Against the backdrop of 1979 post-revolution Iran, seven-year-old Mozhgan Mahmoodian struggles to understand the right and wrong in her world. At home, the kitchen wall is the only thing separating her fatherâs two lives â one with her maman, and the other with his second wife. In her dogmatic school, disillusionment threatens to take away Mozhganâs claim to her one superpower: her brain.
Determined to create her own path, she decides the best way forward is by doing the opposite of what the adults around her do. But can a young girl reinvent her life with nothing but her own will and judgment?
The Ballet of Swallows is a coming of age memoir about how we define our own story and defy the one thatâs given to us. Navigating grief, depression, and familial trauma, Mozhgan Mahmoodian invites us into the intimate and harrowing world of her childhood.
Against the backdrop of 1979 post-revolution Iran, seven-year-old Mozhgan Mahmoodian struggles to understand the right and wrong in her world. At home, the kitchen wall is the only thing separating her fatherâs two lives â one with her maman, and the other with his second wife. In her dogmatic school, disillusionment threatens to take away Mozhganâs claim to her one superpower: her brain.
Determined to create her own path, she decides the best way forward is by doing the opposite of what the adults around her do. But can a young girl reinvent her life with nothing but her own will and judgment?
The Ballet of Swallows is a coming of age memoir about how we define our own story and defy the one thatâs given to us. Navigating grief, depression, and familial trauma, Mozhgan Mahmoodian invites us into the intimate and harrowing world of her childhood.
Sometimes the simplest questions are the hardest. For most people, being asked âHow many brothers and sisters do you have?â doesnât cause the type of panic it does in me. I think hard before answering. What do they already know about me? I consider before choosing what to say. The real answer, the one that comes automatically is threeâone sister and two brothersâbut what causes turmoil is that on a mathematical and scientific level, that is untrue.
Right now, I am sixteen years old, and I am trying to stay out of the bullshit created by the adults around me. It is their mess that makes honesty so embarrassing and difficult. I grit my teeth as I remember the conversation with a boy at the party. I am getting ready for school, but all I can think of is how I will answer this question next time. I know in many ways I am obsessed and should try to think of other things, but I cannot. I manage to murmur calming sounds as my mother rattles off complaint after complaint about Effat, my fatherâs other wife. She is upset as we can hear Effat next door; her children are also getting ready The Ballet of Swallows 2 for school and she is yellingâswearingâat them, trying to get them to stop fighting. Then, despite the noise, I hear the very faint creak of the gate being opened outside, meaning Aghajan, my father, is leaving for work.
Maman stops for a moment as she hears this too. She inhales sharply as if this reminder of his existence increases her irritation. It does increase mine. Maman is sitting on a cushion on the floor with our breakfast laid out in front of her on a plain sofra. She resumes her complaints and stops only to sip tea. The sugar cube in her mouth will sweeten it. I smell the cardamom and sit too, taking a cube from the bowl and a sip of my own tea. On the sofra is also a bowl of raisins, another of walnuts, and some bread and cheese. Maman resumes her litany, chewing raisins as she sips and rants.
âLook at her!â I cannot see Effat from where I am, but I know what my mother sees. âStanding out there, wearing that red top when it is so cold outside. Showing everything. Then she covers herself as if she is so clean. Hypocrite!â
Effat is always on her brain. âAnd that daughter of hers who wears the chador,â she spits out, then pauses suddenly because she sees I have gotten up and am putting on my own over my winter coat. âIf you keep wearing that you will have to do it forever. You donât want to go that route. A scarf is enough.â
She says this every single time I wear the chador. I understand. It scares her. She had been so stylish and chic during her youth and doesnât want to see me dressing up like a dogmatic religious person, but these are different times. I donât wear the chador much these days, which is why she is so surprised to see me put The Enemies 3 it on now. Today, I need its extra folds of fabric to hide what Iâm carrying; plus, itâs a good idea to wear it to school. The more devout you look, the better your chances of getting into university. I wink at her, and her eyebrows raise. Maman is pretty coolâ she trusts me. I hug her as my goodbye and say, âDonât worry!âÂ
If this book had been told in a more story-like format that was fully fleshed out and more robust with tighter editing, it would have been easy to give a five-star review. While a four-star review is solid, and I enjoyed reading this book, it lacked the depth of emotion needed to be fully immersive.
Sometimes, as writers, we can get caught up in writing books about our life experiences in ways that are not experiential enough for the reader to feel they are living everything alongside us. Rather than feeling like I was by this author's side, I often felt like I had a bird's-eye view. While I felt sorry for the author at many different turns during her growing-up years, it wasn't enough for me to experience tears.
With the above said, this book was notable in that it transported me to a time and place in the world that I had never been to. I appreciated being brought to another country and culture unfamiliar to me. To learn what life is like for others provides us with different insights and understandings. I am in awe of this author and what she overcame to be where she is today. Speaking of which, I would like to request a sequel! Have you, Mozhgan, worn red lipstick? What became of the neighbors whose home you would watch the swallows fly from their rooftop? What became of your maman, and could you maintain a relationship with her after beginning your university studies, getting married, and moving from Iran to Canada?
While this book is a heart-breakingly beautiful story of one young woman's coming of age against incredible odds that, under different circumstances, might have kept her repressed and oppressed, she could remember, retain, and apply information that set her free. Playing a governmental and religious game filled with stringent control and oversight until she no longer had to. Now, living a life where her mother would be/is proud, she does not have to hide herself but can freely express who she is with kindness and caring for those she assists through the pharmaceutical industry. An education can change everything!
Many parts of this author's story are moving. Where you, as a reader, would wish differently for the outcomes of those around her to include her journey. There is little joy and much sadness, but a mother and daughter's love for each other and the love of an older brother (gone too soon) can help propel a daughter beyond circumstance and into a future that few reach.
Mozhgan, I pray your life inspires others to try, to learn, to rally against despair, and to rise above the life around them to chase after a life that can be different and better than the experiences of their everyday. You are a woman for all other women to look up to. Thank you for sharing your life's story. May we find good in the land of the living, hope to hold on to, and not give up.