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حیاط خلوت
Backyard(Hayat Khalvat) is Farhad Hassanzadeh`s first novel with Qoqnoos. His previous publisher, Hoze Honari, refused the book for its explicit and critical comments on the war and the treatment of its veterans. Backyard was well received in Iranian literary circles, and was nominated for the Yalda, Ghalam Zarin and Golshiri literary awards in 2004.
Synopsis
In the aftermath of the Iran-Iraq war, veteran Ashour Mashali is crippled, shell shocked, and struggling to deal with his parent’s deaths. His beloved sister, Sharifeh, a nurse, cares for other veterans during the day and looks after Ashour at nights.
Together, they live on the grounds of the school they attended as children. When the landowner decides to tear down the school, Ashour decides to fight to preserve the place where his parents, as well as his childhood innocence, were both destroyed by war. Sharifeh, desperate to help him come to terms with the present, hits upon the idea of running a missing person ad for Ashour with the purpose of finding and reuniting their childhood circle of friends. Soon they are brought back together, rekindling old loves and sparking a new feeling of possibility in life. But time has changed them all, and Ashour is not the only one who has suffered.
Ashour was asleep when Sharifeh arrived. He was lying on his back on the metal bed, snoring through his half-open mouth. A bit of cotton clung to his unkempt beard, and it fluttered with every warm waft of his breath. Sharifeh bent over to remove the thread, and then she stepped back and looked at him. He looked like a man who'd been having nightmares. His bed sheet coiled around his waist, shoulders and limbs like a snake; his forehead and the dark curve of his cheeks were dotted with big beads of sweat. She turned the ceiling fan off. 'I hope he won’t catch cold,' she murmurs. She takes her headscarf off, runs her slim fingers through her hair, 'Ah, God, I'm dying of the heat in here.' Her hair hung down to her waist. 'I should get it cut short; otherwise I'll stew in summer.' She puts her hair up in a loose bun on top of her head, hoping a breeze of wind touches the nape of her neck.
The fan blades slowed with small, interrupted chirps. Sharifeh went into the other room and took off her gown. She put on her flower Indian skirt and came back. Again, her glance stole to the metal bed and its new occupant. With his snake coiled around him, Ashour rolled a bit towards the wall. Above, the ceiling fan gave up the last of its momentum and stops. She takes a newspaper out of her olive green purse, and riffles through the pages with delicate haste. Just as she had at the kiosk earlier, she searches in it for the missing person's page. She'd had no chance to look through it on the minibus. The wind had crackled in one ear, while a talkative Mrs. Garmsiri took advantage of the other. Now she was afraid of waking Ashour, but was not in the mood to go to the other room or out into the garden. She started skimming the page again and found the entry she was looking for. Ashour’s picture was clear and sweet. Under the picture was the word 'Missing'; shouting for attention with its bold, black font. She read the attached text (the subject of the pictures, Eshour Mashali….)
Seeing the ad again, she felt a second wash of pity for the typist's illiteracy and blamed herself for not emphasizing Ashour’s name, for she had not said that Ashour is spelled with an ' A'; not an ' E'. She returned to the caption, ' … who has brain damage …'
The rigid springs of the bed squeaked, then Ashour’s voice called her away from the ad.
'When did you get back?'
She folded the newspaper and stuffed it back in her purse; 'A few minutes ago.'
They exchanged greetings when their eyes met. Ashour pulled himself into a sitting position with his right hand. With the left, he took his chafieh scarf from the bed frame and wiped the sweat off his face and neck.
'Damn, the power's gone out. I'm roasting in here from the heat,' he said.
'There is no outage. You were drenched in sweat, so I turned the fan off.' Sharifeh said.
'What about you? Aren’t you hot?' Ashour spoke with a low, hoarse voice.
Sharifeh said; ‘Not at all. Get up and have a shower to cool off.’
Sharifeh said, 'Get up then, before the water cuts off again.'
