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 J.D. Salinger’s death this week has saddened me. He was 91, and I know we’d all be fortunate to live that long, but it’s still sad to know that a powerful voice has gone out. I’ve only ever read The Catcher in the Rye of his works, though I’d like to read more (and always have, but somehow haven’t yet). The rest of this post may contain spoilers, so if you haven’t read it yet, skip down to the questions in bold.
I first read Catcher in my junior year of high school, when I was a pretty good example of a teenager convinced that everyone in the world is a phony. My best friend at the time was studying abroad in Germany for the year, my first boyfriend had got together with someone else, and in general I felt sort of emotionless, trapped in this world I didn’t really want. I hated high school. Holden Caulfield didn’t save me, that took college, but he brought a new perspective into my life, and as a result I loved the book. I got a copy of my own, intending to reread it.
It took four years and a children’s lit class for me to read it again, and I was worried about my reaction. I was older and I’d been through a lot. In fact, my entire life changed in those four years, so much so that it was virtually unrecognizable. My brother had died in the most horrific six month period of any of our lives, I had a steady boyfriend and spent summers in England, and I lived in a different state with different friends and different needs. I wasn’t a teenager and certainly not one that wanted to rage against the world. And it was from that perspective I read the book, and I still loved it even when almost everyone in the class couldn’t stand Holden and his complaining. Why? Because his brother died too. His brother died, and it messed with him, and I could understand him in a totally different way. I could see how it could change his life and make him a cynic and a whiner, because I could have slid that way myself. I could see why he wanted so badly to protect his sister – and all children – more than ever. I would bet that no one else in that class had ever lost a sibling and they couldn’t put themselves in the book as easily as I could then. It astonished me that the class didn’t get it. Of course, every book is different for every reader, but no one picked up on what a difference that death made. The book didn’t change, but I did, and the entire book became much, much more than it was.
I also wanted to say here that maybe I was wrong, but honestly, I still really believe that was the drive behind Holden’s behavior, and so I can’t bring myself to.
Has a book ever changed for you as your perspectives on life changed? Have you ever felt radically different about a book than everyone else?
 It’s with great pleasure that I bring to you one of my favorite authors, Edith Wharton, for my turn on the Classics Circuit!
Undine Spragg manages to convince her parents to move from Apex to New York City, where she’s hoping to make a brilliant entrance into society with a rich husband. Undine is a deadly combination of beautiful, selfish, and ignorant, capable of turning herself into what almost any man desires the most. She is horribly spoiled and incapable of understanding the consequences of her actions, but they are all too clear to the reader as she storms through the lives of people who wish to believe better of her.
Undine is one nasty character. I couldn’t believe how selfish she was. And Wharton doesn’t pull her punches, she lets us feel the impact that Undine has by focusing on several other characters whose lives she irrevocably changes, damages, or destroys. One of the most heartbreaking passages occurs at the end and I could really see how much damage she’d done, and how much more she wanted to do.
I thought it was interesting, though, that she can be seen as completely a product of her society. Even though her father originally was poor and became rich when she was a child, she was never denied anything, and thus sees no reason to ever be denied anything. Her first society husband is forced to work at a career he hates and is bad at to support her extravagances even though she also receives an allowance from her father, and she still complains that he isn’t getting enough. But he never tells her about his hardships, just like her father never told her where the money came from, so she still doesn’t seem to understand. At times, she reminded me of a beautiful, vapid child, incapable of truly understanding the world in which she lives. She doesn’t seem to realize that she’s hurting people. She focuses constantly on the injustice done to her and on the jealousy she feels towards other women who she sees as having more. She has an education, but it seems to have taught her absolutely nothing. I had to wonder if Wharton saw society women as children given that she chose to portray this woman so much like one.
And so Undine leaves male carnage in her wake as she moves on to the next husband and the next husband. I despised her and felt bad for her husbands and child even as I was fascinated by what she’d do next. As usual I loved the portrait of society through Undine, and all the people wasting their time with niceties and social frivolity and missing out on the big picture. I especially felt for Undine’s first husband, Ralph, who sees her as something pure and different and malleable, only to realize that Undine wanted to mold herself after the people he found to be fakes. He seemed to get to the core of the society in which he could not flourish because he recognized how superficial it all was. He sees the cracks, and through him, Undine’s other husbands, and through despising Undine, I could see the cracks too.
