Mujeres sin hombres

by Shahrnush Parsipur

Desde que en Irán se instauró la República Islámica en el año 1979, el apartheid hacia las mujeres fue en aumento. A la restricción de derechos por el mero hecho de haber nacido hembra, se sumó, entre otros, el castigo de la lapidación por cometer el "delito" de adulterio. En este escenario irrumpe Shahrnush Parsipur, y lo hace de la mano de mujeres indómitas, valientes y con ganas de existir por encima del yugo fálico.

Mujeres sin hombres causó un gran revuelo en su país de origen al tratar temas tabúes como la virginidad, el deseo y la libertad sexual de la mujer.

Se trata de una novela desafiante, viva, de escritura ágil y sugerente, con personajes tan reales como mágicos, tan memorables como increíblemente frescos.

A la autora, su pasión por la literatura y la lucha por conseguir igualdad de derechos para la mujer, le han costado un encierro de cinco años en las cárceles de su país. En la actualidad, continúa con su labor literaria desde el exilio.

Genres: Fiction, Iran, Feminism, Magical Realism, Middle East, Classics, Literary Fiction

126 pages, Paperback

First published April 1, 1973

About the author

(Persian: شهرنوش پارسی‌پور)

Reviews

[Adina ( not enough time ) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Book 1/13
Longlisted for The International Booker Prize 2026

The International Booker Prize is probably the only award I try to follow and read all the entries. Last year was the only time I managed to at least start all of the nominations. I finished 9, which is more than expected. I will try do a similar “good” job this year as well. Let’s begin.

I chose Women Without Men to be the first novel I read for two main reasons. 1, it’s about Iran and we all know what happens there right now. 2, it’s been on my TBR the longest, 2022 to be more precise.

Women Without Men is a strange little book. It employs magical realism liberally, which it is hit or miss with me. Here, it was a success, I think it worked well. Hmm, while I am writing, I realised that the last International Booker nominee from Iran, was also full of magical realism and involved a tree (more on that later). I am talking about The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree, a book I also loved.

Women Without Men tells the story of a series of women, who will end up living together (without men, or almost) after a series of strange circumstances. The novel is set during a period of political unrest (a coup), but it does not bear too much weight in the dynamic of the story. It is more about the individual lives of the women and how they are woven together with the others.

The novel(la) reads as a series of interwoven vignettes, like the branches of a tree. That tree again, why do you keep mentioning a tree, you may ask. Well for the simple fact that one of the women decides to grow roots and transform herself into a tree. Why a tree? Here is what Google wrote to me when I asked: “Iran is one of the oldest cultures in which trees, as sacred beings, have always been respected and have had many ritualistic functions. Mythology and history of Iran are replete with events that denote the sanctity of trees.” The book is full of mythologic references, many that I probably missed.

[Jimmy · Rating 3 out of 5]

I read a review that claimed that this is not a feminist novel. If it were a feminist novel, the characters would not rely on men, they would assert themselves powerfully at all times, and their lives would be better for it.

Umm, newsflash. A novel can be feminist without all its characters being feminists, strong women, and perfect all the time. That would be unrealistic and boring. Let's first understand that feminism is realism, i.e. realistic portrayal of women, including women who are not feminists, including women who are anti-feminists. And these are realistic women, despite the amount of magical realism, surrealism, and straight-up fantasy that also creeps in. In fact, it's the grim reality of their situation that makes these flights of fancy so powerful.

This patriarchal system is all there is for the Iranian women in this novel, it is all they've ever known. For them to become full fledged feminists as we know it in the west would be unrealistic. But to see them oppressing each other, keeping each other in check, this was heartbreaking. You get a sense of the true ubiquity of this system. Simply having one's own will, being able to dream, to want something for oneself however tiny, say to turn into a tree, or to move away and start a community becomes a courageously feminist act.

I did not love everything about this novel, the writing was uneven, and some of the fantasy elements seemed a bit too random for me... but I thought it was unique and interesting, and I definitely enjoyed reading it.

A comparison of translations:

Translation by Kamran Talattof and Jocelyn Sharlet:

This translation was strangely veiled, like it was trying not to say things straight out. This made it much harder to understand. The rhythm of the sentences was shorter than the other translation. No footnotes. Introduction by Kamran Talatof: one of the most rubbish introductions to a book I've ever read. Including synopsis of entire plot. It reads like a high school book report plagiarised from wikipedia, including some details of the author's life and works, some very obvious interpretations of this book.

Excerpt:

Mahdokht's heart stopped. The girl, Fatemeh, at fifteen like a worldly woman, was at hte end of the greenhouse with Yadallah, the gardener. With his bald head and oozing eyes, it was difficult to look at him.

The world around her went dark, and her legs began to tremble. She involuntarily clutched the edge of a table. But she could not take her eyes off them. She looked and looked until they saw her. The guy had begun to whimper. He wanted to escape but he couldn't He was mindlessly beating the girl. The girl extended her hand toward Mahdokht. Mahdokht ran out of the greenhouse. She didn't know what to do. She headed for the pool in a daze, and wanted to throw up. She washed her hands and sat on the bench.

"What can I do?"

Translation by Faridoun Farrokh:

This translation was more straight forward. There were footnotes. Foreword by the filmmaker Shirin Neshat. Afterword by the author explaining where she got inspiration for each one of the characters.

Excerpt:

Her heart missed a beat. The servant girl, Fati, fifteen years old, but more resembling a streetwalker, lay at the far end of the greenhouse with Yadollah, the gardener, with a bald head and repulsive, red-rimmed eyes, panting, panting, panting.

Mahdokht, near collapse and reaching for a shelf to steady herself, could not take her eyes off the scene. The man was the first to notice her. He let out a squeal and tried to disentangle himself from the embrace of the girl by hitting her in the face with one hand and reaching with the other for Mahdokht, who rushed out of the greenhouse and wandered aimlessly in the courtyard, fraught with nausea. She hurried to the pool, dipped her hands in the water, washing them compulsively. She then sat on the edge of the bedstead.

"What shall I do?"

[Meike · Rating 2 out of 5]

Longlisted for the International Booker Prize 2026
This pamphlet disguised as a novella illustrates how fucked the Iranian theocracy actually is: They are apparently so afraid of a story stating outrageously progressive views like "women shouldn't be raped with impunity", "women should be protected from domestic violence" or - gasp! - "women have worth as human beings no matter whether they are virgins or not", that they've banned the story and incarcerated the author, because we all know that makes all problems go away and underlines that the patriarchy works great and is not scaredy scared *cough cough*. Make no mistake, I agree with Parsipur that Trump's latest illegal attack war, this time feat. Israel, will not bring freedom to Iran, but I also agree with her that the Iranian extremists in power need to go. So her novella, originally published in 1989, calls out various forms of violence against women, and shows how women respond to the political and societal situation around them.