She knew very well that the shower, cooling off and the water cutting out were just excuses. She could not bear the weight of his eyes. He was there, while his missing person ads were everywhere. Her only choice was to control her mounting anxiety, so she left her purse by the wall. The room was in a mess. The cloth where she ate breakfast was still spread on the floor. She put the tea-steamer cups on the tray, collected the dried pieces of bread, and wiped the cloth with a sponge. Then, with a few brisk moves, she picked up the clothes that were scattered all over the room. But through it all she could feel the presence of ...
Synopsis
In the aftermath of the Iran-Iraq war, veteran Ashour Mashali is crippled, shell shocked, and struggling to deal with his parent’s deaths. His beloved sister, Sharifeh, a nurse, cares for other veterans during the day and looks after Ashour at nights.
Together, they live on the grounds of the school they attended as children. When the landowner decides to tear down the school, Ashour decides to fight to preserve the place where his parents, as well as his childhood innocence, were both destroyed by war. Sharifeh, desperate to help him come to terms with the present, hits upon the idea of running a missing person ad for Ashour with the purpose of finding and reuniting their childhood circle of friends. Soon they are brought back together, rekindling old loves and sparking a new feeling of possibility in life. But time has changed them all, and Ashour is not the only one who has suffered.
Ashour was asleep when Sharifeh arrived. He was lying on his back on the metal bed, snoring through his half-open mouth. A bit of cotton clung to his unkempt beard, and it fluttered with every warm waft of his breath. Sharifeh bent over to remove the thread, and then she stepped back and looked at him. He looked like a man who'd been having nightmares. His bed sheet coiled around his waist, shoulders and limbs like a snake; his forehead and the dark curve of his cheeks were dotted with big beads of sweat. She turned the ceiling fan off. 'I hope he won’t catch cold,' she murmurs. She takes her headscarf off, runs her slim fingers through her hair, 'Ah, God, I'm dying of the heat in here.' Her hair hung down to her waist. 'I should get it cut short; otherwise I'll stew in summer.' She puts her hair up in a loose bun on top of her head, hoping a breeze of wind touches the nape of her neck.
The fan blades slowed with small, interrupted chirps. Sharifeh went into the other room and took off her gown. She put on her flower Indian skirt and came back. Again, her glance stole to the metal bed and its new occupant. With his snake coiled around him, Ashour rolled a bit towards the wall. Above, the ceiling fan gave up the last of its momentum and stops. She takes a newspaper out of her olive green purse, and riffles through the pages with delicate haste. Just as she had at the kiosk earlier, she searches in it for the missing person's page. She'd had no chance to look through it on the minibus. The wind had crackled in one ear, while a talkative Mrs. Garmsiri took advantage of the other. Now she was afraid of waking Ashour, but was not in the mood to go to the other room or out into the garden. She started skimming the page again and found the entry she was looking for. Ashour’s picture was clear and sweet. Under the picture was the word 'Missing'; shouting for attention with its bold, black font. She read the attached text (the subject of the pictures, Eshour Mashali….)
Seeing the ad again, she felt a second wash of pity for the typist's illiteracy and blamed herself for not emphasizing Ashour’s name, for she had not said that Ashour is spelled with an ' A'; not an ' E'. She returned to the caption, ' … who has brain damage …'
The rigid springs of the bed squeaked, then Ashour’s voice called her away from the ad.
'When did you get back?'
She folded the newspaper and stuffed it back in her purse; 'A few minutes ago.'
They exchanged greetings when their eyes met. Ashour pulled himself into a sitting position with his right hand. With the left, he took his chafieh scarf from the bed frame and wiped the sweat off his face and neck.
'Damn, the power's gone out. I'm roasting in here from the heat,' he said.
'There is no outage. You were drenched in sweat, so I turned the fan off.' Sharifeh said.
'What about you? Aren’t you hot?' Ashour spoke with a low, hoarse voice.
Sharifeh said; ‘Not at all. Get up and have a shower to cool off.’
Sharifeh said, 'Get up then, before the water cuts off again.'
