Persepolis is an architectural marvel, isn’t it? Wait until you read the literary marvel.
Persepolis isn’t just a majestic remnant of the erstwhile Persian Empire but Marjane Satrapi’s eulogy to one of the greatest empires in the ancient world. “Iran was referred to as Persia- its Greek name-until 1935 when Reza Shah, the father of the last Shah of Iran, asked everyone to call the country Iran.”
Driven by patriotism, Marjane’s Persepolis discusses the fanaticism, fundamentalism, and terrorism that plague Iran, thus making her memoir a testament to truth.
The ‘Embroideries’ and ‘Chicken with Plumes’ author has divided her graphic novel into two halves: The Story of a Childhood and The Story of a Return. The first half opens amidst the Islamic Revolution of 1980, when the author was 10 years old. The rebel child quotes herself saying: “We didn’t really like to wear the veil, especially since we didn’t understand why we had to.” The repressive regime draws her condemnation, peppered with caustic wit and sarcasm. A 10-year-old makes sense of the brutality wearing the garb of innocence. The daughter of Avant Garde, revolutionary parents, Satrapi’s impressionable mind is nurtured by Descartes and Marx.
Forbidden to think, wear and express, the recalcitrant Satrapi moves from school to school in Iran. Her parents, recognising her free-spirited French school education, sent her to Vienna. It was a move to protect Satrapi from the Guardians of Revolution.
Leading to Persepolis 2, Satrapi in November 1984, begins her new journey in ‘secular Europe’, leaving her parents behind in ‘religious Iran.’ It captures Marji’s adolescence as well as culture shock. How does she react to her newfound freedom? The parties were different in Vienna compared to her homeland. Dancing and eating were replaced by smoking and lying around. Marjane soon takes up tripping. Her grades are lower. She falls in love and miserably falls out of it as well. Becoming homeless for 3 months, she eventually made a mess of herself. Ending up as a failure, she refuses to look in the eyes of her parents, who, after much hardship, had sent her to Austria for studies. Earlier, she took off the veil to liberate herself; now she’s wearing it again to feel a semblance of home in subjugation.
Aimless. She returns after 4 years. Reminiscing of Iran in her absence, she looks around the change. A gap of 4 years never felt starker while reconnecting with her old friends. No wonder she immediately regretted it. With time, she readjusts to murals, martyrs and unbearable streets hounded by men in uniforms. Unnerved in therapy, prone to self-harm, the dark tunnel has had to see light. The metamorphosis happens. After passing the National Exam, she applies to the College of Art.
But this Bildungsroman character’s road to self-discovery didn’t end just yet.
In a dystopia, political life in Iran intertwines with personal life. It’s a Brave New World! Spending time in public as a couple in love required a marriage certificate. She isn’t ready, knowing all along that it won’t work. But she wanted to feel validated by someone’s love after her heartbreak in Vienna. Married and divorced after 3 years, she left for Strasbourg in 1994. A real beginning starts!
If you ask me what role parents play in shaping their children’s future, Persepolis stands out as one of the finest examples. My admiration for Satrapi’s family knows no bounds as I proceeded with reading the episodic narrative. Sheltered in strong values and an even stronger resolve in envisioning one’s life, Marjane’s parents calm the storms she finds herself in. They knew they hadn’t raised Marjane to lead a life in an oppressive regime. Life is meant to be lived, and if Marjane does, they will know they are living in it as well. The war and revolution mustn’t muzzle the voices, and Iran certainly was unlivable for vociferous Satrapi.
Marjane doesn’t discriminate between a comic book and a graphic novel. But I will. The black and white illustrations weigh on the gravity of war and destruction. I remember comic books being light and colored although both share a dynamic form of storytelling. And not because of these elements, I can’t call Persepolis a comic book, but it’s the book-length realism that makes the classification necessary. The childish narration, coupled with simplistic graphics, communicated the loss of a war-struck childhood with even greater depth. At times humorous, you can’t miss the mother-daughter, father-daughter and grandmother-granddaughter moments. It’s, after all, a revolutionary’s dream to stand tall, and Marjane did in writing Persepolis: ‘One must forgive but never forget.’ Marjane, the bread swan, became a Prophet, wouldn’t you agree?