The text follows five women in the wake of the 1953 Iranian coup d'état (the Americans backed the coup to return the Shah to power, laying the groundwork for today's mess): Teacher Mahdokht, who has internalized the bigotry around her, resigns after a co-worker hits on her and lets a rape victim down; Munis's life is dictated by her older brother and she dies twice, roaming through the pages as a ghost; Faizeh is Munis' friend, but also has a crush on her brother and thus betrays her; Zarrinkolah is a severely traumatized prostitute who always appears cheerful and suddenly sees clients without heads; Farrokhlaqa is verbally abused by her husband who also wants to take more wives. All these women decide to travel to a garden in Karaj to find solutions to their problems and/or fulfill their wishes.

I really enjoyed that Parsipur populated her story with women of different ages who encounter various challenges, thus creating a panorama of misogyny rooted in bigoted convictions claimed to be religious truths. The thing is though: The text hits you over the head with its message, there is no subtlety, and it's also not very immersive, but declarative and descriptive. I struggle with fiction that is overpowered with righteous anger, because I feel like an author has to wonder what the appropriate text form is - and here, it reads like it should have been a reportage with protagonists kept as anonymous sources. The magical realism and the, again, heavy-handed metaphors (Janah/Eden etc.) did nothing for me, and I was struggling to get through this short book.

So before you start crying "but it's so important to talk about this!": Yes, I agree, and I applaud the brave author and her fearless determination, but I don't see that this novella is exceptional as narrative literature.

You can listen to our special podcast episode discussing the International Booker 2026 (in German) here: https://papierstaupodcast.de/podcast/...

[Jonas · Rating 5 out of 5]

I love magical realism in novels. Women Without Men weaves reality and unreality in an effortless way. It is equally endearing as it is tragic. The novel shows many of the limits and injustices women are forced to endure living in Iran. Each chapter is titled and told through a different woman’s experiences. The women’s lives converge at a garden home. The author explores love, loneliness, marriage, heartache, enlightenment, and aspirations in the lives of her characters. Each character has an ending fitting to the way they lived their life. Women Without Men gave me the feeling of reading a folk tale. Will think of this one often.

[Katia N]

Update @ March 29, 2026.

I've added a postscript to the end of this review containing information from the author's afterword as I've realised it might be useful for the readers whose copy of the book does not contain this. I've found her thoughts invaluable for my reading experience.

Initial review

The last time I’ve read a work of fiction set in Iran was The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree. That book described a devastation to individual families and to the certain elements of the society caused by the Islamic revolution. It has used elements of magic realism. Someone called its author 'Isabel Allende of Iran'.

This novella as well focuses on individual lives with a backdrop of a turbulent political events (the coup organised by the British and CIA in 1953) and uses magical realism. But the backdrop is arguably less crucial for the story and magical realism is more effective.

In essence this is a feminist fable devoted to a quiet and subversive resistance of individual women to the archaic traditions and patriarchy in their society. They don’t have enough tools and even knowledge, but they still try to find the way out of their trap.

Magic realism helps of course. Anticipating The Vegetarian, one young woman has chosen to turn into a tree. Another one has managed to die twice but not quite. In the process she has obtained a gift of wisdom and the ability to read someone’s else thoughts. Yet another has been recruited into prostitution from a very young age. Having started to see all men without heads, she has managed to escape her predicament. Through a manipulation and occasional violence they win and loss their battles with extremely oppressive men. At some stage they find a respite in a country- house bought by a rich and beautiful woman who has also suffered from an insufferable husband but has managed to resolve her situation with him in a simple but effective way. The house comes alone with the orchard where the tree-woman has chosen to 'put her roots'. They are joined by one man- gardener who seems to be more like ethereal presence. (Could he be a jinn inspired by Sufi tradition?)

If the outline of this struggle sounds a bit familiar, that is because it is. What makes this novella stand out is the way of storytelling, tight control over the plot and strong connection to the local context (for example, the issue of virginity seemed to be quite crucial source of anxiety for the characters). It is written as if it is an oral story to be told to the others rather than to be read. The language is simple, the individual chapters are quick in getting to ‘the point’. But the imagery they contain is quite impressive. Interestingly, in the afterword, the author writes that each of the five women has had a real protagonist (or a mixture of them). In another uncanny parallel to The Vegetarian, the tree-character is based on the young woman, the cousin of the author who has suffered from anorexia. The character of a prostitute is based on the woman whom the author has met while imprisoned by the regime of the Islamic republic. In general I thought this afterword has created another dimension to this novella and has made it more compelling.

Broadly this novella covers a similar territory to the last year’s winner Heart Lamp: Selected Stories. That collection was also dealing with daily lives of the women in the extremely patriarchal coercive society. Both books also pay a lot of attention to details, for example cooking. However, the style of these two books is very different. 'Heart Lamp' is shockingly realistic and atmospheric; while this novella is a more dreamy, more hopeful fable.

It feels almost surreal to write this on the evening of another US-lead intervention that might lead to replacement of the Islamist state with yet another shah (or lead to chaos or anything else in between). Is it magic or is it realism? Time would tell. But one thing is certain: those courageous people of Iran especially its women have fought bravely for their freedom and have suffered enough. They deserve much better future.

PS

I've added this part as I've realised not all editions of the book contain the afterword of the author. As I've mentioned above, I've found that afterword has significantly enriched my reading experience. The author's description of the real people who inspired her characters has made these women somehow even closer to me and easier to understand. Also it has made the surreal elements of the story more vivid and integral part of the story. So below is some background and a few excepts in the author's voice. I guess they would make more sense for people who has already read the book.

The name Farrokhlaqa was taken by the author from the The Story of Prince Arsalan the Famous Amir Arsalan Namdar , a Persian epic retold in the 19th century by Naqib and very popular in Iran. Unfortunately it has never been officially translated and published in English. There is however a translation from 2020 (referred above). Farrokhlaqa is a the princess who is in love with Amir Arsalan, 'a young Roman'. However the character with this name in this book, a rich woman who escapes from her husband to the countryside is based on the author's partly on the author's mother and partly on her cousin. Her mother seems to be quite eccentric. They were very poor but she was of a noble birth. She made her there children (including the young author) to call her a 'Princess'.

So, I knew a number of things about my mother. One, she loved to sit on the bed as if it were a throne. Two, she was an imaginative person, and considered herself very important in her own daydreams. Three, she loved literature and read a lot of books, although she was unable to write poetry as her mother and stepsister did. And last but not least, she loved another man instead of my father. “I’d have divorced your father,” she would tell me on an almost daily basis, “if you weren’t around!” That remark has caused me a great deal of psychological pain. I suffer from shyness. For years, I thought that I might have done a great favor to my mother if I were not born. These feelings propelled me to try to get away from my aristocratic family when I was older, and I became a socialist.

