Books

The Patience Stone

The Patience Stone turns up a small intriguing novella and is the first of the many creative works I have been introduced to so far, belonging to 48 year old Atiq Rahimi, an award-recipient Parisian novelist and film and documentary maker. Since his emigration to France in 1984; the winner of the 2008 Prix Goncourt holds both Afghan and French nationality and his stories are recognised as highly significant>>>

سکس و علی شریعتی

علی شریعتی در بسیاری از نوشته و سخنرانی‌هایش انسان را پدیده‌ای دوگانه معرفی می‌كند كه از دو بخش كاملا نامتجانس و متضاد ساخته شده است. در دیدگاه فلسفی شریعتی، بخشی از شخصیت انسان از لجن، گل بدبو و حماء مسنون ساخته شده است كه بخش شیطانی، دنی، این دنیایی، حقیر، كثیف، لجن، حیوانی و دچار روزمرگی اوست>>>

Bibi’s Rainbow

The most significant clash between the two opposing cultures and their civilizations―Persian and American―as foretold by Professor Samuel Harrington in his well-known non-fiction book, The Clash of Civilizations, didn’t really happen on or around the fault lines somewhere in Eastern Europe and spread around the globe as he had predicted. Instead, unpredictably, it occurred, right smack in the middle of Elm Street in, of all God forsaken places, Beverly Hills. Over two-hunderd-seventy millions of Persian-speaking inhabitants in various countries in Asia: Iran, Afghanistan, and Tajikistan>>>

Maman

A girl with a basket of onions on my hip. That is how they find me. I walk alone beside the field, under the skies of late summer, my shawl slipping to my shoulders. They come, two men on two horses, at full gallop. When they see my skin tanned from the sun and my eyes greener than the onions stalks in my arms, they slow and stop, one to stare and the other to ask. Are you Agha Barzani’s girl? I nod. Just as much as these onions are his onions I am the Agha’s girl I want to say. >>>

The Beirut Shahnameh

So you think Ferdowsi wrote the Shahnameh that is on your coffee table? Well, yes and no. No one knows what happened to Ferdowsi’s original manuscript. We can read the work today because copies were copied from copies by hand in the dim light of oil lamps by scribes who couldn’t read each other’s handwriting. Maybe some of the scribes waxed poetic and thought they could improve on Ferdowsi. A few centuries later the printing press came along and the manuscripts became books, fancy re-prints of which found their way to your coffee table. The result is as follows>>>

A Writer in the Sky

The evening of Thursday 25 February in Paris was wet and windy. From metro Mabillon I turned left and found myself in the rue Princesse and in front of Village Voice, the Anglo-American bookshop where Goli Taraghi, the Iranian novelist was going to give a talk. This well-known Parisian bookstore organizes lectures by many international writers. I got there over half an hour early. Next door I spotted an eating establishment with plenty of empty chairs. I went in and discovered that it was a fancy hamburger joint with Sri Lankan cooks sporting Saddam Hussein moustaches and French waiters dishing out pseudo-American burgers in pseudo-American accents>>>

Returning to Iran

Early last summer, the photographer whose work appears on the cover of this book was attacked on the streets in Tehran. He escaped serious injury and arrest but his cameras, including the one that shot this picture, were confiscated. He later emailed his friends a picture of what had remained of his cameras: a lens cover and a piece of chord. Those confiscated cameras had recorded a great deal over the years. The various accounts of these years, recorded from many perspectives, are crucial in understanding the recent events in Iran>>>

The Persians

Fifty thousand years back, a group of Africans moved into Asia and Europe. When the last ice-age ended 10,000 years ago; a group of those migrants created the first world civilization (Sumer) in today’s Iraq. Later on, the Sumerian civilization was flooded by waves of Semitic immigrants (forefathers of today’s Jews and Arabs) and at about 5,000 years ago, morphed into the Akkadian civilization. The Akkadians in turn were defeated and absorbed into the Assyrian and Babylonian states>>>

Mushroom in the Sand

Lying on his side with his left arm over a large pillow, Ross stared at the amber glow of the alarm clock as the digits declared 2:47 am. It had been a sleepless night. At times, he felt angry at the clock for not moving faster. Maybe it’s stuck. The thought had occurred to him more than once. Then, as if the device could sense his desperation, it would dole out another minute, causing him to rejoice. But his relief would be short-lived, as the agony of waiting would quickly return. The appointed hour was inching closer>>>

زنِ ناشناس

یکی از کارهای همیشگی من، همسرم و دخترم یکشنبه ها رفتن به کافه است. البته نه به هرکافه ای؛ بر سر جادۀ باریکی که از درون روستای کوچکی آغاز می شود و بطرف طبیعت ادامه می یابد، کافه ای قرار دارد که پاتوق همیشگی ماناست. مثل هر یکشنبه به آنجا رفتیم. من مشغول خوردن آبجو بودم و همسر و دخترم با یک خانم دیگر در حال گپ زدن که به ناگهان در کافه باز شد و زنی با زیبایی سحرانگیزی وارد گردید. صدای همهمه مشتریان به سکوت مبدل گشت و همه نگاه ها به زن ناشناس خیره شد>>>

Who are we?

Homa Katouzian’s latest book The Persians is arguably the most comprehensive and learned history of Iran and the Iranian people encapsulated in a single volume in the English language to date. Few authors would be so bold as to take on the mammoth task of writing a history covering several millennia of Iranian history, but then again, few are as qualified as Katouzian for just such an undertaking. And the reason for Katouzian’s success in pulling off such a massive feat, is not only the wealth of experience and learning he has brought to bear in this book, but the tightly argued and analytical structure by means of which Iranian history, from the mythological birth of Kiumars to the Islamic Revolution, is deftly imparted to the reader >>>

My Evening With Orhan Pamuk

Orhan Pamuk walked into the stage and the excitement of hearing him reading from his new book took over my breathing system, inside my veins, my stomach, my eyes, and I felt enchanted by his tall silhouette and the shine in his silver hair. I couldn’t decide which one of his little gestures were the most charming; his subtle smile as he glanced at the audience, or his obvious difficulty in pronouncing some words? At the end, I was particularly captivated by his inquisitive eyes, as if he could still look at the world with amazement>>>

زیر ُپل بهمنشیر

پشت ميز کوچک بوتيک حميد زرگاني داشت کانادا دراي خنک سر مي کشيد. عکس رنگي شاه و فرح زيرشيشه ميز بود. باد خنک کولر حالش را جا آورد. ساق هاي خوش تراش دخترها آنسوي ويترين بوتيک قيامت بود. پشت سرشان اينهمه بيتل! روزنامه فروش سر چهارراه اميري بليطهاي بخت آزمائي را جلو دکه اش به کش بلندي آويزان کرده بود. زني جوان توي کت و دامن آبي روشن از داروخانه آفتاب آمد بيرون براي تاکسي دست بلند کرد>>>

آسیه در میان دو دنیا

آسیه، چهارده ساله، صدمترى دورتر از آخرین خانه ى روستا، نزدیك گورستان روى سنگى نشسته بود كه نامش را بالش رستم گذاشته بودند. داشت به نام خودش مى اندیشید. فكر كرد كاش اسمش صدیقه بود. نخستین بارى كه این نام را شنیده بود دچار این حس شده بود كه در اصل یك صدیقه نامى بوده است. و به خودش گفت دیگر باید فرار كنم. از سه روز پیش كه ماه جبین كتكش زده بود داشت به فرار فكر مى كرد، و مرد كه از دور پیدا شد آسیه فكر كرد به همین شوهر مى كنم.>>>