Tag Archives: Iran

Mental Illness, Diaspora, and Eldritch Horror: Where Black Stars Rise by Nadia Shammas and Marie Enger

Posted on by — Leave a reply
the cover of Where Black Stars Rise

Buy this from Bookshop.org to support local bookstores and the Lesbrary!

Dr. Amal Robardin, a sapphic Lebanese immigrant who just started working as a therapist, finds herself deeply concerned after the mysterious disappearance of her very first client, Yasmin, a young woman from Iran who has been diagnosed with schizophrenia. Amal feels a responsibility to Yasmin, not only as her therapist but as a fellow Middle Eastern woman trying to find her footing in a new country, far from her family, and where it’s difficult to build a support system. Using the information that Yasmin shared during their therapy sessions, Amal follows these clues to retrace her patient’s steps. When she accidentally falls into an alternate dimension of eldritch horror, she must find her way through the confusion and chaos of this new world to save Yasmin—and herself.

There is, sadly, a tendency in horror for authors and scriptwriters to misappropriate mental illness or use it as a convenient—yet harmful—plot device. Where Black Stars Rise stands out because of its particularly raw, honest, and vulnerable narrative voice. Stories that are centered around mental illness will always be quite heavy, and while this book is no exception, it addresses the topic with such beautiful nuance and even a tinge of heart-breaking hope. Enger, who also has schizophrenia, brought a sense of themself into the characters as well as the captivating world building, all of which made for an extremely emotional reading experience.

Indeed, the design of the alternate world, “Carcosa”, is some of the most harrowing yet stunning art I have ever come across in a graphic novel. Tied in with the character design with which I am deeply obsessed, this book made me an instant fan of Enger’s amazing talent.

Another one of my favourite elements of this story were the conversations that the characters had with regards to family and culture, and how they affect the ways in which we view and understand our mental health. I felt a very personal connection to the characters, especially Amal. Her relationship with her parents is quite complex and nuanced, and while she has a lot of love for her family, she also feels a distance between them because of her queerness and her career choices. This distance is in turn amplified by her reluctance to return and visit them in Lebanon. I so appreciate Shammas and her talent as a writer, and once again, I felt as though she had put a piece of herself into these characters. Being Palestinian-American, it’s clear that the topic of diaspora and having a life and family that is split between the Middle East and the United States was an element of the story that was very personal to her, and it elevated the book that much more.

By the end of this, my jaw was dropped, and tears were freely flowing down my face. As much as it broke me, I loved following these characters through their different, yet intertwined journeys. Shammas and Enger built a truly memorable story, with one of my favourite quotes of all time:

“Most of all? I love that in horror, our storytellers are always right. They’re never believed, they’re cast aside and undermined and left to face the cosmic cruelty alone. But they weren’t wrong. And the readers, the audience? We bear witness to them. We listen, and by merit of their narrative or performance, we believe them in that short burst of time. I want to write that feeling into being. I want to be believed.”

Fans of horror will understand the power of this passage, and readers of all kinds will be able to appreciate the overall chaotic beauty of this wonderful graphic novel.

Representation: Lebanese sapphic main character, Iranian main character with schizophrenia, Black sapphic love interest

Content warnings: mental illness, schizophrenia/psychosis, body horror, blood, gore, suicidal thoughts

Meagan Kimberly reviews If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan

Posted on by

If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan

Childhood friends Sahar and Nasreen are desperately in love, but living in Tehran, their love is forbidden. Nasreen wants to lead the life her parents want for her, to marry a good man with a good job who can take care of her, even if it means she has to give up her childhood sweetheart. Sahar can’t lose Nasreen, so she considers transitioning into a man, as that is acceptable in their culture. It’s a novel filled with teen angst, questions of gender and sexuality, coming of age and deciding how to stay true to yourself while holding on to the people you love.