My cousin, also a very beautiful woman, decided suddenly to become a poet at the age of thirty-seven. Becoming a poet has become a common practice in Iran. People, without knowing anything about the rules of poetry, put words together abruptly and, using weird thoughts, believe they are creating poetry.

This is the story of a person who has inspired the character of the prostitute. Sadly, the fate of the character seem to be much better that the real person:

One day, when going to the local grocery on an errand from my grandmother, I met a very beautiful woman, tall and slender, wearing bright lipstick. There was a strange smile on her face. She was holding a large watermelon in her hands and staring at a constable with a very sexy look in her eyes. It was a look I had never seen before, even though our house was close to what was then Tehran’s official brothel. I was inspired by that woman’s presence and that smile when I was creating Zarrinkolah’s character. One day many years later, while I was imprisoned by the leaders of the Islamic Republic, jailed for writing this very book, I walked with a prostitute in the prison’s courtyard. She was old and tired, arrested because she was an addict. Since she had no one to come visit her in the prison, and since the prison food was terrible indeed, I shared with her the food that I bought from the prison’s store. That day in the courtyard, she told me she was forced into prostitution at the age of ten. Then, as she was walking away from me, she turned back toward me, smiling, and suddenly I knew it was the very same woman I had met as a child. So, my prostitute was now old, an addict, and very lonely.

Munis, a wise woman who starts to read others' thoughts is based on a combination of the author's aunt and the author's herself. This aunt seems to have chosen the life that would rival the character's:

One of my aunties had been given away at the age of fourteen to a fifty-year-old man in an arranged marriage. She gave birth to two children. After her son died at an early age, she realized that she could not live with her husband anymore, and divorced him. She had learned how to type and was employed in a government office. She was now standing on her own feet but she was very lonely. Living in the brutally traditional, religious Iranian society of those times, she was not allowed to have a boyfriend. So she became a dervish, following a certain old dervish guru.

Mahdokht, the tree-girl character is based on a cousin who suffered from anorexia:

She had a very beautiful and clear voice but being a god-fearing person, she did not sing. She suffered from anorexia during the latter years of her life and when lowered into her grave, she weighed less than sixty pounds.

What a wonderful, heartbreaking tribute this story is to that woman! And the last but not least the author did have a cousin who truly believed that I was an idiot because my face is round. . This cousin seemed to be quite manipulative, almost devious. But now she is a character in a story, so the author has had some upper hand in this at the end.

[Sleepless Dreamer · Rating 4 out of 5]

Becoming a tree in order to avoid life problems is definitely a 2020 mood. Review to come!

[Dream.M · Rating 3 out of 5]

رمان زنان بدون مردان، روایت رنج بخشی از زنانی ست که اسیر سنت های غلط، تابو های فرهنگی و محدودیت های اجتماعی اند و  در برحه ای حساس از تاریخ ایران می زیسته اند. زنانی که فرفی ندارد کجایند و چه می کنند؛ زیرا چه در خانه پدر باشند و چه در خانه همسر، چه پیر باشند  و چه جوان، چه فقیر باشند و چه ثروتمند، هریک به نوعی از حق زیستن طبیعی محروم شده اند. آن چه این رمان روایت می کند، مسئله ایست که حتی با گذشت دهه ها از تاریخ نوشتن آن هنوز تازه و هنوز دغدغه زنان و مردان آزاد اندیش است .
....
فایل ‌کتاب رو اگر پیدا نکردید، موجوده

[Brooke ☯︎ · Rating 4 out of 5]

“She had not learned to be malicious. She only knew malice.”

🤷‍♀️The narrative never managed to pull me. That may be my translation sensitivities. Please do not come for me, but I did not find this provocative. Compared to other feminist literature I've read recently this did not feel like it lived up to its evocative potential. Still, through some quiet choices of themes, I believe the author is uncovering truths in the details of life of Iranian women. The novel places the history of female subjugation in Iran in an archaeological field, and excavates softly, and with delicate tools. The dust of the patriarchy is cautiously swept side to quietly uncover the parts of history that women have been forced to stay silent about.

💅🏻What stands out to me the most is that this novel is banned in Iran. I did not find it nearly as provocative as recent feminist literature I've read in different genres. And yet there's something in 'dangerous' enough to get banned.

💅🏻In spite of not being grabbed by the narrative, I noticed a lot of details that I felt were important. How the author chose to focus on mostly day to day events like menstruation, marriage, virginity. This spoke to me because none of these things should define who a person is, at all.
🪞The cover depicts a young woman applying very simple charcoal make up. Her lips have been reddened by some natural stain. The intensity in her gaze says to me I want to be beautiful but I am not allowed to be me. The cover design managed to capture a complexity of emotion in a single portrait. I see both her tension and her softness, a desire for more gentleness, but an inability to be kind to herself. Like she's not able to look at herself kindly in the mirror. That makes me so sad.

🇮🇷 I have enjoyed getting to know the women, history, and culture of Iran over the past few years. There has been other wonderful authors share their stories of family and the revolution. I love that I have a small section in my digital library devoted for Iranian literature, and I only want to add more to it. Some books I've read that pair well with this if you are looking for more background on Iranian women's history: The Complete Persepolis by Marjane Sartrapi, The Lion Women of Tehran, and The Stationery Shop by Marjan Kamali.

3.5/5🌟 rounded up

[Peiman E iran · Rating 3 out of 5]

‎دوستانِ گرانقدر، این کتاب از 15 داستان تشکیل شده که برخی از آنها به یکدیگر مرتبط هستند و داستان ها بیشتر حول محورِ «پردۀ بکارت» در زنان و دل نگرانی هایِ آنها در این مورد، میچرخد... به انتخاب قسمتهایی را برایِ شما عزیزان در زیر مینویسم
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‎چه میشد اگر مهدخت هزار دست داشت و هفته ایی پانصد بلوز میبافت؟؟ با هر دو دست یک دانه، هزار دست پانصد دانه.... ولی خوب آدم که پانصد دست نمیتواند داشته باشد، آنهم مهدخت که زمستان را دوست داشت... حالا اگر قرار باشد آدم هزار عدد دستکش دستش کند، پنج ساعت حداقل طول میکشد... چشم دولت کور، خودش برود کارخانۀ بافندگی راه بیاندازد
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‎مهدخت: «بکارتِ» من مثل یک درخت است، شاید برایِ همین است که من سبزم... خوب من تخم که نیستم، درختم.. باید خودم را نشاء کنم
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‎مونس گفت: «بکارت» یک پرده است.. خانم جان میگه، دختر اگر از بلندی بپرد، «بکارتش» صدمه میبیند، پرده است، ممکن است پاره شود
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‎فائزه در جواب به مونس میگوید: این حرفها چیست؟! «بکارت» یک سوراخ است، ولی تنگ است، بعد گشاد میشود... در کتاب خوندم، من خیلی میخونم... «بکارت» یک سوراخ است
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‎مونس 28 سال از زندگیش به او گفته بودند که «بکارت» یک پرده است که هر دختری که آن را نداشته باشد، خدا او را نمیبخشد!!!... حال دو شب و سه روز بود که فائزه به او گفته بود که «بکارت» پرده نیست و سوراخ است...خشمِ سردی تنِ مونس را پُر کرده بود، به فکر آن روزهایِ بچگی افتاده بود که با حسرت به درختها نگاه کرده بود، به آرزویِ اینکه فقط یک روز و یکبار از یکی از آن درختها بالا رود، ولی از ترسِ پاره شدنِ «پردۀ بکارت» هرگز این کار را نکرده بود... گفت: من انتقام میگیرم
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‎مونس 3 شبانه روز زیرِ درختی نشست و کتابِ «راز کامیابی هایِ جنسی.. یا بدنِ خود را بشناسیم» را 3 مرتبه خواند و وقتی عالیه را دید به او گفت: من دیگر آن مونسِ قدیم نیستم، حالا بسیار چیزها میدانم... اما چون روزها از مونس خبری نبود، برادرِ مونس، امیرخان او را کتک زد، وقتی مونس علتش را پرسید، چاقو را در قلبِ مونس فرو کرد و او را کشت... فائزه هم برایِ دلبری به امیرخان گفت: خوب کردی و دوتایی مونس را در باغچه خاک کردند!!... بعد هم فائزه با امیرخان رویِ هم ریخت و با او بود... ولی بعدها امیرخان فائزه همان دخترِ پست و بی وجدان را رها کرد و به خواستگاریِ دخترِ حاج محمد سرخ چهره رفت
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‎فائزه از دوری و عشقِ امیرخان بی تاب بود... خانم باجی به فائزه ��فت: راهِ غلبه بر این عشق این است که 7 شب، پا برهنه، 7 بار و 7 قدم به طرفِ قبله بروی!!! و هفت بار و هفت قدم برعکسِ قبله بروی !! و در هر قدم بگویی: ای خدا من را از شرّ وسوسه هایِ شیطان خلاص کن... بعد پاهایت را بشوری و در رختخواب هم که میخوابی، پاهایت را از زیر لحاف بیرون بگذاری
‎فائزه رفت که طلسم را در باغچه خاک کند، دید که مونس هنوز زنده است
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‎گلچهره گفت: وقتی یک زن یائسه میشود، احساساتش هم فرق میکند؟! باید همینطور باشد...لابد برایِ همین مرد حق دارد چندتا زن بگیرد، که مجبور نباشد یک یائسه را در رختخوابش تحمل کند
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‎امیرخان فائزه را بدونِ آنکه زنش بفهمد، عقد کرد و برایش خانه ای جداگانه گرفت... بهانه اش چه بود؟ مونس گفته بود، دختر قبل از ازدواج با امیرخان، توسطِ پسردایی اش حامله شده بود و دکتر فاطمی او را جراحی کرده بود
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‎مونس، 7 سال از 7 بیابان گذشت و خسته و با تجربه برگشت و سپس خودش را تمییز کرد!! رفت و معلم مدرسه شد
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‎امیدوارم این ریویو در جهتِ شناختِ این کتاب، کافی و مفید بوده باشه
‎<پیروز باشید و ایرانی>

[Eylül Görmüş · Rating 4 out of 5]

İranlı yazar Shahrnush Parsipur'un minik romanı Erkeksiz Kadınlar, büyülü gerçekçiliğin bizim coğrafyamıza en az Latin Amerika kadar uygun olduğunun ispatı resmen. 1946 doğumlu yazarımız henüz 7 yaşındayken tanık olduğu çalkantılı bir döneme kuruyor anlatısını: 1953, Muhammed Musaddık'ın devrilmesi. O dönemde küçük bir kız çocuğuyken etrafında olup bitenleri nasıl algıladı, ne gördü, ne hissetti acaba? Sanki hala masallar dinlediği bir dönemde şahit olduğu kanlı olayları o masallarla birleştirmiş ve ortaya bu güçlü metni çıkarmış gibi.

Birbirinden bağımsız kadın öyküleri gibi başlayan anlatı, sonlara doğru bu kadınların aynı evde bir araya gelmesi ve hayatlarının birbirine eklemlenmesiyle birleşiyor. Bir fahişe, bir öğretmen, varlıklı bir ev kadını... Birbirine benzemeyen, bambaşka geçmişlere sahip bu kadınları devletin kadın bedeni üzerinde tahakküm kurma arzusu ve erkeklerin uyguladığı binbir farklı tür şiddet bir araya getiriyor aslında. Kentten uzakta bir bağ evinde bir araya gelip kendilerine bir hayat kuruyorlar.

Büyülü gerçekçiliğin coğrafyamıza uygunluğu meselesi yeni bir fikir değil şüphesiz, her fırsatta övdüğüm Alberto Ruy Sanchez eseri Mogador Beşlisi de aslında tam bunu yapıyordu malum, büyülü gerçekçiliği Ortadoğu'ya taşıyıp Latin Amerika değil Fas büyülerini kullanıyordu anlatısını kurarken. Ancak bu daha direkt, daha tipik bir büyülü gerçekçi metin ve nasıl yakışmış yerine, İran'ın kadim mitleriyle nasıl güzel harman olmuş bu teknik.

Delirip kendini toprağa dikmek suretiyle bir ağaç olan kadın; Mehdoht mesela... Ne muazzam yazılmış bir karakterdi ya! Kadınların her birinin öyküsü sarsıcı ve hepsini ağulu diliyle müthiş anlatmış Parsipur. Ancak keşke bu romanı 100 değil, 500 sayfa yazsaymış, şahane bir malzeme var elinde ama özellikle sonlara doğru atlı kovalar gibi hızlanıyor, hikaye genişleyeceği yerde daralıyor ve çat diye bitiyor metin. Bu ayarlanamamış tempo, romanın en büyük eksiklerinden biri bence.

Bu arada 1977'de İran'da hapse atılıp 4 sene yatmak zorunda kalan ve sonra ABD'ye yerleşen yazarımızın hayat öyküsü de ayrıca ilginç, bakmanızı öneririm. İran'da elbette ki yasaklanan bu kitap, 2009'da filme de uyarlananmış.

