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23 of 29 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Could Have Been a Great One, January 21, 2001
Of all the places on the earth, I can't think of a more "foreign" place in the world to Westerners than Iran. Everything is different: the food, the architecture, the alphabet, the clothing, the language. Women can't go in public without a veil; all men and women pray submissively, facing the east; and the government is controlled by religious fanatics. And the history of the place goes back to the beginning of civilization. How fortunate then, that we come upon this novel, which purports to give us a glimpse of this society through the eyes of one of our own: an Englishman, at eighteen, who moves there in 1974 and stays there for good. And how unfortunate that this narrative is so clumsy, and so frustratingly difficult to understand.It is narrated in the first person by John Pitt, a young man who leaves England simply because he doesn't wish to be like everybody else, with their girlfriends and their music. He ends up in Isfahan, Iran, where he is able to get a job teaching English to high-school age girls. He falls in love with one of them; the Persian Bride of the title. It is the sort of life-defining, all-encompassing love that most of us have had only once in our lives, and some of us never at all. He elopes with her, and for about a year, they enjoy a somewhat idyllic honeymoon. But it is an ill fated love: she is the daughter of a prominent member of the Shah's regime. Their relationship is problematic enough initially, but after the takeover of the Ayatollahs it becomes impossible. She is taken from him and he is imprisoned, first by the Shah and then by the new regime. After many years he is given a chance to redeem himself by fighting for the Iranians against the Iraquis, and he does. He finally escapes from Iran, and spends the rest of the novel traveling through southwest Islamic Asia, searching for his love. It is a compelling story. Mr. Buchan clearly knows his subject matter and is competent enough to draw believable if somewhat imperfect characters. The love story is also very powerful: the actions of both his narrator and his bride make this clear. But for some reason, either intentionally or unintentionally, the author has created a complex puzzlebox of a narrative that is extremely difficult to understand. I can't tell you how many times I found myself riffling back several pages in order to figure out what I missed. A telling example is this: the narrator and his bride are travelling in a jeep, right after their elopement, on a sandy path in the desert night. She gets out of the truck and asks him to follow her. He does. About a dozen sentences later, he turns off the engine. Huh? Oh, he was following her in the jeep. I get it, but why doesn't he say so in the first place? His first meeting with her family is incomprehensible. There are several characters present: the father, a colonel in the air force; the mother, who may or may not also be the princess; the bearded liaison, who is also a servant, I think; and two daughters. A further complication is that much of their dialogue is spoken in untranslated French. I read this passage several times and have still not figured out who is who. He is separated from his wife while both are trying to escape Iran with the help of two drug smugglers. It is implied that the drug smugglers attempted to kill them both, but we are never really told in a straightforward manner. All we know is that the narrator ends up in prison, and that he doesn't know what happened to the girl. But he was there! Why doesn't he tell us what he knows? Why is this episode shrouded in mystery? Clearly, this omission is intentional. Is it an attempt to blanket the reader with the same confusion as the narrator? Maybe, but again, why? The book is filled with these confusing incongruities, small and large. Towards the end, he is lying in a filthy hovel in Kabul, dressed in rags, drunk, and unbathed. A well-dressed female French physician he has never met comes to see him. "Do you want to make love to me?" she asks. Huh? Then he meets his nemesis, the afore-mentioned drug smuggler. I think the drug smuggler dies. I know the narrator loses his arm. But how? Again, why doesn't he just say what happened? Islamic philosophy is strewn liberally throughout the novel. One of the tenets of it seems to be that we poor humans are not meant to know everything, and that we must submissively accept that which is beyond our understanding. Perhaps this is what the author is trying to convey. Perhaps. But, unfortunately, it is not going to be conveyed to the average reader, who after a hundred pages or so will angrily heave the book against the wall, never to pick it up again. I don't regret reading this book. I feel like I learned a little something of Iran before and after the revolution, and I was touched by the enduring love story. But I'll never read it again. It is a book, sadly, that is destined for obscurity; a ninety-nine cent special in the library basement.
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