When it comes to the discussions of trans people and transitioning, it’s hard for me to speak clearly to it because that’s not my own experience. But throughout the novel, the discussions explicitly state “transsexual,” which I’m not sure if it’s an outdated term or if it’s specific to Iranian culture on the subject. Because in this culture, trans people are acceptable as it is seen as “fixing” the problem of homosexuality. There’s a lot to unload in that frame of mind altogether because lumping gender and sexual orientation into one doesn’t allow for nuance.

There’s also an interesting division within the LGBTQ+ community. Sahar’s gay cousin, Ali, introduces her to Tehran’s queer community to show her she’s not the only one and there’s nothing wrong with her. But Sahar is resistant to the idea that she is a lesbian. Moreover, there’s another trans character she meets who shows repulsion toward gay people, calling it unnatural.

Farizan creates dynamic, imperfect characters in Sahar and Nasreen. It would be easy to categorize them as overdramatic teen girls and to get easily annoyed with their personalities. At times, Sahar becomes frustrating, even as she acknowledges her flaws and irrationality. But through all that emotion, it’s a delight to see her go through the growing pains and become firm in her identity.

I admit I found Nasreen harder to sympathize with. She’s not a bad person, but she is more selfish and self-centered in comparison to Sahar. However, she’s never condemned for her desire to live comfortably. She’s not the kind of person to fight her role as a woman in her society, and it doesn’t make her weaker or inferior. She simply chooses to survive the best way she knows how.

That doesn’t mean I think she deserves Sahar. Nasreen’s treatment of her best friend is never justified by her desire to survive and live a comfortable life. It’s this complex and messy narrative that makes the novel a compelling read. Nothing’s black and white. Characters aren’t necessarily good or evil. There are no right answers.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

Sahar and Nasreen don’t end up together. It’s a heartbreaking moment for Sahar, but it feels like the right choice for the story. However, there’s a spark of hope at the end as the novel wraps up with Sahar meeting a new girl at college.

Marthese reviews If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan

Posted on by
If You Could Be Mine by Sara Farizan“Fine, so my nipples don’t want this to happen, either”
Another sapphic modern classic down! If You Could Be Mine tells the story of Sahar. Sahar lives in Iran and is in love with Nasrin, who is more than her best friend–but being public about it will get them both killed. Nasrin gets betrothed to Reza and Sahar is trying to find a way for her and Sahar to be together.

Once, she goes to her cousin’s Ali’s party. Ali is her cool, rich cousin who is very gay and seems to manage an underground–not so hidden–empire of queer safe spaces and illegal contraband. During the party she meets Parveen, who she befriends, and from Ali she learns that Parveen is transexual (that’s what’s written in the book–I would just say trans). She starts seeing a way for her to be legally with Nasrin–but can she do it? Can she become a man when she very much feels like a woman?

Sahar is a cis lesbian, not a trans straight man. This story felt very real however. I knew someone whose parents were originally from Iran, and they would have rather she transitioned than be with a girl as a girl, even though they were not in Iran anymore. Small things, like the mention that divorce is legal, the contraband, the dress-code and curfew and how people are in private vs in public sets a realistic picture for this story.

As far as characters, I liked Ali, because while he could be quite crass and pushy, he was also caring. I liked Parveen too, and I’m glad Sahar made a friend. Most times I did not like Nasrin, but I understood her even though it felt quite unfair. Their roles of adventures and conservative were switched, at least in certain things, mid-way through the book while Sahar starts getting into Ali’s world–her world. The daring Nasrin follows conventions and the quite Sahar, breaks them.

I felt that the writing was too simplistic in the beginning. However, than I got hooked to the story and didn’t analyze it later on.

While the ending isn’t a ‘happily ever after’, there is some kind of closure and the connection between the characters will undeniably always be there. At least there’s not the kill-the-gays trope! Through their actions, the different queer characters were trying to avoid just that. It’s not safe to be yourself everywhere and while sometimes there is the option of leaving–leaving means abandoning your family, your culture and your place. It was heartbreaking but there is hope.

I’d recommend this book to anyone that likes realistic fiction and different cultures. You’d definitely need to account for angst.