[Akankshya · Rating 4 out of 5]

If I had a nickel for every time I read an International Booker Prize-nominated book where a woman deeply wanted to turn into a tree and the narrative, against all logic, allowed it—I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it's happened twice (see The Vegetarian).

This was a deeply feminist fable that managed to explore the realism in the interconnected lives of women living in a rigid, patriarchal society, using magical realism as a device. This novella follows five different women who flee the traditional norms of society to find refuge together in a garden, creating their own little world—a quietly subversive idea. I finished this quite quickly and found myself ruminating on the ending for days on end.

Longlist for The International Booker Prize 2026 2/13

[Negar Afsharmanesh · Rating 5 out of 5]

کتاب زنان بدون مردان، از موفق ترین داستان های شهرنوش پارسی پور که در سال ۲۰۰۹ توسط شیرین نشاط به فیلم بلند تبدیل شد و تندیس شیر نقره‌ای بهترین کارگردانی جشنواره ونیز را برای او به ارمغان آورد. شهرنوش پارسی پور در این اثر داستان موازی چند زن را حکایت می کند که همگی در بازه زمانی برکناری مصدق و کودتای پس از ان روی می دهد. کتاب همچنین تصویری از دیدگاه و اندیشه جامعه ایران نسبت به زنان و دختران ارائه می دهد. سمبولیسم از ویژگی های این اثر است که زیبایی ان را دوچندان می کند.

[Flo · Rating 3 out of 5]

I can see why this is a modern classic in the region. Thirty-five years after the original publication, little has changed for the women of Iran. It is easy to appreciate the courage and the raw truths about violence against women, shown with a magical touch. The end isn't as compelling as the start, maybe because it's easier to show the problem than imagine the solution.

Still, I think it is a mistake to include this in the International Booker longlist, and unfair to the other authors and translators. This should remain an award only for first translations.

[Christine · Rating 5 out of 5]

Re-read - still a wonderful book

For the past few years, I have traveled to Washington DC and stayed a few days just to visit the museums. Plus, I live in Philly, so it’s like a two hour train trip. I’ve learned that the smaller Smithsonian tends to have the more interesting exhibits. I discovered a love for Whistler’s etchings at the Freer, and at the Hirshorn, I discovered that I do like some modern art and video installations. It was at the Hirshorn last summer that I heard of this book.
Last summer, the museum had a major exhibit of Shirin Neshat’s work, and if you are like I was at the time, you are going who. She is Iranian and is known for her photography and videos. If the show is anywhere near you, I highly recommend you go. Neshat’s art is powerful and beautiful. At one point in the show, there was a clip and significant verbiage about Neshat’s film adaptation of this novel. The book itself was not in the bookstore, so when I finally sat down to read it, it was with so trepidation that it would not live up to the hype in my head.
It does.
When one reads Women without Men, it is easy to understand why Parsipur is living in exile. It is a feminist book that will anger many conservatives, in particular conservative men in power, angry. Yet, for all the short space that it inhibits it is a work of sheer brilliance. I cannot thank Neshat and the Hirshorn enough for introducing me to this book.
Women Without Men, despite its title, does in fact have men in it, and not all the men are bad. To call the book anti-male would be incorrect. Parsipur relates the lives of different women from different levels of society who came together briefly in a garden before going their separate ways. Each of the women, from the prostitute to the high society wife, has been constricted in some way by society. One of the brilliant aspects of the novel is that not all the women are likable.
Perhaps the most accessible, and most challenging to power structure, is Munis who changes the most and becomes one of the fulcrums that the other women turn around (Mahdokht is the other. It is no surprise that these two women go though the most and the least changes). Her reaction upon learning something is just so human, even in this tale of magical realism. What happens to Munis and her eventual fate in many ways is the heart of the novel (and no surprise that part of the arc was the clip from the film shown in the Neshat exhibit). The fates of the women are in part dictated by the society in which they live as well as the roles forced upon them by that society. In many ways, the book references the Garden of Eden, but almost as a place of renewal and peace.
It’s a beautiful novel.

[Marcus (Lit_Laugh_Luv) · Rating 2 out of 5]

Read #3 of the 2026 International Booker Prize

This is an odd choice to make the International Booker Longlist this year. That's not to say I disagree with the inclusion of it, but it was originally published in 1989, and Faridoun Farrokh's translation has been available in North America since 2012. It's 'only' eligible since it's been recently released in the UK for the first time, though there's been no changes to the contents beyond the foreword and afterword. I have no qualms with the prize spotlighting older titles, but it does seem like a niche pick, given that it is not newly available to English readers, nor has the translator changed.

When I think of the International Booker Prize, I think it's intended to celebrate two distinct categories of books: first, the books that stand on their own and get accolades based on their literary merit. The second are books that have an enduring cultural legacy (which may or may not overlap with the first category), which is where I'd classify Women Without Men. Considering the time and culture in which it was released, it was subversive and highlighted the disparate experiences of women in Tehran. The book was banned, the author was jailed, but it remained an important cornerstone of feminist literature.

Unfortunately, I found learning about the author and the legacy of this book's publication more interesting than the actual contents. I can appreciate how subversive and revolutionary this was while also recognizing that, at least from the lens of a North American in 2026, the commentary on feminism feels very rudimentary. The characters are all quite one-dimensional and petulant, and five protagonists were too much for the short page count. I felt repeatedly thrown into the thick of things without the requisite buildup. I look to translated literature to dive into cultures beyond my own experiences, and I don't think this transports the reader to the requisite time and place as much as required. The magical realism was intriguing as a concept, but in execution, it felt weirdly satirical in a book that deals with heavy subjects. Maybe the levity was the point?

Overall, I don't think this is a bad book -- just not a book for me. It hadn't been on nearly anyone's radar before the longlist announcement, so being surprised is nice, but when I think of the pantheon of translated literature released in the last year, I'm not sure I'd consider this one of the 13 go-to picks. Perhaps it will make more sense in the context of the other books in the longlist?

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[Paula Mota · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5*

O título desta obra é enganador, pois deveria antes ser “Mulheres Temporariamente sem Homens”. Se é verdade que em determinado ponto as protagonistas se libertam dos homens, do seu controlo e da sua presença castradora, um pouco mais adiante vemo-las a gravitar em torno de uma benigna figura masculina que parece guiá-las e, com duas excepções de mulheres que alcançaram algum tipo de transcendência, acaba-se por provar que o destino final é o casamento, ainda que em moldes mais igualitários do que à partida estariam ao seu dispor. Se eu projectei demasiado do meu pensamento ocidental do século XXI para uma obra escrita em 1989 num regime opressivo e conservador? Provavelmente, mas não deixo de respeitar esta obra proibida no Irão, que na altura atirou a sua autora para a cadeia por se atrever a escrever sobre a sexualidade e a autodeterminação das mulheres.
Através desta galeria de personagens femininas, inspiradas em mulheres que Shahrnush Parsipur conheceu na vida real, abordam-se temas como os crimes de honra, a poligamia, os casamentos de conveniência, a tradição do chador, o sexo antes do casamento, mas sobretudo a misoginia internalizada pelas mulheres e o peso da virgindade, uma problemática também muito bem explorada no maravilhoso livro de Marjane Satrapi, “Bordados”.