While this isn’t toppling The Age of Innocence from its throne as my favorite Wharton (nor Ethan Frome from #2 slot and yes, I do have a hierarchy, is that odd?), I’m definitely glad I read it. The Custom of the Country was such an interesting book and it made me think about relations between men and women, how they were, and how they’ve changed.
 Two boys, Julian Cain and Tom Wellwood, are wandering around a half-completed museum in London when they come across a third boy, Philip Warren, drawing the museum’s sculptures. He has fled from his family and his life in the horrible pottery factories, and the Wellwood family takes him in and finds him a place with Benedict Fludd, a strange and temperamental sculptor. At first glance, all of these families appear happy, particularly the large Wellwood family with successful children’s book author Olive Wellwood and her banker husband Humphry at its head. As the years go by, however, and the children grow up and learn the realities of the world, they understand that their childhood was an illusion as paper thin as Olive’s fairy tales.
I loved this book. I don’t think everyone will love it; it’s a long, dense book, more a portrait of family and art than anything with a plot. Although, to be honest, I didn’t think the descriptions of pots were as boring as everyone says, and there weren’t as many as I’d expected, either. I loved the intricate detail and the thought that went into this book. I felt it was such a gorgeous picture of late Victorian England, and Edwardian England, and even, heartbreakingly, World War I era England. It was a full picture of a society both different from our own and becoming our own. Honestly, I could live in this book’s atmosphere, even if I wouldn’t particularly want to live in a time where options for women were so limited.
I adored the children in each of their various ways and was fascinated by their coming-of-ages. There are so many different strands with each of them in the novel and their fates are all bound up together. I was riveted by Dorothy’s determination to become a doctor, for example, and I completely admired her ambition and devotion to science. I cheered on her success. I longed for the happiness of Elsie and Philip, two children seriously disadvantaged by their upbringing. I was torn by Tom’s story, and didn’t understand why his mother didn’t understand. In short, each of the characters has their own plot arcs, and some are heartbreaking, while some are joyful.
Closing the book with the effects of World War I makes the entire rest of the book feel idyllic. I felt as though I was feeling what the British must have felt as they sent their sons off to die, each with their own life story as these character possess, and I found the entire last section absolutely heartbreaking. Here is a book that depicts the horrors of war, how each life is cut off abruptly with no preparation and no ending. It’s easy to see how this changed England and this book brought it home to me.
I’m not sure I loved The Children’s Book as much as I loved Possession, but the more I think about it, the more I think that might be possible. It has made this review hard to write because I can’t pin down exactly why. But I’ve tried, and if you have the patience for this, I believe it will reward you immensely.
I am an Amazon Associate. I received this book from the Amazon Vine program for review.
 Lady Callista Taillefaire has been jilted three times and no longer expects to get married. All she wants is to go along with her engaged sister and raise her animals in peace for the rest of her single life. That’s until her childhood sweetheart, Trevelyan, the duc de Monceaux, returns to tend his ailing mother after years in France. She hasn’t forgotten the feelings she had for him, or the way her now deceased father insisted that their relationship was expressly forbidden. To make Callie’s life even stranger, her first ex-fiance returns to plague her, and her cousin gambles away her prized heifer Hubert, leaving her wondering in which direction her life is going to head next.
I have enjoyed Laura Kinsale’s books in the past, and was expecting another dark, passionate tale. Instead, I got a light and funny book, with humor and flirtatiousness between the characters that genuinely sparkled whenever they interacted. It turns out that Kinsale is just as good at writing lighter romances and this book did not disappoint in any way. It was as sweet and touching as it was hilarious by turns.
I liked Callie’s character; she’s somewhat on the shelf at 27, and even believes that she’s unlikely to have a baby at all because she’s so old (I laughed at this), and since she’s been jilted three times, all the men around clearly believe there’s something wrong with her. I really felt for her, as it must be so hard to be rejected over and over again in a world where marriage and babies were seen as the primary goals of women. She’s awkward but she’s sweet and it’s clear that she really cares for Trev. Although, I have to say, if you haven’t seen someone for ten years, can they still qualify as your best friend? I don’t know, but I did like that they had a friendship. It’s also hard not to love someone who loves animals, even if her preference leans towards cows.
I also liked that Trev had a genuine grievance and reason for not proposing to Callie when he wants to. There tends to be a big misunderstanding that fizzles out to nothing, but here they really had a problem, and I appreciated how it was solved. There isn’t much else to the plot, the focus is solely on the romance, but Lessons in French is a wonderful addition to the genre. I sincerely hope Laura Kinsale doesn’t leave such a long wait for her next romance!
I am an Amazon Associate. I received this book for free from the publisher for review.
 This gigantic book opens with the wedding of Savita Mehra and Pran Kapoor, uniting their families (and a whole lot of related families) for the rest of the book, though they have barely seen one another before. Part of the book revolves around Lata Mehra’s search for a suitable boy (hence the title), which her mother mainly controls, although Lata appears to be innately drawn towards the unsuitable boys. Another character, Maan, begins the novel as quite a superficial young man, not really interested in his business or his father’s role in government, mostly drawn to women, but he grows to become surprisingly lovable. And there are political forces at work throughout India, which is very newly independent and partitioned from Pakistan; struggles between Hindus and Muslims, between governmental parties, between the city and the countryside. Not only is the book immense, but so are the themes it covers.
This book probably took me the longest of any book I’m going to read this year, but I did it on purpose. It’s almost 1500 pages long (so it might be the actual longest book as well) and I attempted to spread it out over two weeks, although once I got towards the end I just read on to see what happened. I really, really enjoyed it. It’s properly satisfying and immersive as just such a chunkster should be. I did have my favorite parts, mostly to do with Lata and Maan (which is totally why they’re in my summary) and I also really liked the relationship between Pran and Savita, which goes from them barely knowing one another to a very sweet love. The book takes place over about a year’s time in India in the 50’s, so a ton of political action is happening. India is trying to define itself without the British, without part of its territory, and the process is messy.
I will admit that I found most of the political sections boring. I wasn’t really interested in the bills they were passing or all the arguments that went on. I felt like I could get what was happening from the parts that took place in the countryside, which I enjoyed more anyway, and which certainly had more of a human touch to them as we could see what various laws and decisions were taking effect. The actual politics don’t take up much of the book, but I definitely began skimming those parts toward the end to get back to the characters I cared about. I also was occasionally confused by how the characters classified themselves. I didn’t know the difference between people from various regions or castes and there was no way I could tell a Muslim from a Hindu by their names. I knew there was a caste system, but I guess I didn’t realize that it still existed so much fifty years ago, and I wonder how prevalent it is now. I was also really surprised at how much the color of skin was an issue. I was startled each time Mrs Rupa Mehra worried she was going to have a black grandchild and sought out a fair-skinned husband for Lata as a result.
It was wonderful to live in this book for a little while, and I already find that I miss many of the characters and I want to know what happened next. I was somewhat dissatisfied with one aspect of the ending, but that’s not enough to make me dislike the rest of the book. I’m very glad I read it and it had me thinking about India’s independence, a topic I was never really all that interested in before, maybe just because I never had reason to be. But at its core, this is still a novel about people and that’s why I really loved it. The characters are fully fleshed out and experience the full gamut of emotions; almost everything you could imagine happens in this book. I felt like I could have easily lived among them and become friends with them in real life, and Vikram Seth let me for the space of these pages. I’m very glad I have An Equal Music in my TBR piles at home, and I can imagine myself picking it up very soon.
A Suitable Boy is a huge, fantastic read with, to me, both a foreign and a very familiar focus. It was well worth the time I spent reading it and it’s a great start to my ongoing attempt to read outside of my comfort zone.
 What would happen if we twenty-first century people took a trip back in time to the fourteenth century? It would be very like visiting another country. Even our landscape would be greatly changed. Ian Mortimer takes this approach and, applying his theory of living history, treats his readers to an objective and entertaining view of one of the most stereotypical centuries in medieval history. The fourteenth century has not only castles, knights, tournaments, and wars, but also gave birth to many of the creative minds associated with medieval England like Chaucer and the Gawain-poet.
Living history is a fascinating idea. Instead of applying modern stereotypes to medieval practices, Mortimer attempts instead to understand them on their own terms. For example, a popular perception is that medieval people were dirty. In comparison to us, they were; most people did not bathe on a daily basis, nor did they have detergents and disinfectants to clean their houses or clothes with. From a medieval perspective, however, women spent hours working to clean their homes, clearing rushes from the floor, scouring pots and pans, and laundering clothes with a variety of harsh soaps. Men and women washed their hands and faces daily and even started to use perfumes. They ate politely, especially in the presence of their social betters. To them, that was cleanliness. There were, of course, smelly or messy people, but there are smelly and messy people now too.
