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The Blindfold Horse: Memories of a Persian Childhood
Decades before the Iranian revolution of 1979, which placed the country under a repressive religious rule, Shusha Guppy grew up in a Persia delicately balanced between traditional Islamic life and the transforming forces of westernization. In this eloquent memoir, Guppy recreates the lost world of her childhood before the oil boom and the eventual overthrow of the Shah. Her lively tales about relatives, friends, music, drama, religious holidays, and celebrations bring to life a vanished society caught between the oppressive but stable strictures of the past and the unsettling freedoms of the future.
256 pages, Paperback
Published August 21, 2004
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June 30, 2013
Shusha Guppy, who died in 2008, moved to Paris from Persia in 1950 at the age of 16. The oil conflicts and 1979 revolution happened after she had left her country, so this memoir of her childhood (1938-1950) has a sense of a fairy tale at times, telling a story of a place that no longer exists the way she experienced it.
After she moved away, she became a writer, composer, and singer, making her friends among the French and English artist communities.
You can see hear some of her singing in YouTube, and read her obituary at The Guardian. The Huffington Post just recently put together a slideshow of the "old" Persian food, so that seemed timely as well! I really want to make that Persian love cake!
Shusha grew up in the upper class of a Persia that no longer exists. Her description of meals, the gardens, the finery her mother owned, has long since disappeared, but I think that is why I enjoyed this memoir in a sad way. She was born after the veil had been abolished, and reading about the continuing Westernization of the people was an interesting contrast to their current reality. She was encouraged to be intelligent and educated, and by the time she wrote this memoir, was publishing in English more than any other language.
After she moved away, she became a writer, composer, and singer, making her friends among the French and English artist communities.
You can see hear some of her singing in YouTube, and read her obituary at The Guardian. The Huffington Post just recently put together a slideshow of the "old" Persian food, so that seemed timely as well! I really want to make that Persian love cake!
Shusha grew up in the upper class of a Persia that no longer exists. Her description of meals, the gardens, the finery her mother owned, has long since disappeared, but I think that is why I enjoyed this memoir in a sad way. She was born after the veil had been abolished, and reading about the continuing Westernization of the people was an interesting contrast to their current reality. She was encouraged to be intelligent and educated, and by the time she wrote this memoir, was publishing in English more than any other language.
December 4, 2012
I just finished reading this memoir. It took me to places that were both familiar and exotic. The writer (now deceased) belongs to a different time in Iran and a different social stratum than my own. Her childhood was definitely privileged, compared to the majority of the population, and it is not clear from her writing how aware of this fact she has been. For those of us who were raised in more ordinary, middle-class families in Iran, her memoir has voyeuristic value. But what's remarkable about her is how liberal her upbringing had been, given the fact that her father was a Grand Ayatollah (and a university professor). She speaks of playing cards and backgammon in lazy summer afternoons in Damavand, where they spent their summers away from the city, while even today religious people, the followers of those ayatollahs, can be too pious to touch playing cards. She also speaks of fasting during Ramadan and how she and her siblings grew out of it, and her mother considered them "najes" for not sticking to Islamic rituals. It is all very interesting, and the stories she narrates seem credible and honest. In any case, I'm glad I finally had the occasion to read this. I am going to follow it up with her Parisian memoir, "A Girl in Paris".
August 27, 2017
One does not tread on the ashes of time forgotten and leave without graying our souls...
Though she seems a generation older than mine and certainly one that grew with greater privileges and rights, you do seem to empathize with her, as you understand, that is exactly what a "farsi" would do and how they would react to things... by singing poetry, talking and arguing into the night, eating, celebrating distressing and lamenting... and of course with a whole lot of humor.
It took me to places and times which are both familiar and exotic. The author (1935-2008) belongs to a different time, different social stratum than a majority of her country-folk, that she understands the difference is apparent, but does she empathize / feel / understand or distance herself from the disadvantaged is a question you don't get a clear answer to.
For those who have never seen beyond the fence of tall poplars and high walls, those palaces with soft carpets and crystal chandeliers, raised in frugal environments and disadvantaged minorities, the memoir has great voyeuristic flavor. Her frankness and softness of topics, that iranians are famed to make dark and remorseful are remarkable
She speaks of playing cards, cinema, music, gramophone records, swing and jazz, backgammon.... mingling freely with friends of her brothers and not growing up in a "Andaroon" while today, even common folk would shudder to touch those topics or things. She writes eloquently and fairly vividly of festivals, poetry and literature that only one of such a background can pull off and it is refreshing to read... all very engaging and interesting, and the method of writing the stories seems effortless and personal...
