A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

Beachcombing at Miramar and What it Takes to be a Writer

by 5 Comments

beachcombing at miramar - richard bodeI read Beachcombing at Miramar: The Quest for an Authentic Life by Richard Bode just as I was changing jobs earlier this summer and somewhat terrified that I’d never write again. Things are better now, as of this weekend I have two books started and a jumble of poetry I vow to someday edit, so I feel like I can finally talk about this book and what it means to me.

Isolation

Bode retreated to his house on the beach after a divorce from a marriage it sounds like he was never that into. And this book is a collection of essays about the year he spent beachcombing. Like many memoirs (most particularly Walden), it feels carefully trimmed to highlight the experiences that string together into the best narrative. I guess fiction does that too, but in this instance, especially as he talks about his isolation, I wondered if he was anywhere near as removed from society as I dreamed he was.

“Since they have never learned how to be by themselves, they have never learned how to be together.” – Richard Bode

My relationship with isolation is cloudy. A first born, there was a time in my life where I was very happy with only my own company, but I feel like my parents resisted this impulse in me. Perhaps because of the adorable baby brother who soon followed or just to fit into society in general. But somewhere very early I got the impression (in a way that was difficult to argue with) that I was supposed to be social. I started flitting from group to group engaging just enough to feel like I’d satisfied the requirements and then I’d go on to the next. But I never again settled into my own company.

Even in grad school for writing, a time when I should have been most deeply immersed in my thoughts, I was experiencing an immense push-pull between the isolation I craved and the importance of sociability that I’d internalized.

But there are times when a writer cannot be social. It’s perhaps the lonesomest of careers (and maybe that’s why it calls to me). Because I work with words, the slightest verbal interruption can throw me off completely—sometimes for the whole day (especially when I’m in that nuance of language place). I cannot even listen to music with lyrics.

And yet, I’m still pushing and pulling myself about whether that isolation is okay. Often all it takes is a declaration of intent that “I will be writing today and cannot be interrupted” for me to then turn around and follow my husband around the house all day (unlike Bode, I’m very lucky in my choice of spouse).

The best times—the most productive times— are when I find balance, as I believe Bode did, between the alone time required to think and create and the social time that almost everyone wants some degree of. To do that, I have to give myself permission to be alone sometimes and to be honest with myself about the times when I don’t.

Inspiration

“Where does your inspiration come from?” has to be the most frequently asked question of writers. With this book, Bode allowed himself time to think and to observe the world. Although his book is self-referential (inspiration comes from the very time and space that he’s writing about), I believe the magic of inspiration actually comes from an artist’s brain.

I’m not saying that artists have different ways of thinking than others—that would imply some sort of biological predisposition toward art I’m not prepared to champion—but I do believe the openness, fluidity, and tangential nature of thought are necessary to the creation of art. Because the magic of inspiration is actually the magic of connections that we make, of looking at the same thing as everyone else from a fresh angle. Some of that is allowing ourselves the time to think, and some of it is allowing ourselves the space to see whatever it is we are looking at in the light of our unique experiences (and then honing the skills to express that viewpoint).

“I have a task that is greater than all the labors assigned to Hercules. It demands that I live in the richness of this moment because that is all I have or will ever know.” – Richard Bode

Bode is just walking up and down the beach. But by being on that beach through the seasons, he sees the experience of being there in a different way. The thoughts in his mind are shaped by that presence and evolve into something a day visitor might not understand. It’s pretty wonderful.

And inspiration, as long as you are open to it, really is inexhaustible (I’m sure I’ll kick myself for writing that someday, but I do believe it). At work this week, I was treated to this presentation:

That was at a marketing conference. But because I didn’t have my head stuck in the “this is the place I work” vs. “this is the place I write” rut, this fabulous presentation inspired me professionally and personally. Not every part of this presentation will be tailor made for you. That’s the point. Pluck the parts that resonate and marry them with something else and go make work.