Mortimer’s book is divided into eleven chapters, covering such topics as the landscape, the medieval character, health and hygiene, and the law. He uses examples to illustrate his points, such as a genuine medieval gang that evaded the law or examples of a few women who broke out of the status quo and became unusually wealthy and powerful. Queen Isabella is the second richest person in the century; quite remarkable when women were regarded as property of their husbands and fathers. He also attempts to convey the tragedy of the plague; while other historians may evaluate it for its effect on history, which was largely beneficial, Mortimer shows us how it was anything but that to the third to half of the population that died from it and their relatives, who watched them die and mourned for them. Mortimer even imagines a few conversations that travellers might have, for example, when bartering for food.
My favorite section, however, was the chapter on clothing. Using illuminated manuscripts and tapestries, Mortimer shows how the style of dress changed drastically from the beginning of the century to the end. Clothing more than anything enables me to visualize the people described in the book and, in my experience, is rarely mentioned in detail in schools or museums as few examples survive. I loved learning how the invention of the button changed clothing styles and how people moved gradually towards more provocative styles, which were of course disapproved of by clergy and the elderly.
This is certainly history worth reading. It’s not heavy at all and is a perfect read for the non-academic who wishes to learn a lot more about the Middle Ages but doesn’t have the patience for a more serious, longer study.
I loved this book so much that I’m going to be discussing it on That’s How I Blog with the wonderful Nicole on June 8th at 4 pm EST. Do you want a copy of your own to discuss with me? Thanks to Simon & Schuster, I have 3 copies to give away to anyone with a valid US mailing address. To enter, just leave a comment on this review. This contest will be open until February 8th. The winners are commenters 3, 6, and 32 thanks to random.org. Congratulations to Lindymc, The Kool-Aid Mom, and Alyce!
This review was originally posted at The Book Bag and I’d like to thank them for my review copy.
 Renee Michel is, at first glance, a nondescript middle-aged concierge of an apartment building in Paris. But she cultivates that image, and underneath her purposely plain exterior is a quick, intelligent brain. She uses her job as a way to hide her vibrant interest in philosophy, books, movies, and beauty. Upstairs lives a 12-year-old girl named Paloma who has determined to kill herself on her thirteenth birthday because she cannot handle being so disdained and undervalued. Both of their lives are set on a collision course when one of the upstairs neighbors falls ill and everything in the apartment building begins to change.
It’s hard to review a book in which I really disliked the first 100 pages and loved the following 200. At first it just seemed consumed with philosophy. Nothing was happening, Renee was constantly musing about things I don’t understand or particularly care about, and Paloma was completely doom and gloom about her life and her family. Honestly, I don’t like philosophy and never have. It just seems like a lot of musing about nothing particularly interesting. And then the neighbor died, and someone else moved in who changed everything. And somehow the characters’ musings became about life, and love, and missed opportunities, and caring what you do in the world. They became more relevant and more interesting.
It’s hard to go on without spoiling why this book became great. It’s when the characters collide that it happens, and they recognize in themselves people that are just like them. It’s a shout-out against the class system and defies Renee’s idea that because she began life as a poor woman, that rich people will always harm her and take advantage of her. It does its little bit to show that people are all just people and we never know what’s going on in someone else’s head. I’m not sure the ending didn’t really take away that message, that association with rich people will harm poor people, but it really moved me. It made me wonder if Barbery was reflecting on the way things are in France at the moment. I’ve never been there, so I don’t know how strong the class system still is, but reviews online (and this book) seem to suggest that it is still very present.
Anyway, I would really recommend The Elegance of the Hedgehog, I’d just suggest to stick to it a little longer than you might a normal book. It’s fairly short, but it is quite a touching journey.
I am an Amazon Associate. I received this book for free for review from the publisher.
 To my surprise, my copy of 84 Charing Cross Road included The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street as well, so I figured I’d review them both together, as they sort of go together anyway.
In a search for rare books, writer Helene Hanff pens a letter to Marks & Co. booksellers in London, hoping that they’ll have what she so desires. Her initial letter sparks two decades of communication between her and the employees of the bookstore, particularly Frank Doel, who answers that letter and becomes a dear penpal to her. In The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street, Hanff finally makes a trip to London to promote the newly published 84 Charing Cross Road, visiting all the sights which had become familiar to her through the letters and through films.
It was almost inevitable that this book would let me down. My expectations were so, so high, given that this is a book for book lovers and countless people assured me that if I loved The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, I would love this too. And I did, but not as much, which was in itself disappointing. Yes, it is a totally charming and endearing story. I loved when Hanff grew so fond of the London employees that she sent them packages of hard-to-get items just after World War II when everything was still rationed. The time period felt real to me through these people that had lived through it. And of course this is certainly a book for book lovers, as Hanff’s passion for them especially shines through and definitely makes me feel like I should be reading all the books she’d read.