Found this book on a sale at the Seattle library, and I can't be thankful enough for chance occurrences to bring this book to me... maybe as she says, it IS written on the brow.... but in all probability, we gravitate towards our destiny in invisible conscious ways that only one who understands the deeper meanings may interpret.
Of course the logical step would be to follow it up with her music and her Parisian memoir, "A Girl in Paris"....
Ah well... that is going to be another story.
Though she seems a generation older than mine and certainly one that grew with greater privileges and rights, you do seem to empathize with her, as you understand, that is exactly what a "farsi" would do and how they would react to things... by singing poetry, talking and arguing into the night, eating, celebrating distressing and lamenting... and of course with a whole lot of humor.
It took me to places and times which are both familiar and exotic. The author (1935-2008) belongs to a different time, different social stratum than a majority of her country-folk, that she understands the difference is apparent, but does she empathize / feel / understand or distance herself from the disadvantaged is a question you don't get a clear answer to.
For those who have never seen beyond the fence of tall poplars and high walls, those palaces with soft carpets and crystal chandeliers, raised in frugal environments and disadvantaged minorities, the memoir has great voyeuristic flavor. Her frankness and softness of topics, that iranians are famed to make dark and remorseful are remarkable
She speaks of playing cards, cinema, music, gramophone records, swing and jazz, backgammon.... mingling freely with friends of her brothers and not growing up in a "Andaroon" while today, even common folk would shudder to touch those topics or things. She writes eloquently and fairly vividly of festivals, poetry and literature that only one of such a background can pull off and it is refreshing to read... all very engaging and interesting, and the method of writing the stories seems effortless and personal...
Found this book on a sale at the Seattle library, and I can't be thankful enough for chance occurrences to bring this book to me... maybe as she says, it IS written on the brow.... but in all probability, we gravitate towards our destiny in invisible conscious ways that only one who understands the deeper meanings may interpret.
Of course the logical step would be to follow it up with her music and her Parisian memoir, "A Girl in Paris"....
Ah well... that is going to be another story.
October 26, 2009
I loved this book much more the first time I read it because it was all new then. It taught me a lot about Iran before the ayatollahs. It's funny the times I've used something I learned from this book in conversation.
October 3, 2009
This book is fun to read.
April 2, 2018
The blindfold horse or camel or donkey is a feature of the Muslim world. It has its uses, and it does not realize what it is doing. It works without understanding. It will walk patiently in a circle around a stone mill. For Shusha Guppy, the image evokes the pungent odor of turmeric.
She was the London editor of The Paris Review, a publication renown for fine writing. her great-grandfather, Haji Mahmood, once spontaneously gave a stranger a bag containing one hundred gold sovereigns, his entire savings. The story is touching and reminds us of the trust that once existed between sincere believers.
When Guppy's anecdotes are not charming, poignant or funny, they are heart-rending. The only thing they are not is horrible. One of the saddest is one that also uplifts for its heroism. It is about the first wife of the domineering grandfather, Haji Seyyed Muhammad. She was the grandmother to the authoress, and with a baby girl in her arms, was helping the laundress gather dried linen on the roof of their house: "Her two younger sons, aged 5 and 8, were playing in the garden when suddenly she heard a scream. She looked down and saw Kazem, the younger boy, wrapped in flames, and instinctively she put down the baby and jumped off the roof, picked up the child, and dipped him in the pool to extingush the fire. She saved his life. The laundry woman rushed down the stairs, leaving the baby behind."
Luckily the baby didn't crawl off the roof, but the mother--Halima--fell ill that night and died a couple of days later. Either the psychological shock or the physical jolt of her leap killed her.
The expertise of midwives and bonesetters in those bygone days may remind readers of the skills rampant back in the day throughout the East. Zivar, the blind midwife, could tell by touch exactly what day and hour a baby would be born:
"Sometimes, when the birth seemed imminent, she would say, 'Don't panic, there's plenty of time.' At other times, when the pain had barely started, she might order: 'Quick! Quick! Get me some boiling water and a towel. I've got a couple of minutes.'" And she would be right.
She was the London editor of The Paris Review, a publication renown for fine writing. her great-grandfather, Haji Mahmood, once spontaneously gave a stranger a bag containing one hundred gold sovereigns, his entire savings. The story is touching and reminds us of the trust that once existed between sincere believers.