”Don’t worry, it’s possible to live without virginitiy. I have lived without it for 33 years.”
“What will happen to my reputation?”, Fa’iza answered dejectedly. ”How can I justify it to my husband on wedding night?”
“If it comes to that,” Munis said, “I’ll do something so your husband won’t find out.”

Mahdokht, ex-professora a passar o verão na casa de campo da família, assiste chocada a um momento de intimidade entre o jardineiro e uma jovem criada e conclui que a sua própria virgindade é como uma árvore, pelo que decide plantar-se na terra.
Fa’iza visita amiúde a sua amiga Munis, apesar de a achar burra por ter a cara redonda, com a intenção de cair nas boas graças do irmão desta, Amir Khan. Munis sobe um dia ao telhado, cai, morre, ressuscita, fica a deambular pelas ruas durante um mês, lê três vezes o livro “Realização Sexual ou Como Conhecer o seu Corpo” e, ao voltar, tem de enfrentar a ira do irmão. Munis é a minha personagem preferida, aquela que sofre a maior transformação, a que enfrenta desilusões e dissabores com o maior desprendimento, fortalecendo-se através deles para enfrentar quem a oprime, tornando vários pequenos dramas risíveis.

Of course, they say, ignorance is bliss, but I had decided to walk the path of enlightenment even if it meant suffering hardships. Naturally, when you embark on a journey, you run risks. You either have the substance to overcome hardships or not. If you don’t, you return to the flock like a poor little lamb. Even so, because you have taken the risk of stepping out, others think of you as mangy. You’re avoided, ostracized.

Farrokhlaqa, a viver há mais de 30 anos um casamento sem amor nem cumplicidade, vê no marido reformado um empecilho à sua paz de espírito. Tendo completado 51 anos, tem de suportá-lo a fazer remoques sobre a menopausa e a necessidade de arranjar outra mulher que lhe dê filhos.

With him in the house, she felt restricted and claustrophobic – a need to confine herself to a corner to avoid contact. In the 32 years of their marriage, she had learned to be inactive when her husband was home. Instinctively she felt vitality and joy in his absence.

Zarrinkolah é prostituta desde a puberdade, mas quando passou a receber cerca de 25 homens por dia, começou a vê-los decapitados, pelo que decide abandonar o bordel.
Todas estas mulheres que conhecemos individualmente acabam por se reunir em Karadj, em torno de Mahdokht, que entretanto já ganhara raízes mas só poderá florir com a ajuda das outras. É, como se pode deduzir, um livro com uma forte presença do realismo mágico que, a meu ver, só deve ser usado em doses homeopáticas para não se perder as rédeas à narrativa, como infelizmente aconteceu aqui. Foi como se a autora não encontrasse uma solução realista para estas mulheres em busca de emancipação e recorresse à magia para uma saída à francesa. Nada disso lhe tira o valor nem a actualidade, pelo que compreendo por que está este ano entre os candidatos ao International Booker Prize.

She worried about the children. “I wish she had gotten pregnant so they would have killed her”. It would have been convenient if the girl had gotten pregnant. The brothers would have ganged upon her and beaten her to death. That would have been nice. Then she wouldn’t mislead the children.

[Kirstine · Rating 4 out of 5]

Shahrnush Parsipur was - is - persecuted in Iran, where she’s from, for this book (among other things). Partly because she dares talk about, you know, sex, virginity, female sexuality. Topics that are not to be mentioned ever.

‘Women Without Men’ does reference the title of the Hemingway work ‘Men Without Women’. I haven’t read the latter, but in the afterword to this book, it says it’s a book where ultimately a life without women isn't particularly satisfying. The same (but in reverse) is the case of ‘Women Without Men’, in a way.

It consists of five stories of five vastly different women, who nonetheless have a lot in common. They’re all confined by their family and society to a very narrow way of life. They all have very little freedom of movement or thought, and each strive, in their own way, to break their captivity and be free to pursue a different way of life.

The separate storylines converge in the end and the women meet at a single house they help build and maintain together. In the house there’s also a gardener (incidentally a man, but of the somewhat invisible kind), who tends the garden where one of the women has planted herself in an attempt to become a tree.

It’s a mixture of harsh reality and magical-realism. The magical elements present themselves without much ado and add depth and great character to the novel. The odd, fantastical elements are very poignant and quite stunning.

The house they all live in and the life they share together may seem utopic, but it’s not the case at all. Having escaped the confines of their former position, whatever it was, and the men and norms that kept them trapped, they work steadily towards a new way of life. However, it’s not a life in female isolation; the solution is not an all-woman utopia.

What these women need, what Parsipur tries to convey, is that they need this utopian space to learn to be free. It’s not the final stop. It’s where they unlearn all the restrictions that’s been put on them, and reflect on what they desire to get out of life.

For some it means transcending the human body, to transform into nature and start anew, to some it means returning to life almost as it was before, but all of them with a new spiritual freedom. It’s not, in the end, a feasible project to live without men, nor is it possible. Women without men is rather women without the narrow idea of what a woman can and should be, an empty place she can shape as her own, where she can find herself.

It’s an odd novel, because it moves in so many ways, and the ending may seem somewhat disappointing or anticlimactic, but there’s a strength to it, an insistence that women are allowed to become their own people, to talk about sex and virginity and politics. Each character present a different story, each needing the same and separate things, each getting their own ending, and the result is a complex, strange and wondrous novel.

It’s very different from the video installating – the art piece based on the book – that I’ve seen. In the videos the women never meet, each story remains separate, and there are alterations to each of them, but both novel and film are very powerful means of telling such a story. I recommend the book, but I also recommend the art installation, should you ever come across it. It’s a lot harsher, but very rewarding.

Original review:

Holy shit.

I've seen the film(s) based on this book. It was an art installation at Aros, the museum in my city (Aarhus Museum of Art). I had no idea it was a book first.
I thought the title sounded familiar and this is why. It was an incredibly moving experience to see it. The different stories were split onto three huge screens in a dark, black room, so you got to watch them in random order. They were harsh, but beautiful. I hope it's still there.

[Fionnuala]

This reminded me of Herta Muller's writing - the same sense of the truth being hidden inside layers of allegory - not surprising since they are both writing out of a culture of censorship and oppression. However, I found Parsipur's allegories easier to understand.