She knew very well that the shower, cooling off and the water cutting out were just excuses. She could not bear the weight of his eyes. He was there, while his missing person ads were everywhere. Her only choice was to control her mounting anxiety, so she left her purse by the wall. The room was in a mess. The cloth where she ate breakfast was still spread on the floor. She put the tea-steamer cups on the tray, collected the dried pieces of bread, and wiped the cloth with a sponge. Then, with a few brisk moves, she picked up the clothes that were scattered all over the room. But through it all she could feel the presence of ...
351 pages, Paperbook
First published January 1, 2003
80 people want to read
About the author
فرهاد حسنزاده
68 books71 followersفرهاد حسنزاده متولد بیستم فروردین ۱۳۴۱ در شهر آبادان است. نوشتن را از سالهای نوجوانی (۱۳۵۵) آغاز کرد.
از سال ۱۳۶۸ در کنار همکاری با مطبوعات کودک و نوجوان (سروش نوجوان، سروش کودک، آفتابگردان، کیهان بچهها و…) به شکلی جدی وارد عرصه ادبیات کودک و نوجوان شد و ۱۵ سال به طور مستمر عضو تحریریهٔ نشریه دوچرخه بود.
در سال ۱۳۷۰ اولین کتابش با نام «ماجرای روباه و زنبور» منتشر شد. تا کنون بیش از هشتاد عنوان کتاب (اکثراً کودک و نوجوان) در گونههای مختلفی همچون داستان کوتاه، بلند، رمان، افسانه، فانتزی، طنز، زندگینامه از او به چاپ رسیده است. چند کتاب هم در حوزه بزرگسالان دارد، از جمله رمانهای «حیاط خلوت»، «مهمان مهتاب» و «روزگار شیرین». او فیلمنامه هم مینویسد و در زمینه انیمیشن تجربههایی دارد.
فرهاد حسنزاده بیش چهل جایزه و تقدیر برای آثارش گرفته است. او در سالهای ۲۰۱۷ و ۲۰۱۸ نامزد ایران برای جایزه جهانی آسترید لیندگرن شد. همچنین در سال ۲۰۱۸ جزو فهرست نهایی جایزه هانس کریستین اندرسن (معروف به نوبل ادبیات کودکان) شد. برخی از کتابهای این نویسنده به زبانهای انگلیسی، چینی، مالایی، ترکیِاستانبولی و کردیترجمه شدهاند.
او عضو هیات موسس «انجمن نویسندگان کودک و نوجوان» بوده. و چند دوره هم به عنوان عضو هیأت مدیره به هم صنفیهایش خدمت کرده است.
از سال ۱۳۶۸ در کنار همکاری با مطبوعات کودک و نوجوان (سروش نوجوان، سروش کودک، آفتابگردان، کیهان بچهها و…) به شکلی جدی وارد عرصه ادبیات کودک و نوجوان شد و ۱۵ سال به طور مستمر عضو تحریریهٔ نشریه دوچرخه بود.
در سال ۱۳۷۰ اولین کتابش با نام «ماجرای روباه و زنبور» منتشر شد. تا کنون بیش از هشتاد عنوان کتاب (اکثراً کودک و نوجوان) در گونههای مختلفی همچون داستان کوتاه، بلند، رمان، افسانه، فانتزی، طنز، زندگینامه از او به چاپ رسیده است. چند کتاب هم در حوزه بزرگسالان دارد، از جمله رمانهای «حیاط خلوت»، «مهمان مهتاب» و «روزگار شیرین». او فیلمنامه هم مینویسد و در زمینه انیمیشن تجربههایی دارد.
فرهاد حسنزاده بیش چهل جایزه و تقدیر برای آثارش گرفته است. او در سالهای ۲۰۱۷ و ۲۰۱۸ نامزد ایران برای جایزه جهانی آسترید لیندگرن شد. همچنین در سال ۲۰۱۸ جزو فهرست نهایی جایزه هانس کریستین اندرسن (معروف به نوبل ادبیات کودکان) شد. برخی از کتابهای این نویسنده به زبانهای انگلیسی، چینی، مالایی، ترکیِاستانبولی و کردیترجمه شدهاند.