When Guppy's anecdotes are not charming, poignant or funny, they are heart-rending. The only thing they are not is horrible. One of the saddest is one that also uplifts for its heroism. It is about the first wife of the domineering grandfather, Haji Seyyed Muhammad. She was the grandmother to the authoress, and with a baby girl in her arms, was helping the laundress gather dried linen on the roof of their house: "Her two younger sons, aged 5 and 8, were playing in the garden when suddenly she heard a scream. She looked down and saw Kazem, the younger boy, wrapped in flames, and instinctively she put down the baby and jumped off the roof, picked up the child, and dipped him in the pool to extingush the fire. She saved his life. The laundry woman rushed down the stairs, leaving the baby behind."
Luckily the baby didn't crawl off the roof, but the mother--Halima--fell ill that night and died a couple of days later. Either the psychological shock or the physical jolt of her leap killed her.
The expertise of midwives and bonesetters in those bygone days may remind readers of the skills rampant back in the day throughout the East. Zivar, the blind midwife, could tell by touch exactly what day and hour a baby would be born:
"Sometimes, when the birth seemed imminent, she would say, 'Don't panic, there's plenty of time.' At other times, when the pain had barely started, she might order: 'Quick! Quick! Get me some boiling water and a towel. I've got a couple of minutes.'" And she would be right.
Read
February 5, 2022- A tale of a man who in the time of Khalif Haroon-Al-Rashid in Baghdad, sees the Angel of Death in the Bazaar. He flees to the Khalif, and begs to be whisked away to Samarkand, thousands of miles away, on the Khalif's magic carpet. The Khalif obliges, and the man goes a nearby mosque in Samarkand, where he sees the Angel of Death awaiting him at the entrance: "I'm glad to see you! I was told to come and take you away at this hour in this place and, when I saw you in the Bazaar in Baghdad an hour ago, I wondered if I had not made a mistake. How did you manage to keep your appointment?" - p. 63
- "I used to think that if I put several long ladders on top of each other I could reach the Milky Way, and follow it to the end of the world." p. 77
- "Ali was my father's valet and general factotum. Whenever Nanny was away or unwell, he took over the cooking as well. He came from a village in Azarbayejan which was famous for its pomegranates, and spoke Persian with a heavy Turkish accent. We teased him about it and exaggerated his malapropisms and inarticulacy. He was bad-tempered but good-natured, bossy but loyal, and he ran the house efficiently though grumpily. When he eventually married and left us, he broguth over a cousin from his village and trained him to take over his job. By chance, he too was called Ali, and so over the years we had a succession of Alis (because if they had different names we changed them to the simple Ali), who would arrive as uncouth country lads and leave a few years later as trained and well-spoken service staff." - p. 81
- "I used to think that if I put several long ladders on top of each other I could reach the Milky Way, and follow it to the end of the world." p. 77
- "Ali was my father's valet and general factotum. Whenever Nanny was away or unwell, he took over the cooking as well. He came from a village in Azarbayejan which was famous for its pomegranates, and spoke Persian with a heavy Turkish accent. We teased him about it and exaggerated his malapropisms and inarticulacy. He was bad-tempered but good-natured, bossy but loyal, and he ran the house efficiently though grumpily. When he eventually married and left us, he broguth over a cousin from his village and trained him to take over his job. By chance, he too was called Ali, and so over the years we had a succession of Alis (because if they had different names we changed them to the simple Ali), who would arrive as uncouth country lads and leave a few years later as trained and well-spoken service staff." - p. 81
July 30, 2025
Sometimes pleasant, sometimes difficult to read, this book feels like a product of its time. Edward Said might have fallen to his knees upon encountering Guppy's lavish upper-class adventures and traditions, recounted with little regard for social position or the implications of such privilege in everyday or post-migration life. Yet it was written in the 1980s, before reflexivity was anything more than an awkward gulp caught in one’s throat, so one can only try to be at least forgiving.
Certain passages have not aged well, and some read like an extension of One Thousand and One Nights; perhaps intentionally so. Guppy's memoir can still be a surprisingly pleasant read, especially on a sweltering summer day for reasons I can’t quite explain.
Certain passages have not aged well, and some read like an extension of One Thousand and One Nights; perhaps intentionally so. Guppy's memoir can still be a surprisingly pleasant read, especially on a sweltering summer day for reasons I can’t quite explain.
June 20, 2021
I found this hard going but I think that's more a reflection on me than the author.
I'm intrigued by the east and wanted an insight into persian life which to an extent this gives, but the author comes from a position of relative wealth compared to most in her country and this comes across in her experiences (as you would expect).
All in all the book is well written but lacked a narrative to pull me along. It does leave me wanting to know more though.