[Jolanta (knygupė) · Rating 4 out of 5]

Nedidukas romanas parašytas Irano rašytojos 1973-iais. 2025-ais buvo išleistas britų leidyklos ir šiemet pateko į International Booker Prize ilgąjį sąrašą.
Magiškas realizmas, kurį aš mėgstu, čia visame gražume. Pasakojimos keturių moterų (gyvų ir atgimusių) skaudžios, net tragiškos istorijos pasaulyje kur "women belongs in the house. The outside is the world of men." Autorė pateko į kalėjimą už šią knygą, o pati knyga yra uždrausta Irane. Joje daug apie klaikią moterers kontrolę, bet man dar stipriai pasigirdo ir autorės kvietimas moteris solidarizuotis.
Beje, yra ir filmas pagal šią knygą. Režisierė Shirin Neshat 2009 Venecijos kino Festivalyje laimėjo Silver Lion už režisūrą. Gal kas matėt?

3,8* - nes užkliuvau pačioje pabaigoje.

[Stacia · Rating 4 out of 5]

Parsipur is brave enough to poke the bear with her writings. The author was imprisoned for multiple years (now living in exile for years) & this book has been banned in Iran for decades. There's emotional, social, & moral heft in that knowledge. We need to be brave enough to read & grapple with her messages to us.

While there is magical realism, it feels more allegorical than anything else to me. The female characters are based on real people/combinations of real people (according to the author's note), yet each has a bit of an "everywoman" feel to her. Parsipur takes an approach of letting her female characters be themselves, even in their sometimes unlikable glory, their pettiness, their misunderstandings, their choices. They're free to be themselves, not necessarily "dressed up" to make them attractive to a random reader of the book.

If I were more versed in Persian literary history as well as political & social history, I might have gained more from this novella. Still, I feel like I gained quite a bit. There's a scathingness interspersed with some rays of hope. But the dreams are not allowed completely free flight, ultimately still being hindered by the strictures of society, patriarchy, & religion. It's a powerful statement that carries a universality with it. I found it both difficult & rewarding.

[Emmeline · Rating 4 out of 5]

Iranian magic and mysticisim has not previously worked for me in fiction. I found the much-loved magical realism novel The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree to be painfully obvious and paint by numbers (I suspect it was aspiring to be this book). And the classic The Blind Owl was just deeply puzzling (there may have been a translation issue).

But this was a short and perfect use of magical realism to tell uncomfortable truths. Made up of sharp little chapters about five different women, and how they all end up in a garden in Karaj, just out of Tehran, it is relentlessly bizarre but never opaque.

One woman observes a sexual tryst and decides to become a tree. An aging virgin is so determined to catch a man she helps him bury his murdered sister in his yard. A prostitute becomes distressed when all the men she sees are suddenly headless. The author went to prison over this book and despite its brevity and surface silliness, I can see why.

Parsipur resists the urge to make this about collective female transcendence. Even without men, these women can't really get along, and they can't be without men enough to change their society.

My friend Katia compares this to the much-later The Vegetarian and I concur. There was also a touch of Death in Spring to my mind.

My favourite from the International Booker longlist so far.

[Alan · Rating 2 out of 5]

I am a burning source of unfiltered anger these days. I am not the only one either. The vast majority of Iranians are similar, likely maxing out any psychological scale on that front, far beyond my own sentiments.

In a 2022 chat with a previous professor, I described myself as “apolitical”. He did the same, and we agreed that, despite the discomfort of dipping your toes into the bog, it needed to be done when human lives were at stake to a brutal degree. And they were - 2022 was Iran’s “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement that was eventually snuffed out by the Islamic Republic. Iranians around the world continued to do what they do best: sidestep and suppress the anger, as the helplessness of the situation threatened to overwhelm our egos. Nihilism and suicide are not the answer, as they may be for many who are confronted with the horrors of an evil on the scale of the Islamic Republic. We are the children of the Shahnameh, of wine and poetry, and of course, of constantly moving forward. Constantly. Relentlessly. We survive as a nation, as a people, because we do nothing but move.

Toward the end of 2025, I made the conscious decision to stop discussing politics with most people around me, save for a handful of individuals in my closest circle (parents, of course, and a couple of dear friends, brothers and sisters in spirit). The conversations I chose to remove from my life were centered around two main pillars: 1) Condescending re-education and 2) Fundamentally different planes of existence/worldview. My answers to invitations to these discussions became singular words. “No.” “Good.” “Fair.” If I expanded beyond that, they were quite similar in spirit. “Makes sense.” “Sounds good.” “I see that.” And it has served me well. I am not, as might be feared, in an echo chamber of opinions, books, and social media feeds. There is plenty of that, but there are also opposing voices. I ingest it all. I write about them, think about them, and discuss them with those who are willing to play with these ideas without the “tone”. Oh, the tone! The tone whose makeup belies its intention to re-educate and pit you as the primitive other. The tone that resides in the realm of plausible deniability, where its wielder can easily sidestep the issue by pointing to the flaws in your perception, like a bad-faith agent of a Freudian hell.

Then… January 2026 happened. It’s still happening. Iranians have been dead inside for the better part of 3 months, walking around, interacting, and feeling hollow. Tens and tens of thousands of Iranians in Iran were mowed down, shot at close range, driven over, sniped off buildings, and struck down by machetes, all in the name of Islam. I refuse to anchor myself to a specific number here, as it will be used by the above-mentioned bad-faith agents to make an argument later that is steeped in sophistry: “If you got that wrong, what else that you espouse can be trusted Alan?” But the names and images are all there. A large chunk of them recorded videos of themselves, stating that they will be taking part in the peaceful protests of the coming days with the full knowledge of its ramifications. The numbers will come out when the time is here. Even the authorities engaged in the region at the moment are continuing to increase their own estimates. Trump initially spoke in the singular thousands, then upped it to 10-12 thousand, before settling somewhere in the low 30 thousands. In a recent address to the nation, he mentioned 45 thousand. I can promise you, it’s more. All in the span of several hours on the 8th and 9th of January, 2026.

The gravity of the situation cannot be stated adequately in words, especially as we continue to recover from the existential whiplash of a massacre inflicted on Iranians with the ideology of Islam. Even still, each day carries executions of Iranians from 12-70 years of age, because they “waged war on Allah” by daring to walk out into the streets and demand a new government by using their united voices. They asked for Reza Pahlavi as a transitional leader. Millions upon untold millions said it. And many of them died for their beliefs.