Unfortunately, though, I found Hanff slightly abrasive. She had a strange habit of suddenly writing in lower case, which I just didn’t understand, and she seemed to me very much like a loud American stereotype, particularly in comparison to the more somber British writers. I think I would have preferred more letters, too. There were gaps of years between some of the letters, and clearly there had been some correspondence over those years because they’d reply to one another. I kept feeling like I was missing something, and the book was so short that more letters could have been included easily.
I feel like there’s something wrong with me because I didn’t love this as much as everyone else does. All those five star reviews, everyone saying that book lovers can’t not love this book – well, clearly I should have waited and let my expectations die down a bit! There’s also the fact that the ending was spoiled for me by the back cover, which I almost never read but in this case did. That certainly hurt the book as it robbed me of the true emotional impact it could have had.
It was with a little bit of surprise that I then found myself loving the second book, The Duchess of Bloomsbury Street. I’d hardly heard of this one, as everyone focuses on the first. But here, Hanff actually travels to London, even though she’s just had a hysterectomy and is in considerable pain. Watching her discover London – and England – was like doing it for myself all over again. And if you don’t think I got as excited and moved as she did, just ask my husband, who was there (and confused by me) for most of it!
Is it strange that I related far more to her passion for British history than I did to her passion for books? Because I certainly did. She’s a very different reader than me, and I’m sure that has something to do with it. In any case, there is something magical about a place you’ve read about in history books coming to life, and I could palpably feel her excitement. I know what it’s like to walk along paths I’d previously only dreamed of walking on, places where history that I love happened, where writers that I love wrote, where generations of other people have sat and dreamed and thought and changed the world. It’s awe-inspiring, and that’s what I loved about this book. I can still remember that thrilling first vision of green that was England from my plane window and there Hanff and I turned out to have quite a bit in common after all. And I found her visit to Marks & Co extremely moving – it closes down by the time she finally gets to see it – and her visits with her correspondents were touching and sweet. I liked her a lot better in this second book and I wonder now if I should reread the first with this new perspective.
Both of these books are worth your time. Don’t let expectations get to you and take it as it comes – and DON’T read the back cover!
I am an Amazon Associate. I purchased these books.
I like the mini review format so much that I’m going to use it for a lot of my romance reading. In general, I don’t have enough to say about these books to generate a full review, and I like to clear out my review backlog, so I’ll be posting a set of four mini reviews every time I’ve finished four books!
 To Wed a Wicked Prince, Jane Feather
Prince Alex Prokov is an intriguing, compelling man and captivates Lady Livia Lacey from their very first meeting. What she doesn’t realize is that he is foremost intending to inspect her house, legally his because the eccentric woman who left it to Livia was his mother, and claim it if necessary. He finds Livia interesting enough to marry her instead, but their relationship is a minefield of secrets and half-truths. Will their love sustain them through Alex’s lies?
I was less than enchanted with this book. I liked the atmosphere, but Alex’s lies drove me up the wall. I could see that if he’d only told Livia the truth, practically all the bad things that happen to them in the novel would have been solved. I could see why he’d kept secrets about his activities, but about his mother’s identity? Not so much. Furthermore, he is very domineering, even wishing to get rid of Livia’s faithful servants despite the fact that they were first his mother’s. He’s just so hard to relate to and in the end I couldn’t figure out why Livia loved him. I did like her character, though, as I really like the more independent heroines as non-historical as they may be. Overall, this book was “eh” for me. Not a compelling plot, some irritating characters, and not enough genuine historical detail or good writing to override its faults.
 Compromised, Kate Noble
I’ve been looking forward to Kate Noble’s books for a good long time, ever since I heard about her on The Book Smugglers. In this, her debut, the Alton sisters have just returned from the Continent, new stepmother in tow, and it’s time for their first Season. Bookish Gail has no interest in a Season, however, and as an attempt to placate her, her father gives her a horse. That horse leads her to a gentleman, Maximillian, Viscount Fontaine, with whom she ends up in a lake, and who absolutely infuriates her. Things don’t get much better when that man is found in a compromising position with her sister – and they get worse when Gail starts to fall in love with him and vice versa.
