Interview: Nahid Rachlin

Persian Girls is the memoir of Iranian-American author Nahid Rachlin. Bestowed upon her widowed and childless aunt as a gift at birth, Nahid enjoyed a simple and loving home free from many of the restrictions that pervade a young Iranian girl’s life. But when her father demands Nahid’s return to his home at age nine, everything changes. Suddenly decisions about her life are being made for her, and Nahid's independence is challenged at every turn. Her only comfort is the bond developed with her older sister, Pari. Persian Girls is the story of that bond, and about the price of personal independence and freedom.

Editor M.K. Ericson spoke with the author about this very personal work. Here is what she had to say.

Q: All of the women we meet in Persian Girls live with personal, familial, and cultural expectations for their future. More often than not, these forces are at odds with each other, resulting in strained relationships and personal sacrifice. The focus of Persian Girls is largely on your relationship with your sister, Pari, and your shared desire for a life of your choosing. Your own pursuit of higher education and writing, and Pari’s love of acting were equally frowned upon by family and society, yet you both persevered. Where do you think your resilience and independence in the face such opposition came from?

A: I think the fact that I had my aunt as a mother when I was a child helped me a great deal. It gave me strength and self-confidence because of all the love and praise she lavished on me. Pari had to share our birth mother with all the siblings.

Q: You and Pari also shared a fascination with all things American. From skipping school in afternoons to see the latest film, to your careful observation of the interactions among American children living nearby, you were consumed. What did America symbolize to a young girl in 1960s Iran?

A: Freedom, variety of opportunities, excitement.

Q: This fascination was deepened when your brothers were allowed to travel to the United States to pursue their education. You worked hard to become first in your class, and your father developed a small sense of pride in your own academic achievement. Yet, despite your hopes that he would also allow you to study in America, his initial response was that you expected too much. How did that make you feel?

A: I always felt it was unfair that my father, as with a majority of fathers, thought education was for their sons only, and that their daughters should settle for a life of domesticity with husbands they chose for them. I struggled to get out of that.

Q: Your father did allow you to study in America following the outbreak of the revolution, but when you arrived things were not as you had hoped. What did this experience teach you about your own expectations? Did you ever start to believe that maybe your father was right?

A: The disappointment I felt in the college I went to, with the narrowness of attitudes among the staff and students, didn’t make me disillusioned with my own dreams of pursuing education and independence. It just made me feel I was in the wrong college, not of my own choice, because that was where my father insisted I should go. He wanted me to be in a women’s college, near one of my brothers who had come here before me, and so I had no choice but that one college near him. I knew America was larger than that college.

Q: Sadly, Pari was not allowed to achieve the same level of personal independence that you did. In the years following her arranged marriage she once told you that it was because you were stronger than she was. Do you think that was a fair assessment on her part, or do you feel it had more to do with the circumstances of her being the first daughter, and thus the first in line for marriage?

A: I think her assessment was probably correct. Because she had never known another mother like I had, she was more ambivalent about totally rejecting our parents’ ideals for us and she wasn’t strong enough to fight as I did.

Q: Throughout the book we see your parents consumed with concerns about your actions bringing shame upon the family. What kind of pressure was there on a family raising a daughter in Iran during this time? Has anything changed?

A: My father was afraid that, with all my struggle for independence, my outspokenness, under the oppressive political situation in Iran, would get him into trouble. The SAVAK, the Shah’s secret police, was always on the look out for anyone who might write or read something that was against the censorship. Oddly things are similar now, only the censorship is based on different sensitivities, the “moral police” taking the place of the SAVAK.

Q: The bonds of sisterhood play an important role in this story, where you explore not only the relationship shared by you and Pari, but also that with your other sister, Manijeh, and that of your birth mother, Mohtaram, and her sister, Maryam, who raised you. How would you characterize sisterhood in Iranian society? Are the pressures of accepted public behaviors, and the effect of one sister upon another, often a source of consternation as they were with Manijeh? Can the need to attract a suitable marriage partner breed jealousy? Or are most relationships supportive and nurturing like the one between you and Pari?

A: On the whole sisters are close, as members of the same sex generally are in Iran. Because interaction between girls and boys (unless they are blood related) is forbidden, the members of the same sex grow close. Pari’s and my anger at Manijeh mainly stemmed from the fact that, for some mysterious reasons, our mother favored her over all her children. There was little competition over suitors as we had no choice in the matter. The men’s families selected the girls and the girls’ families decided if the men were suitable.

Q: Censorship also plays an important role in this book. Censorship of family, feeling, and ultimately of the self, all emanating from pressures exerted by customs of time and place. How has your experience of growing up in a female-oppressed society affected your approach to raising your own daughter? Do you feel that she is aware of the freedoms afforded her as a woman in America?

A: Yes, my daughter is quite aware that she has a freedom that I never experienced in Iran. I am happy that she is able to exert her own desires the way I wasn’t. I encourage her to think independently.

Q: During your visits back to Iran you witnessed women demonstrating in the streets. Did you ever think “that could be me?” Was there a moment when you regretted your choice or considered returning?

A: I have never really regretted my choice to come to America, pursue my own goals. But I am always aware of a loss, a price to pay for the independence I have gained. I don’t have easy access and closeness to people I love, because of all the distance between us. I envy people who can just get in the car or airplane and go and see their loved ones. For me going back to Iran has always been problematic, not just because of the geographical distance, but for political reasons too that make traveling back and forth difficult. So I have returned only every few years, and I am always longing for more contact with people I have left there.

Q: You speak often of the biographical foundations of many of your earlier fictional works. Given this, was the experience of writing a non-fictional memoir an easy transition for you? How did the experience differ?

A: It wasn’t an easy transition from fiction to memoir, mainly because I was afraid of the reaction I would receive from my family members who can read English. I was exposing so much about my family and I didn’t know how that would strike them. But luckily those family members who have read it have not been offended.

Q: The loss of your sister, Pari, was obviously a painful and emotional experience. How long did it take you to be able to write about her? Has telling her story and paying tribute to her spirit eased the pain of her untimely death?

A: It took me more than a decade to be able to write about it. Telling her story has eased the pain only to some extent, in that she is more alive for me through the book and for those who read it.

Q: In closing the book, you write that your independence came at a price. In retrospect, was the price you paid too high?

A: It is hard to evaluate how high the price has been. I am certainly always divided inside, wishing I could combine my past and present more easily.

Q: You start and end the book with Maryam’s words on destiny, though you suggest that you don’t believe in predetermination. Why bring such prominence to this idea, then? Does the thought of destiny bring you any comfort?

A: The idea of predestination is always on my mind, not in the religious sense that Maryam believed in but in a different way. Though at some level I believe it was my own strength and determination that enabled me to strike out against traditional roles that trapped my sisters and many of my friends, I also believe that some things are determined for us: for instance how we look, the temperament we are born with, all sorts of coincidences, play parts in our future.

Q: What is the most important thing you would like your readers to take away from reading this memoir?

A: In this political climate, when Iran is the target of attack and Iranians are often portrayed as stereotypes, I hope this book enables readers to see Iran and its people with all their diversity and complexities, make them aware that important human emotions, such as love, sorrow, and loss are universal.

Nahid Rachlin was born and raised in Iran, but attended college in the United States, where she has resided since her graduation. In additon to her memoir, she is the author of four novels, Jumping Over Fire (City Lights), Foreigner (W.W. Norton), Married to a Stranger (E.P. Dutton), and The Heart’s Desire (City Lights) as well as the short story collection City Lights. For further information, you may visit her online at www.nahidrachlin.com.