Hossein Asgari’s Desolation is a novel haunted by the power of stories. The book begins in an Adelaide cafe, where an author struggling to write and is approached by a stranger who insists his life story must be recorded. Amin I this stranger. He carries the ghost of the past, marked with a single number: 655. This was the flight number of a passenger plane wrongly identified it as a fighter jet, shot down over the Persian Gulf in 1988 by two surface-to-air missiles fired by a US Navy warship, during the ongoing Iran-Iraq War. This flight was carrying Amin’s beloved brother. This was the moment where the history of the past created Amin’s story. Desolation explores how war devastates lives and fractures the social and emotional bonds that hold them together. As fact and fiction slip uneasily into one another, Asgari reminds us that both writer and reader carry a shared responsibility: to listen closely, and to remain vigilant in recognising truth.
Amin’s tale begins in his teenage years in Iran, surrounded by a caring family and captivated by a first love who lived across the street. Yet even those tender moments unfolded under the looming atmosphere of political extremism. Youthful innocence was shadowed by propaganda, half-truths, and the confusion between reality and illusion, what we currently call fake news As the story progresses into adulthood, the weight of his brother’s death leaves Amin adrift: disillusioned with the world, trapped in regret, paralysed by the knowledge that there is no right time to be informed about the risk of losing your soul.
At its heart, this story uses the art of storytelling as Amin’s means to survive. Amin’s own narrative does not redeem him; it cannot bring back what was lost or free him from guilt. It does not allow him to live on, or to confess the mistakes of his life: they are a means to make sure that his story, and the story of the lives he interacted with matter for their own sake. Amin is a storyteller himself; he speaks through cracked rose-coloured glasses where he is forced to see the truth for what it is. Selfishly he offloads his story because once it is told, it no longer belongs to him, but to the writer who records it and the reader who bears witness.
Asgari’s prose is blunt, direct, and unflinching. As a reader, we’re aware of the inevitable downfall of Amin, so its momentum becomes grimmer and bleaker. Amin remains empty, unhappy and alone. Nothing changes this. What he has experienced is horrible and has left him speechless because he passes all of his words to someone else to carry them forward. Telling his own story cannot save Amin.
Sometimes only through fiction shines a glimmer of truth.