او عضو هیات موسس «انجمن نویسندگان کودک و نوجوان» بوده. و چند دوره هم به عنوان عضو هیأت مدیره به هم صنفیهایش خدمت کرده است.
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Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews
February 2, 2021
بهترین کتابی که درباره ی جنگ تحمیلی خوندم کتاب زمین سوخته ی احمد محمود بود. این کتاب هم داستان خوب و تلخی داشت
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July 20, 2024نمیدانم برای کسانی که نه جنگ را نه پیامدهایش را دیدهاند داستانهایی مانند این چه معنا و حسی دارد. در این ده سال گذشته جامعه چنان دگرگون شده است که دیگر شعارها و آدمها و اعتقادهای گذشته مسخره و پوسیده مینماید. نویسنده بسیار روان داستان را تعریف میکند گرچه تمهید تداعیهای جنگ کمی دستمالی شده است. نام شخصیتها و شعلشان، مکانها و خاطرهبازیها، آبادان و جنگ و شهر تفتیده همه از شدت تکرار میان دوق میزند. پیرنگ هم چیز تازهای ندارد اما پایانش برگ برنده آن است؛ پایانی که با پروپاگاندای رژیم همخوانی ندارد. در جای جای داستان نیش و کنایههایی هست که نشانههای دگرگونی از گفتمان چیره آن روزگار است یعنی دهه ۸۰ و شیادان 《اصلاحطلب》.
March 8, 2021
حدودا ۳ تا ۴ سال پیش خوندمش، اما هنوز بوی تعفن سوختن رودهها رو حس میکنم.
March 22, 2024
وقتی جملات اول را خواندم ، گفتم نویسنده کتاب نویسنده ای است که حق او خورده شده و قدر ندیده است . دلیل این ادعایم جملاتی بود که به خوبی نگاشته شده بود . اما هر چه به تعداد صفحات خواندنم از کتاب اضافه میشد ، صدای این پرسش در ذهنم بلندتر میشد که آقای حسن زاده ، آخ که چه شخصیت هایی خلق کردید که باور کردنشان سخت است ، پذیرفتنشان مشکل است. از این که بگذریم کتاب در خلق قهرمان هم به غایت ناتوان بود . من از مرگ برادر نویسنده در کتاب زمین سوخته از احمد محمود گریستم با اینکه یک چهارم مطالب شما که درباره آشور آورده بودید درباره ی او در کتاب نیامده بود اما مهم این بود که احمد محمود از کلمات درست و به جایی استفاده کرده بود و شما برای پناه بردن از این تلاش گاه طاقت فرسا به سمت رگبار کلمات هجوم بردید . کتابی است بدون تعلیق ( یا خیلی کم تعلیق) که نمیتواند یک خواننده را به دنبال خود بکشاند مگر که خواننده مثل من کمالگرا باشد که نتواند کتابی را شروع کرده تمام کند یا خواننده کتاب زمین سوخته از احمد محمود را نخوانده باشد یا صبر ایوب داشته باشد .
با این کتاب لحظاتی را در آبادانی که شما ساخته بودید گذراندم اما هیچ علاقه ای به فکر کردن به هیچ یک از شخصیت های داستان ندارم نه از نفرت یا بغض یا هر چه؛ بلکه به خاطر کسالت بار بودن آنها
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از لحاظ نوشتاری ایرادی نمیتوانم بگیرم اما گاهی نهاد ها در جملات گم بود و گنگ
با این کتاب لحظاتی را در آبادانی که شما ساخته بودید گذراندم اما هیچ علاقه ای به فکر کردن به هیچ یک از شخصیت های داستان ندارم نه از نفرت یا بغض یا هر چه؛ بلکه به خاطر کسالت بار بودن آنها
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از لحاظ نوشتاری ایرادی نمیتوانم بگیرم اما گاهی نهاد ها در جملات گم بود و گنگ
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews