlds collide

YET Satrapi is just a normal kid, tied into desires for music and self-expression common to many teens. When her parents take a vacation to Turkey, she begs them to bring back posters of pop stars -- paraphernalia strictly forbidden in Iran. Her parents smuggle back the contraband, including a denim jacket, a Michael Jackson pin and Nike tennis shoes. Outfitted with these marvels, she’s immediately stopped on the streets by the Guardians of the Revolution, defenders of Islamic morality empowered to arrest women who are improperly veiled or attired. Satrapi spills out an invented story about the mean stepmother who will beat her, she breaks down in tears and finally, luckily, she is released.

“They didn’t have to inform my parents,” she explains. “They could detain me for hours, or for days. I could be whipped.”

Readers first meet Satrapi as younger child, dreaming of growing up to become a prophet: “I wanted to be justice, love and the wrath of God all in one,” she writes. When the revolution occurs, she shifts her vocational focus toward revolt, extensively studying Marxism, play-acting as Che Guevara, examining the ways of Fidel Castro, reading a text on “dialectic materialism.”

She has a close relationship with God, who’s portrayed as a white-bearded, kindly man. (“It was funny to see how much Marx and God looked like each other,” she tells us. “Though Marx’s hair was a bit curlier.” This God comes to her side regularly, listens as Satrapi tries to sort out the happenings of her life; he holds her, enveloping her in his beard and robes when she’s scared.

Satrapi’s great-grandfather had been the last emperor of Persia, his reign overthrown by Reza Shah (the father of the last shah of Iran, he changed the country’s name from its Greek appellation “Persia” to “Iran” in 1935.) Her great-grandfather, she learns, had been imprisoned and put in a cell filled with water for hours. Hearing this tale, young Marji takes a bath, staying in the water for a long time, the gentle God by her side. “I wanted to know what it felt like to be in a cell filled with water,” she tells God. “My hands were wrinkled when I came out; like Grandpa’s.”

Satrapi succeeds in capturing a child’s outraged determination that society should be fair, that injustice should be opposed, that right should win. This guileless tone, balanced by the book’s humor and its stark illustrations, reveals in startling ways the realities of growing up amid war, revolution and a fundamentalist regime.

Although she may not have intended it, Satrapi has grown into her youthful dream of prophethood. She is a voice calling out to the rest of us, reminding us to embrace this child’s fervent desire that human dignity reign supreme.