I may be what you call a permanent tourist no longer living beneath the sky that I was born under, but always on a quest or a journey, writes Angella Nazarian. As an eleven-year-old Iranian Jew, she was forced by increasing violence from her childhood cocoon in Tehran. But this first journey would prove prophetic, as travel has become for her not only a way of life, but a way of understanding.
Part memoir, part travel diary, Life as a Visitor presents two interwoven narratives of her familys harrowing escape from revolution-rocked Iran to the glitz and glamour of Beverly Hills, and of her own quest to understand both her past and her present. Luckily, Nazarians voyages of self masquerade as spectacular journeys through foreign lands, from wildebeest safaris to the gates of Petra, taking in brutal poverty in Cambodia, exquisite beauty in Marbella, Spain, and one lonely tortoise in the Galapagos Islands. Featuring an evocative selection of images, this multifaceted, impressionistic mix of prose and poetry is rich in observation and sensuous detail, exploring the peculiar collapses of time and space made by memory. Through it all, Nazarian confirms Henry Millers dictum: Ones destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things. Her journey is as much an inner as an outer one, and if Life as a Visitor embarks from a sense of placelessness, it arrives at a sense of boundlessness.
Part memoir, part travel diary, Life as a Visitor presents two interwoven narratives of her familys harrowing escape from revolution-rocked Iran to the glitz and glamour of Beverly Hills, and of her own quest to understand both her past and her present. Luckily, Nazarians voyages of self masquerade as spectacular journeys through foreign lands, from wildebeest safaris to the gates of Petra, taking in brutal poverty in Cambodia, exquisite beauty in Marbella, Spain, and one lonely tortoise in the Galapagos Islands. Featuring an evocative selection of images, this multifaceted, impressionistic mix of prose and poetry is rich in observation and sensuous detail, exploring the peculiar collapses of time and space made by memory. Through it all, Nazarian confirms Henry Millers dictum: Ones destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things. Her journey is as much an inner as an outer one, and if Life as a Visitor embarks from a sense of placelessness, it arrives at a sense of boundlessness.