I definitely had fun with this book. Gail’s interactions with Max sparkle and I could totally believe that they loved one another by the end. And I felt like they really knew each other before they hopped into bed, which is pretty much the standard by which I judge romances, especially historical ones. I like to read about love, not just lust. Anyway, probably the only thing that irritated me here was that Gail is quite a stereotype. There are so many books with the bookish heroine who shuns society, who doesn’t think she’s pretty, blah blah. She does get along with people eventually because she has issues, she’s not shy, but I don’t understand why a heroine can’t be bookish and still like to spend time with people occasionally right off the bat. I will also confess that I was largely drawn to this book by the cover, which is refreshingly not sexual and has the prettiest yellow dress on it. I’m not shallow at all, no.
 Crazy for You, Jennifer Crusie
When Quinn McKenzie meets a little dog she names Katie, she decides her life has to change. She’s gone along with everything her too nice boyfriend wants, with what her parents want, and has generally been the fixer of the family. She’s bored of her life and she’s had enough. When her boyfriend sends the puppy to the pound, she decides to leave him, and begins encouraging everyone to make little changes to make their lives better. She has no idea what she’s about to inflict on her family and friends.
I suspect all of Crusie’s novels are this delightful. While this has a similar premise to Welcome to Temptation, the other book by her that I read, it’s still totally charming. I loved Quinn and I was 100% behind her. Any guy who takes a puppy to be killed when his girlfriend has fallen in love with it probably deserves to be dumped. And after that boyfriend’s further behavior, I completely sympathized with her. I really enjoyed the love story and all the little tangents that followed, too. I can’t wait to read more of Crusie’s books. I hope they’re all this fun.
 Miss Wonderful, Loretta Chase
Alistair Carsington took great pleasure in falling love with women before he was involved in the Battle of Waterloo, where he nearly lost his life. Since his return, he has become obsessed with clothes to the detriment of everything else. Seeking activity and income, Alistair joins his friend’s scheme to build a canal through Derbyshire, and heads there to persuade the locals of the brilliance of his plan. Miss Mirabel Oldridge, practically on the shelf, is fiercely resistant of a canal cutting its way through her land, but soon she and Alistair realize they’re not particularly good at resisting each other.
This book wasn’t very memorable – I read it yesterday and I’ve already forgotten most of it. It struck me as a fairly typical romance. I liked that Mirabel was older and independent and had had a past with another man. I’d call it an enjoyable read but not much else.
As I just skimmed this post (which I put together over maybe a month), I realized that none of the covers are your typical half-naked embrace. I know British covers are way, way more conservative in this regard, but it doesn’t explain the two American ones. I am really, really tired of the endless parade of half-naked men and women on romance covers, and apparently I am showing my resistance by choosing books that don’t have it.
I am an Amazon Associate. I purchased these books or borrowed them from my local library.
 This graphic memoir depicts the childhood of Marjane Satrapi during and after the Islamic Revolution in Iran. She remembers when she first was required to wear a headscarf, when school changed, when she learned the danger of protesting, among many other things in a rapidly changing world. Interspersed with the severity of the revolution is the fact that the author was definitely a child; she was jealous of other people’s fathers because they’d been in prison and become “heroes” with cool stories, for example, and she decides that she wants to be a prophet. With simply drawn black-and-white pictures, this memoir successfully reminds us that people in Iran are still people like us, only living in far different circumstances.
I loved The House of the Mosque, which I read last week, and then Dawn at She is Too Fond of Books recommended this one in a review, and Andrea at Canongate Books left me a comment saying she had this one as well. I’d heard of it before, but this all just seemed like huge incentive to read it now. So naturally, I went to the library and took it out immediately, and it’s so short that I managed to read it the same day.
I really enjoyed it. I felt like Persepolis dealt with tough issues but had that human touch throughout. I appreciated the author’s mission to show us that Iran is more than terrorism and weapons, it’s an ancient culture with real people. It certainly has problems now, but there’s no reason to forget its past and the fact that all the people who live there are not exactly thrilled with their own government. The author, for example, is thrilled when her parents smuggle her modern posters, clothes, and a Michael Jackson button, only for her to get in trouble when women who are more committed to the new government see her in her new jeans and jacket.
I even liked the black-and-white drawings. They’re quite simplistic but Satrapi shows individuality with small touches and conveys emotion with them quite effectively. There is some violence depicted, but it’s not realistic enough to bother anyone, just enough to show that it must have been horrible.
Overall, Persepolis is a book I’d definitely recommend. It’s a fast and even enjoyable read that really touches on important – even essential – issues about the world today. I’m definitely interested in reading its sequel and hope my library has that one, too.
I am an Amazon Associate. I borrowed this book from my local library.
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