There is a line from Gattaca that is with me always. Vincent (Ethan Hawke) is explaining to his much more athletic brother how he beat him at swimming this vast distance when they were kids. He says, “You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it, Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back.” If you are saving back ideas for the next project or for the right moment, you are holding back a part of yourself. Go back to that presentation above. Check out slide 7. Then slide 8. 20. 21.

The time to make your best work about that burning issue is right now. Because tomorrow something else might be burning and you will have lost that moment forever.

Coping with Fear

“The individual who fears the criticism of others is no different from the one who seeks their praise. Both are shadow figures, fading into the landscape, lacking the will to act for themselves.” – Richard Bode

Just before that quote, Bode relays an anecdote about Georgia O’Keeffe that is likely apocryphal, but the sentiment is important. He says that before ever showing her work to the world, she set up a show for herself to decide what she thought of the work. She had the wisdom to look into the work and to see it for all of its flaws and also its successes. She also had the wisdom to know that it was her critique that would be the most valuable to future work.

Making art is scary. I’ve been writing about that a lot lately, here, here, and also in my notebooks. But that’s life and it’s time to move on.

I found a lot of comfort this week talking with a beloved writer friend about art and fear. We walked through Madison Park with her kids and talked about our work and the things that are inspiring us. She is a person to whom it is safe to say aloud the things I haven’t worked out on paper. I even let her thumb through notebook #1 – the next novel. The point is that the world is a lot less scary once you find those people to whom you can open up. My husband hears about my emotions and my writer friends hear about my art. And everything else must go into the work.

“I am on my way toward the center of myself, doing my best to strip away layers of sham and pretense as I go along.” – Richard Bode

Beachcombing at Miramar is a very Buddhist book—right down to the quotes from Thich Nhat Hanh. And I love it. It helped me find some of my center during this latest transition, and re-reading it today it helped me all over again.

What are the books and influences that shape your life as a writer? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

If Beachcombing at Miramar is your thing, pick up a copy from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

The Art of Voice in Keri Hulme’s The Bone People

by Leave a Comment

the bone people - keri hulme

I admit I probably picked upThe Bone People by Keri Hulme because I was looking to flesh out my South Pacific section. It won the Man Booker Prize back when it was still called the Booker Prize and I was intrigued by the description. But late in the night when I dusted this book off and took it to bed, I had no idea what I was in for. Starkly original and painful (and at times even painful to read), this book taught me more about originality and writing with your authentic voice than anything I’ve read in a long time.

The story of a lone woman, a mute boy who seeks her out, and the boy’s adopted father, The Bone People broke my heart over and over and over with complex tales of isolation, abuse, and alcoholism. I’m going to focus on the writing part today (partly because I don’t know how to do the story justice without revealing too much), but if you ever need to see how well broken people can be inhabited and conveyed in a way that is neither overly sympathetic nor antagonistic but always deeply heartfelt, read this book. I learned so much and I know there’s a lot more to learn should I read it again.

Writing Your Culture

Part Maori and part British Islander, Hulme is a New Zealander through and through. I knew from the moment I read in her introduction, “I live five hundred miles away, don’t have a telephone, and receive only intermittent mail delivery” that this was a woman who was living a life very unlike my own. And that comes through beautifully in the book. The craggy landscape, the relationship with the sea, the nuances of interaction between the indigenous population and the settlers—it’s all there and it’s conveyed with an extraordinary authenticity. Funny how you can point out the things that tie a book to its culture, but if you try and write it from the outside, it’s never the same.

Writing Yourself

The similarities in this book between the author, Keri Hulme, and the protagonist, Kerewin Holmes, including her ethnicity and her penchant for isolation, were uncanny enough that I thought they would interfere with my reading of the book. They did not. Instead, she managed to create this work that is so wholly her own that fact and fiction don’t matter. I was so enthralled in the narrative at times that I’d avoid picking the book up because I knew I could not put it down again.

“I was lucky with my editors, who respected how I feel about… oddities. For instance, I think the shape of words brings a response from the reader—a tiny, subconscious, unacknowledged but definite response.” – Keri Hulme

And this book is original. From the opening line, “He walks down the street. The asphalt reels by him,” through the first few pages, I had no idea what was happening, but the force of her writing compelled me forward. I had the sense that this book came from the very depths of Hulme and I always wanted to read more.