I'm intrigued by the east and wanted an insight into persian life which to an extent this gives, but the author comes from a position of relative wealth compared to most in her country and this comes across in her experiences (as you would expect).
All in all the book is well written but lacked a narrative to pull me along. It does leave me wanting to know more though.
July 10, 2021
En vacker bok som kräver långsam läsning.
"Men nu när jag ser tillbaka, undrar jag i hur hög grad vårt lovprisande av privatlivet och självständighet är en ursäkt för att inte bry sig tillräckligt om varandra."
"Men nu när jag ser tillbaka, undrar jag i hur hög grad vårt lovprisande av privatlivet och självständighet är en ursäkt för att inte bry sig tillräckligt om varandra."
May 18, 2024
I really liked this book especially the first chapter that was beautifully written about the ‘blind horse’. I would’ve loved it even more if the author had expanded about her own personal life a bit more instead of Iran’s traditions.
August 3, 2023
این کتاب توسط خانم ناهید طباطبایی با عنوان" دختر ایرانی روی مرز" ترجمه شده است ولی نسخه فارسی در این اپلیکیشن قرار داده نشده است. ترجمه کتاب بسیار خوب و روان است.ارزش این کتاب در این است که با مطالعه آن می توان سبک زندگی ساکنان تهران در آن زمان را بخوبی لمس کرد .از نظر ادبی بنظرم قلم نویسنده در باره بیان جزییات زمان ها، مکان ها و نیز توصیف رفتار ها و رسوم آن دوره فوق العاده است.او دختر یک روحانی است ولی نگرش و رفتار و شیوه تربیتی اش با آنانی که در این دوره با آن ها سر می کنیم بسیار متفاوت است تعامل پدر با فرزندانش و بالعکس بسیار جالب است تحصیلکرده حوزه و دانشگاه و استاداست.ولی تمایلی بهدنزدیک به دربارندارد..در زمان رضا شاه یکی از معدود روحانیونی بود که به او اجازه داده شد لباس روحانیت را بر تن داشته باشد.البته عمو های دختر باوجود تربیت در یک خانواده مذهبی هریک سبک زندگی خاصی را پی گرفتند که بعضا با خوشنامی همراه نبود. نقش مادر در خانواده آن ها از محوریت خاصی برخوردار بود.او با توجه به شرایط و درآمد همسرش تمام تلاشش بر این بود که در برابر خانواده های هم طبقه خود چیزی کسر نداشته باشد.در هر حال اگرچه جنبه تاریخی خاطرات از دیدگاه نویسنده است و می بایست با خواندن مطالب تاریخی معاصر راستی آزمایی شود ولی آنچه او به عنوان خاطرات زندگی وتحولات فکری بیان می کند حتمن باید واقعیت زندگی او باشد.ظاهرا بعدها به پاریس مهاجرت می کند.ضمن این که تغییرات و تحولات پیش و بعد از انقلاب را نیز در جاهایی از کتاب مورد اشاره قرار می دهد.
February 2, 2018
Enjoyed it.
August 15, 2013
I am totally aware that my fairly high rating of this book is totally due to the fact that I spent my childhood in Iran hearing about the Iran of my father's childhood and always wanting to hear more. Well, this is the more that I always wanted since Ms. Guppy is of the same generation of my father though she seems to have grown up in a more traditional household than that of my father.
She explains so many things about the Iran of old and about the customs surrounding so much that is life in Iran and I enjoyed it all.
She explains so many things about the Iran of old and about the customs surrounding so much that is life in Iran and I enjoyed it all.
January 15, 2013
A lyrically written memoir about growing up in Persia in the time of the Shahs--a lost world now. I notice the author, now deceased, has caught a little flak on Goodreads for "classism"... But she does not hide the fact that she is describing her childhood in an upper class home, not does she imply that her experience was universal. Not to mention that it makes little sense to impose the current construct of "class" to a time before the 1960s.. A light, enjoyable read.
August 26, 2012
Guppy, with her beautiful language, paints a world unknown to many of us, and very familiar to those who were there, it's a story about a Persian childhood, and about growing as a woman. Guppy describes a world that no longer exists, and does it in a spell binding way.
May 13, 2014
A beautifully written memoir. Pre Revolution days in Iran. Enjoyed this book very much. Great tales shared.
March 1, 2008
At this point I've read so many growing up in the Iranian revolution stories that it's hard for me to weed one out from another, but this one was my leas favorite.
October 25, 2010
This is the biography of a mildly arrogant but highly intelligent Persian woman..I loved her razor sharp recollections and witty musings...
May 20, 2012
Interesting set of short stories, she writes like Marjane Satrapi.
Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews