Reading Lolita in Tehran is a lot of different things. It is a memoir, it is a loose biography of the lives of several young women living in Iran during the Islamic republic. It is also a love letter to the author Henry James, as well as reflection on how fiction is a refuge in times of struggle. It took me a while to figure out what I wanted to get out of Reading Lolita in Tehran. As a memoir, I feel obliged to bear witness to the Nafisi’s experience as well as the realities of the world she lived in. As a reader, I think I most appreciated the academic conversation about theologically-driven politics and about the cultural role of fiction novels.

I cannot compare Iran and the Islamic Republic to modern day America. The discomfort and agitation we feel in our political system here in the United States is not even a shadow of the terror and subjugation endured by women in Iran during this time. Many things, such as the conversations around Roe vs. Was and the judicial possibility of overthrowing so many landmark cases in the coming years feels absolutely overwhelming; I am enraged. But I am in a place of privilege, and I do understand that many people have been living with the frustration and political dictation of their rights for far longer and far more harshly than I ever have or ever will experience. The experiences of Sanaz and Nassrin particularly come to mind when I think of it women’s rights in the United States, and I am grateful that I have so many liberties still, despite the progress rewinding to the dark ages for our country. I am grateful to Nafisi for sharing the stories of these women. It has led me to contextualize my own situation as well as to grow in empathy for those who have lived with so much less freedom than I.

There was a section about 20% into the book that felt disconnected from the rest the story. This was where Nafisi shared her experiences both in her career as well as her personal life. The background here was hopeful to give contacts to the rest of the book, but it’s placement felt awkward to me. At the beginning of Reading Lolita in Tehran, we meet the group of students in her class, and I grew attached to each other stories quickly. Although this is in a biography, I found myself wanting to learn more about those young women and as a reader, I felt discombobulated when the story took a sudden sharp turn into discussing only the author’s experience. Otherwise, I don’t have any criticism on the way this book was written. I thought it was insightful and did a good job of balancing cultural commentary with personal experience.

I also think that the writing style of Reading Lolita in Tehran is extremely niche. I really enjoyed the history of modern Iran because as an American citizen, the information I learned in school and through the media about this country is incredibly biased. The philosophical conversation interested me on a personal level, as I love to have those discussions of hypotheses and illusions, but it was really the modern history that struck me. It’s very easy to see a situation as black and white, good and evil. The reality is — the situation surrounding a war is far more complicated than we want to admit, and nobody ever really wins. There is no pure good. Nafisi’s experience lent me more empathy than I had previously, and I am grateful for her alliterative, candid illustration of this time in her life.

This memoir is more about personal experience than it is a illustration of Lolita or The Great Gatsby or Pride and Prejudice or any of the many books that the Nafisi mentions throughout this biography. It is best to take everything in stride and listen to each carefully chosen word. This is about falling in love, a book about women’s rights, a book about seeing yourself in literature, a book about standing up for your beliefs and knowing when to compromise. Reading Lolita in Tehran is a thoughtful composition and I highly recommend it. Like most memoirs, I don’t know if I would reread it, but that has absolutely nothing to do with the quality of this book and everything to do with my inclination to, like Nafisi, read and reread my favorite pieces of fiction above all else. I am immensely grateful to have experienced this book and to have had the opportunity to view the world, the Islamic Republic, and the ethical quandaries of a female academic through Nafisi’s eyes.

La riuscita di un memoir dipende dalla voce di chi lo scrive e da quanto chi legge apprezzi quella voce. Nafisi dipinge con le parole l'Iran tra gli anni 70 e la fine del secondo millennio. È un quadro sicuramente soggettivo, con un io estremamente presente, ma anche estremamente variegato, complesso, gentile anche nei suoi passaggi più duri. Parte dal seminario con le studentesse tenuto nel suo ultimo periodo iraniano, per poi viaggiare nel tempo e attraverso i suoi personaggi racconta di una vita stravolta da una rivoluzione che si pensava avrebbe dato più diritti, non meno.
Tra tutti i personaggi, inevitabilmente, mi è rimasta impressa Nassrin, giovanissima al suo primo incontro con la professoressa, aveva sempre portato il velo, era sempre stata una sua scelta eppure questa scelta le viene quasi portata via quando il velo viene imposto a tutte le donne. Il passaggio da una scelta di fede a un'opposizione di stato che non danneggia solo chi non avrebbe compiuto quella scelta, ma anche chi l'avrebbe fatta.

Avendo ascoltato l'audiolibro, vorrei procurarmi una copia cartacea per riprendere e riflettere su alcuni passaggi e personaggi. Particolarmente, si parla a lungo di letteratura e del potere delle parole e della libertà di circolazione e riflessione sui testi; ma anche, il rapporto tra una sinistra rivoluzionaria che portava degli slogan poi utilizzati dai fondamentalisti per imporre le loro leggi. Mi manca però la conoscenza storica della faccenda, che tuttavia quest'opera invoglia ad approfondire. E cosa c'è di meglio di un libro che ti spinge a leggerne altri?