Nonconformity in Writing.

To be fair, there are lots of writers out there doing their own things with language. Some very subtly and some very obviously. But few have reshaped the conventions as much as Hulme does in this book and managed to win so much acclaim. She starts the book with a fugue state where the reader has no idea what’s happening. She invents her own style of how the text should look. She intersperses whole Maori phrases. It’s an absolutely maddening book. But it’s so completely compelling, too.

Maybe she wrote this book this way because it depicts a lifestyle that’s outside the literary norm. Or maybe this is the way the words come to her. What’s important to me about this book is that for all of the differences between her style and whatever expectation I may have had, she grabbed me by the emotional core and hung on. Every difficult passage or heartbreaking moment is rewarded by some insight into either the characters or a way I could be rethinking my own language.

Finding my Voice

Subscribers to this blog know that I’m wrestling a lot with my writing right now in the months following publishing Polska, 1994, my first novel. What I learned from Hulme is that I need to pull inward, to find that voice at the center of my core. I can (and do) learn all kinds of tools from the writers around me, but the gestation of my voice is my individual responsibility. It comes from learning to trust myself, from praising myself instead of seeking praise, and from being willing to dwell alone in that creative space. I may not run 500 miles from the nearest telephone (although that sounded wonderful for a few brief moments), but I must be willing to sit with myself and my writing. That’s the only way I’m ever going to make anything worth reading again.

What are the books that have most challenged you? What did you learn from them? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

If you want to explore the magical heartbreak of The Bone People, pick up a copy from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Revisiting Art & Fear in a Time of Crippling Self Doubt

by 3 Comments

art and fearIt feels like a long time since I reviewed anything here. It’s been even longer since I wrote anything I consider creative or good that isn’t a blog post. There are lots of reasons for this–things like marketing a book, changing a job, and getting my life in order all take time. But the big reason, as I’ve come to realize this weekend, is fear. So I turned, as I have so many times before, to this slim little volume called Art & Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland.

Identifying the Problem

When I was talking to my husband this weekend, trying to figure out why I sometimes feel lately like I am hollow or don’t have a voice (wow, that looks so much smaller, more manageable in type–I should have started blogging earlier), the conversation inevitably turned to fear. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of being seen for who I really am. Fear of not being seen for who I really am… the list continues.

I should have known (by now) that fear had become a problem because I was feeling paralyzed in a somewhat similar way to how I feel when three salespeople flank me at Best Buy (BTW, if we ever happen to see a war, I might not be the best person to have your back), except for much, much bigger. And I’ve been flailing. I’ve made some big declarations about what I’m writing on social media. While they often sound self-congratulatory (which I hate), they are for me–to remind me what it feels like to believe I can do good work.


I’ve been making equally big declarations about not writing. Because I need to admit to myself that I’m not.


Note that those tweets are from the same day. The ups and downs for me is a symptom of the fear. This is how I am when I don’t feel grounded in myself–which means my work.

Art & Fear

Of all the amazing books my husband brought home from art school (Motherless Brooklyn, White Noise, City of Glass and more), Art & Fear has to be the most useful. It’s written by two artists and it’s written for practicing artists (as opposed to the genius-types that we like to put on pedestals and assume they have no struggles). It delves into the feeling of creating work and, more importantly right now, the feeling of not creating work. They write simple phrases like, “There’s a painful irony to… discovering how frequently and easily success transmutes into depression” and “tolerance for uncertainty is the prerequisite to succeeding.” They remind me that “Art happens between you and something” and that it is only by producing quantity that a perfectionist like me has any hope of producing quality.

Art & Fear covers fears you might feel about yourself and your work. It covers fears you might have about others and the art world in general. It’s so comprehensive and concise. And it’s insightful. And I think everyone should have a copy for the harder days.

The book is 122 pages and I read the whole thing over again in just over an hour last night. It has to be the third or fourth time I’ve read the book and I’ll go back again when I feel this way. Because it always gets straight to the heart of what I’m feeling and why. It reminds me that the very things that make it hard for me to write are the things that make me a great writer (writing that I’m a “great” writer was a bit of an exercise for me there and I want to delete it but I’m leaving it).

One of the many things I love about being married to an artist is that he sees this struggle in me and he can relate. I hope I won’t wait for him to point it out next time before turning back to the book, but any way that this gentle reminder of the fact that the fear is both normal and motivating makes it into my hands is a gift and I’ll take it.

So What’s My Deal?

“Artists don’t get down to work until the pain of working is exceeded by the pain of not working.” – Stephen DeStaebler

Now that I’m coming out of this funk a bit, I can look at what the causes are and see what, if anything, I can do to avoid it next time.

Starting Over

“The depth of your need to make things establishes the level of risk in not making them.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

I made a book this year! I made two! And then I was empty. I’ve written a little about this in the past few months, but I spent so many years honing Polska, 1994 that I cannot remember what it is like to start a new project. That’s been really, really scary. And I’m trying to push myself even farther with the next book, which makes it scarier still.

Starting a New Job

“Lesson for the day: vision is always ahead of execution–and it should be.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

I was recently hired at this really fantastic company (Moz) that deeply cares about my success and me as a human being and they want to pay me to write. That’s both an enormous gift and a whole lot of pressure (especially for someone who trucks in hiding behind her work–something that’s already been noticed and mentioned to me in a helpful way). I’m trying to live up to it because I know how rare this opportunity is. But aside from the exhaustion that comes from learning all the norms of a new culture, I’m also terrified that the faith they have placed in me is mislaid. I guess I feel a little like an imposter about to be found out. For my first big project, I’m investigating some things that are deeply exciting for me, but the farther I stretch, the more concerned I become that the work isn’t good enough or right enough or right for the audience. And despite the fact that I’m working inside a framework where it’s safe (and encouraged) to talk about these things, I haven’t yet opened myself to that process.

“The seed for your next art work lies embedded in the imperfections of your current piece.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

So this week my homework is to talk with this wonderful group of people about how I feel. It’s to be brave about what I think my failings might be and to ask for help. It’s to accept that I will fail (if I’ve gone far enough) and to trust that I can get up from that and do better next time. That all looks so good in type…

Approval

“Courting approval, even that of peers, puts a dangerous amount of power in the hands of the audience.” – David Bayles and Ted Orland, Art & Fear

Putting my books out into the world is part of their natural life cycle. It’s also exposing them to judgment. That’s hard, but I can man up and accept it’s part of the deal. Starting a new job is putting myself out there and it’s exposing me to judgment as I worry I can only disappoint.

I am smart enough about myself to know that changing jobs right after putting my artwork into the world was going to be treacherous. But this opportunity was too great to pass up. One of the things about me that works as an artist is this insane ability to get deep inside myself and my work and only care about what I think. But I don’t get to do that right now. Instead, I’m presenting all my fingerpaintings to the world and asking for them to find value in them by buying my book or signing my paycheck. It’s okay. It’s normal. But it’s going to take me a little while to find myself in the process and find the comfort zone where I am in charge of my own judgment again. Where I feel strong enough to open up and receive the kind of feedback I need to grow without it feeling like my underlying worth is being challenged.

Postscript

After writing the bulk of this blog post, I had an epic conversation with one of my closest friends. We talked about a lot of things I’ve written about here and about some of the ways they manifest in our lives overall. I’m lucky in my life to have a few of those people (including my husband) who intrinsically get me and whom I trust to challenge me. They help me be stronger and more myself in the world at large. I just want them to know how grateful I am for that.

Growth is hard, but it’s worth it. And it’s easier when you have a good support system. I feel very lucky in that regard.

Oh, and I’ve re-started my second novel. That’s what the first tweet was about. I’m scared as hell but I won’t let that stop me from making good use of the notebook I’ve put into my purse just for that project. Wish me luck!

If you need some help navigating Art & Fear, pick up a copy from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Reflecting on The Dismal Science of Fatherhood

by 2 Comments

the dismal science - peter mountfordEven before I opened The Dismal Science by Peter Mountford, I wanted to share it with my dad. The main character, Vincenzo, is an economist and vice president at the World Bank. My dad is a forest economist who’s worked for USAID and spoken at the UN. Kismet, right? As I delved deeper into Mountford’s wry humor and brilliantly aware look at the world of an economist, I got closer and closer to ordering a copy for my dad for Father’s Day. It reminded me so much of him and the things he’s taught me that wanted him to share this book with me.

And then I realized he already had.

Art Imitates Life

Because what I loved about the book, aside from the re-immersion into the world of economics (for a brief few years I thought I’d go into International Political Economics and work at the World Bank), was that I felt closer to my dad while reading it. Mountford’s portrayal of a man testing the boundaries of his career as he jumps into a midlife crisis felt very real and very personal. It brought back all kinds of memories of when my dad’s career took a sharp left turn. Vincenzo is sick of being told what to do by the administration so he pushes back and ends up jobless (despite several attempts by colleagues to get him to save himself). My dad pushed up against his own administrative constraints as he battled with an unreasonable dean and ended up an independent consultant (which is when the really interesting work began).

All the while Vincenzo is battling with his college-aged daughter over her vision of who he should be. My dad was battling with teenaged me (okay, I may have been battling with him) over, well, everything.

Flexibility of Thinking

“‘Any good economist knows how to read the data in a way to get a favorable result'” – Peter Mountford, The Dismal Science

Sometimes I think having a background in Economics is a curse. It’s also a crazy blessing. What my dad taught me is that economists have this amazing ability to pull back and view the entire world as a game with rational actors behaving in their own best interests. If the game pieces (people) aren’t behaving the way you think they should, then the model is wrong and you go and reassess your parameters. This flexibility of thought is the most amazing resource for a writer and I think Mountford (whose father is also an economist) must have benefited from the same education because there’s an openness about this book and the possible results that arrange themselves in front of Vincenzo.

But the thing is that Economics is also the opposite of Creative Writing in a lot of ways. It’s creative all right (see openness of possible results), but the best books create a sense of deep empathy that’s missing from the (dismal) science of behavior. I’m not saying empathy is missing in economists, but I do think that for men like Vincenzo and my dad, operating at the level of the intellect in ignorance of their sweet hearts is what causes their breaks.

You see, my dad the academic is probably also the biggest softie on the inside that I’ve ever met. But something about the combination of the generation he was born into (men will be Men) and life with his father made my dad think he needed to hide all those feelings. (It’s actually a family thing my cousin was just in town and the phrase she used most often was “have FEELINGS about” which is the perfect way of showing exactly where my generation of McKettas is in the struggle to integrate our intellects with our hearts as we earn more graduate degrees than I can count while learning that it’s okay to cry at least occasionally).

I don’t know if it’s Mountford’s wonderful sense of empathy or his clean reportage that let me get so deep into Vincenzo’s crisis, but The Dismal Science is both deeply human and intellectual in the most wonderful ways.

Breaking to Build

“When Leonora called fifteen minutes later, she was rapturous, beginning: ‘Oh my fucking God, Dad, what did you do?!’ He hadn’t heard her sound so pleased with him in years. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time that she’d sounded so pleased with him.” – Peter Mountford

Vincenzo’s break may in part be caused by seeing for a moment his life through the eyes of his daughter, Leonora as she asks him how he’d feel if she protested in front of his office. I don’t know if daughters really have that kind of power, but I think we do, and I’ve often felt like my dad’s touchstone. After Vincenzo goes off the deep end, he meets up with Leonora again for another check-in, he realizes how much she admires this new turn he’s taken.

I don’t know that my dad has ever had that aha! moment where he gets insight into how much I admire him. Our nonfiction relationship is more complicated. We commiserated once about an Econ professor we’d both had, but I don’t think I ever told him I considered going into IPE. And when he’s shared his deepest feelings with me, I’ve probably been in reactive “Let me be a kid” mode. But I know where my dad comes from and as much as I brag about his forays into the Khyber Pass with USAID, his visits to Afghanistan and the Philippines, or his testimony before Congress, what I am most proud of are the moments where he lets the world see his incredibly caring heart. It takes a lot of work to break out from our collective McKetta Intellectual Shield and share your FEELINGS. It’s messy and it hurts (and sometimes feels like you’re inside Garden State). Worst of all, it’s imperfect.

