Other than the use of fluid, straightforward diction, succinct, yet lush structure, and beautiful familiarity with storytelling, I found Bahrampour’s comprehension and way of portraying childhood through prose to be absolutely brilliant. Sometimes I forgot that I was reading the words of an adult writing from the POV of a little girl. The language was so lavish, the scenes so vivid, but yet I felt as if I was still seeing through the eyes of a younger soul, delineating moments in time so lucidly that it could have only been accessed through a solid recollection of old memories. Just the way that Tara always describes Baba and her mother, the two of them becoming more representative of moments in her life as opposed to characters she knows how to identify with. They are elusive, yet always present, kind of like deities on an elevated platform dolling out warmth from above. I love what little Tara notices about her mother, how she locates pride in her. For example, when she brings the photographs over to the neighbor’s house, there is a certain love for her exotic beauty, her difference, and in particular, a certain importance in how she reveals the author’s mixed individuality. We don’t get a lot of self-convicted reflection from the author, instead we receive an array of scenes, moments in time, places where we are meant to look upon this child from above and understand her.
The scene with Miryam, I believe, happens to be really key in exploiting Bahrampour’s skill at depicting childhood. The main character begins by ruminating upon germs, the function of them, and how they exist in the real world. However, her child’s POV makes them wondrous, dangerous, and unexplainable. When she follows Miryam we get a glimpse of her conscious being overrided by the authorities of her parents, relatives, the world, but still she journeys on, under the unknown threat of something bigger than her that she is far too young to understand. Instances like this in the book make Tara’s childhood believable. The author has gone the distance to make us understand her life in Iran as an elucidated dreamscape of childhood recollections. Even the revolution seems distant, foreign, because she remains inside under the protection of her parents, only seeing the passing of footsteps through the basement window. When she finally gets to go to the demonstration, the world floods in and she is elated, if not just absorbing the scene. Overall, she is more of a harbinger of life than a judge upon it, like most children seem to be. Rather than giving us an opinion, she presents a tapestry, something for us to assemble for ourselves. Wonderful book!!
glad you liked the book. i’d be interested in your sense of her perspective in the return trip. her technique is much like Kite Runner (although it was written years later)–while the childhood honesty is present, the adult observer has the control of the language. Good observations on your part.
elmaz