In Nancy Agabian’s The Fear of Large and Small Nations , feminist writer and teacher Natalee—aka Na—flees the conservative fearmongering of George W. Bush’s America to reclaim her cultural roots in post-Soviet Armenia. As she contends with rigid gender roles and rampant homophobia, learning the language when her linguistic roots in the Ottoman Empire have all but disappeared, and centering her identity as a bisexual Armenian American woman amid her own secret desire for love, Na is soon left with more questions than answers about where her fractured self belongs in the world. When she falls for Seyran, a much-younger bisexual punk rocker who seems to value her for who she is, it comes as a in a culture where marriage is seen as a source of protection for women, Na has the satisfaction of subverting societal expectations by shielding Seyran from conscription and, after marrying and moving to New York together, deportation. But when Seyran reveals an abusive side, Na becomes trapped in a dangerous codependent web, complicated by intergenerational trauma, political ideals, and, above all, love. To leave him, she will have to choose herself—whoever that is. Written in gripping short stories interspersed with intimate journal entries and blog posts, the fragmented narrative reveals what is lost in the tightrope journey between cultures ravaged by violence and colonialism—and what is gained when one woman seizes control of her story, pulsating in its many shades and realities, daring to be witnessed.
In this debut novel, Agabian looks at once critically and with unmatched empathy at Armenian society, both in Armenia and the diaspora, meditating on sexuality, gender roles, shame, violence, intergenerational trauma, the role of art in politics, what is expected of us and how we perform, and much more. Told in a collage of fragmented perspectives, The Fear of Large and Small Nations is a searingly honest examination of abuse and its acceptance within a people more often portrayed as victims than perpetrators, by a woman fighting to escape the cycle of violence. A brilliant and brave work by a masterful storyteller, so powerful it stunned me.
Beautifully written novel. Protagonist Na is a complex and endearing soul. Equally nuanced supporting characters who challenge Na’s journey of self discovery. Universal appeal with themes of one’s search for identity and a sense of belonging—where one fits into the world. At the same time, a fascinating, educational look at Armenian history and culture, as well as the Armenian-American experience. Intoxicating illustrations by Karyn Kloumann add to the story’s open-hearted tone, the intimacy of Agabian’s prose. Brava Nancy Agabian!
The Fear of Large and Small Nations was one of my favorite reads this year and has so much to say about the time we’re living in. An Armenian-American’s brilliant, epic exploration of queerness, in-betweenness, art and activism and the connections between individual and social trauma, The Fear of Large and Small Nations is equally expansive and intimate. I instinctively trust the narrator’s honest, vulnerable insider-outsider voice, which is at once deeply empathetic and questioning of everything. Experimentation with voice and form draw the reader more deeply into the characters’ experiences, and the pleasurable surprise of humor bubbles out of even the most complex considerations of sociopolitical issues.
Such a beautifully written book, the prose was simultaneously poetic, symbolic and accessible at the same time. The story was compelling (don't let the fact that I read so slowly at small increments fool you). I often needed time to digest each portion, picking up nuggets of wisdom or gasping at the author's moments of clarity and insight. Perhaps her thirst for understanding the motives and meanings behind everything (society, history, behaviors of others) was part of why she couldn't let things that were harmful to her go. The need to know why overrode the nerd to move on and let go.
While “The Fear of Large and Small Nations” is reminiscent of Nancy Agabian’s autobiographical “Me as Her Again”, the introduction of Seyran and his abuse adds an additional layer of trauma.
The fear — of generational trauma, of geopolitical worries, and of social conservatism — builds upon itself in a seemingly endless cycle.
I appreciate this book, and commend the author for adding to the queer Armenian-American canon.
Such an underrated book. An incredibly brave and vulnerable portrayal from the author about cultural reflections, abusive relationship issues, and inner growth.
Nancy Agabian shares a contemporary story about the normalization of Armenians in the diaspora, addressing current challenges and disrupting the existing norms. I enjoyed and highly recommend!