Screw that. BEST of all it’s imperfect. Because it’s human. Because it’s the closest any of us can be to Baba–my grandmother who we all deified because she was kind, gentle, and caring–the woman who we knew we didn’t have the courage to be.

The Art of Imperfection

I’ve had a very imperfect year. I’ve been really busy with a lot of important things. I’ve made new connections and leveled up on the career ladder (in more than one career path). But I’ve neglected the people who make me feel human. And although I wanted desperately to send my dad a copy of this book, I was worried he’d see in that some sort of impugning of his human side. So instead I sent him nothing this Father’s Day–in a year when I think he could most use my admiration and love.

So here it is, Dad. This is your Father’s Day gift. I read a book that reminded me so much of you for exactly the opposite reasons you’d think. Instead of the “failure” you remember, it reminded me of your courage and your sweet heart. It reminded me that you are more Baba than you’ll ever know. It’s not an easy road, but it’s a rewarding one. And if you choose to continue following it, know that I’m looking up to you along the way.

What We Read into Books

There is so much more to The Dismal Science than Vincenzo’s career suicide and his relationship with his daughter. Some people might relate deeply to his relationship with Walter or the ebb and flow of his libido. You might rejoice in his willingness to throw politics aside and end up embroiled in new politics in a third world country. The art of what Mountford has done with this book is to create one gorgeous story with multiple entry points. You can see how it sucked me in. I’ll be interested to see how it reads from your point of view.

If you want to participate in the discussion, pick up a copy of The Dismal Science from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Nuance and Culture in A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea by Dina Nayeri

by Leave a Comment

In an age of easy jet travel, very little of the world seems inaccessible anymore. But some places, because of their extreme location (the peak of Mt. Everest) or the political boundaries we’ve set (Tibet), retain their exotic flavor. For me, Iran is one of those places–so remote and inaccessible that I hadn’t, until recently, even explored it through literature. The couple of films I’d seen–Persepolis and Argo left me with very specific impressions–but it wasn’t until reading A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea by that the richness of the Iranian culture began to open for me.

Through the story of one girl, Saba, and her twin sister, Mahtab (who may have emigrated to the US), Nayeri unfolds the complexities of post-revolutionary village life in Iran. The book is so gorgeous and thought-provoking that I was still looking for excuses to bring it up in conversation even weeks after turning the final page. This book reminded me of work by Micheline Aharonian Marcom and Diana Abu-Jaber in its layered insights into a foreign culture and I can’t stop thinking about it.

I thought I was reading this book because like my novella, Polska, 1994, it’s about a girl looking for the truth of what happened to her mother. But it was so much more…

Juxtaposing Cultures

Part of the magic of the book is in the relationship between Saba’s reality and the imagined world of her twin as she navigates a new life in America. Because the communication between the two countries is so poor, it remains plausible that Mahtab is living it up in America like Saba’s twin sense intimates. But it’s equally plausible that Mahtab is a vehicle to describe the stifled desires of Saba.

Because we are seeing two worlds at once, we learn more about both of them. Saba buys tapes of American TV shows smuggled into the country and Mahtab lives the life of an American TV show. Clothed in a headscarf, Saba dreams of escaping to a foreign university where she can study anything she wants–a path that may involve marrying and then getting the consent of her husband. Meanwhile Mahtab the free attends Harvard where she Americanizes her name and experiments with dating. Saba’s dreams in many ways seem very small, but in comparison to Mahtab’s life, each tiny detail rings with importance. And Nayeri imbues each small desire with such sweet innocence that it’s easy to crawl inside of Saba’s life and begin to understand the complexity of the world she lives in.

Literature of Exile

“The moral police don’t hate indecency as much as their own urges.” – Dina Nayeri

Of course in many ways the writing of this book must have functioned in reverse. Nayeri, an Iranian exile who emigrated to the US at age ten. So while she is writing of a sister in Iran dreaming of life in America, in reality Nayeri is living an American life and projecting back to what life might have been like if she stayed in Iran. It’s a complicated relationship, particularly because Nayeri easily could have used this book as a chance to either throw potshots at the revolutionary government of Iran or to wax nostalgic about a homeland lost.

What I love and respect about this book is that she does neither. Instead, A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea is a nuanced and loving look at the people of Iran that deals with the strict Islamic government as thoughtfully as it considers the relationships between village women. Each time I wondered whether the peek into Iran I was getting was politically biased, Nayeri would once again display her love of the underlying culture and I don’t think I could have picked a better book to begin to understand Iran.

But of course when you’re dealing with two countries in political opposition, there is always a slant and I did wonder what an Iranian woman would think of this book. My hunch is that whatever she would think of the politics, the daily life and human experience would ring true.

Resisting Expectations

“Women always do these kinds of jobs–cleansing each other of filth and sin. It is a way of showing the world that it is not by the standards of men that they are judged and found lacking.” – Dina Nayer

Because there is such a tortured political history between the US and Iran (and because my understanding of the situation is so limited), I did come into this book with some baggage. I expected total subjugation of women. I expected tight control and arbitrary regulations. I expected to come out hating the revolutionary government. But Nayeri deals more in human truths than political ones, which is a far better tack, and when given the opportunity to fulfill some cliche or other, she turns the cliche on its head and teaches the reader about thinking beyond the normal expectations.

For example, when Saba consents to a marriage with a man she does not love but who might offer her freedom in the future, I honestly expected (as she expected) for her to be raped on her wedding night. Instead what happens that night and throughout the course of her marriage is infinitely more nuanced, thoughtful, and (at times) heartbreaking. And when Saba’s beautiful but poor (and therefore powerless) friend Ponneh is attacked in the marketplace for revealing too much (or because her beauty is heartbreaking), Nayeri reveals some of the human frailty that goes into terrorizing others. It’s not always a comfortable look, but it’s an important one.

Our Global Village

“Now that she is older… with her own home and family, she considers all the mothers she has been offered, each good for a handful of things: Khanom Basir for household tricks, Khanom Mansoori for mischief, Dr. Zohreh for educated advice, Khanom Omidi for wisdom. Together they have failed to replace her mother, who was good at none of these things.” – Dina Nayeri

One of the highlights of this book is the relationships whether the triangle of love and friendship between Saba, Reza, and Ponneh or the chorus of village women who both enforce and thwart norms in ways that are infinitely interesting. Their relationships are complex and as much as they have their own lives and desires, there is also an underlying level of support and love.

As I was reading this book, I was feeling very lonely. I nearly cried when I read about the women in Saba’s village and how they gathered in her home after her marriage and “showed her how to store her spices, and bone her fish, and every other mundane thing they could think of”. At the same time, my American friend who is an expat in Singapore wrote a blog post about the village of people she’s finally found to support her. And another friend, a Romanian emigrant to America, replied about the instability of an adopted community. I realized that one of the things I was most attracted to in this book was that feeling of connection and community. I grew up in a small town that I yearned to leave, but now as I get older and am thinking about starting a family, I wonder where my support system is. I have a global network of beloved friends who can speak to my soul, but here in Seattle I have only a few people I would burden with requests to help build a deck or babysit our theoretical children.

I could relate to Saba’s pulling away from her home and I also saw in this book the way the women around her were trying to teach her what they had done to survive and to show her that she is part of something greater. By opening up in a comment to my friend’s post, I let myself see what I was missing. I also let others see what I have been missing and I’m realizing that my village here in Seattle is stronger than I thought.

Now that I’ve tasted a bit of Iran, I’m excited to learn more about her people and culture. Maybe I’ll sneak down to Portland for a sumptuously relaxed dinner at Persian House (I have a wicked craving for doogh) or just cuddle up on the couch while streaming The Patience Stone.

If you want to experience this gorgeous look at Iran for yourself, pick up a copy of A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.