I have found it hard to engage with individuals on any meaningful level since these events. I have not attended a social outing of more than 2-3 people. But it has been an educational period in my life. I have gotten a sharp, clear image of the individuals that are clearly at the top of my personal hierarchy. The “humans”. Those who have reached out to check in with me, to see where I am, whether I am surviving or drowning. To reiterate that they are not interested in a political discussion, but want to see whether I have heard of my family in Iran (not many have - the internet and cell services were cut off on February 28th with the beginning of the military operations). They have given me a hug, sent a heart, or just sat with me as I drown out the inner and outer noises. But I have also seen the individuals to whom I am a placeholder, a bringer of “services”, a caricature. Some expected, some unexpected. Those that lead with ideology while letting everyone know that they are for “humanity”. More on this as I begin to discuss this particular book.

Women Without Men is “true” insofar as it represents the zeitgeist of the time in which it was written. An Iranian culture estranged from its roots of equality (racial and gender) through paralysis and hypnosis, having given in to the slimy tentacles of Islam first forced upon the land. An ideology that morphed into Shia during the Safavid dynasty. This was raised to a shrill pitch with the early 20th century influence of the Muslim clerics of Qom and their seminary, which began to be seen as a seat of power and paid respect to by the Shah in order to remain in the good books of all. Dante’s lowest circle of hell could not have accurately depicted the events of 1979 (after the initial publication of this book) and the complete takeover of the country by this cancer. I need not go into the excruciating details of Khomeini’s “teachings” on proper ways of having sex with chicken and infant girls, but they exist, are verbatim, and are not exaggerated. Women Without Men is now “dated” insofar as the current generations of Iran are concerned - wildly democratic, blindly egalitarian, harshly secular, and harbouring a ball of hatred for anything related to Islam. A return to our roots. Iran is awake now, has been for some time, and goes ahead, arm in arm, sisters and brothers, toward a future free of religious influence on its progress.

The book suffers from the same issue that most current Iranian authors struggle with: the use of magical realism as a crutch. “Saying it how it is” in a novel is deemed too extreme, too wild to imagine even within fiction. So trees, light, spiritual movements, all are used to depict the plight of Iranians as symbols. The problem is twofold: 1) Non-Iranians will not know what is being said; they are vaguely aware of some problem in the background of the lives of the character, and 2) Iranian writers are not very good at magical realism! So the book is not only boring to read, but also too abstract in nature, attempting poetry with zero substance (ironic, as a character in the book does the exact same thing).

I am also skeptical of the inherent use of flooding to a country’s literature when there is a notable current event happening. As if reading Iranian literature in the moment will somehow increase understanding and provide contexts for why tens of thousands of children, adults, and elders were massacred a few months ago. I am of the opinion that engagement with the artistic expression of pain from these nations needed to have taken place “yesterday”, or well after the events in question. When the event is current, you are better served speaking to many different members of the community, listening to different experts within that community, and holding lots of space for uncertainty - knowing that you need not “come to a conclusion”. Nothing is needed of you. Just an open mind and human heart. Engaging in serious political discussions on the topic, armed with nothing but a couple of books of fiction and a glint in your eyes, is as inane as me debating the merits of the period and its complications with women. “Come here honey, let me tell you why your bitching about your uterus is all in your head, you hysterical banshee!” So while the overall sentiment of “shining light” on a country’s fiction during times of trouble is somewhat appreciated, I can only see pitfalls.

One of those pitfalls is the saviours and truthsayers who look at me (and the majority of Iranians) as primitive sand monkeys who have a thirst for blood, wanting to “ooga booga” their way to war because that’s all their dune coon brains can handle. Notorious members of this sect have been individuals who take the obvious “No to War” stance, othering Iranians and Iransplaining to them they are not seeing the full picture, that war is bad. Who in the world would disagree with such a statement? Now… walk with me. If we all agree that war is bad, and the vast majority of Iranians want their own country to be bombed, what does that leave us with? I won’t play coy: that there is something in the country that is worse than anything that could fall from overhead. That they would rather risk it all than be left alone with it. Many of these saviours and truthsayers are orators, talking about a great grand aunt or a third cousin three times removed who may have gotten a sniff of a field in WWII three days after a battle. They quote platitudes about war in the abstract, learned from nothing but teal-coloured Penguin Classics to show their worldliness. I wish I had the luxury to wax lyrical about such matters! It must be awfully nice. Members of my immediate family have been on the literal front line of a real war. They have cowered in fear in the corner of a basement as Saddam Hussein’s bombs fell on houses right next to theirs. And I was raised with these sensibilities, these anxieties, these trepidations. I (as with all other Iranians) am aware of the devastation and do not speak of it lightly. If it’s not the literati, it’s tertiary “friends” or their significant others, attempting to make up for the utter lack of meaning in their own lives by becoming 24-hour experts on a country whose capital they could not have picked out on a map before Christmas. Instagram stories aplenty, trying to up the level of knowledge by pleading faux empathy and suffocating over their own words by attempting to fit more than three adverbs into each sentence.

Take Western political standards out of this and the issue is frighteningly simple: The overwhelming majority of Iranians inside and outside the country are against the regime. They do not have the means to take it down with peaceful protest. They are happy that their personal goals are aligned with the goals of other nations for the moment: anything to get rid of the Islamic Republic. Once the relative danger of even more Iranians being killed during protests is removed, they will get the job done on the streets of Iran. It’s an unbelievably polarized issue, which may be scoffed at through a 21st century lens (or maybe not…). You are either against the regime or with the regime. There is no middle path and calls for “nuance” and discussion. The middle path justifies a massacre (and countless tens of thousands of individuals murdered by the regime over the last 47 years). You can only have a middle path if members of the other side are operating on the same basic human assumptions as you: that killing, rape, and torture is bad; that people deserve basic human rights and freedom; that incest and pedophilia are abhorrent. You cannot have these discussions with an entity that, quite literally and officially by state party lines, believes that their goal as a regime is to prepare the grounds for the return of their “Mahdi”, where the Shia faith “wins” and all nonbelievers (“infidels”) are obliterated, where not a single Jew remains to tarnish that win. You don’t have to take my words for it. All you have to do is try to disprove what I am saying by looking it up. And I wish you the best of luck. And as a parting tip: yes, I did bring up the “Mahdi”. Dune fans who are not aware of this ideology and have not read the books… I would not want to be you come December.

پاینده ایران.

[Renin · Rating 5 out of 5]

Şaheser!

Olaylar 1953’te geçiyor, Musaddık’ın devrildiği kaotik dönem romanın oturduğu toplumsal bağlam. Bu bağlama çok büyülü ve çok gerçekçi bir büyülü gerçekçilik ile mükemmel bir mizah eklemiş yazar ve birtakım kadınların (ve adamların) hayatını anlatmış.

Nerelere gitsek ne yapsak da bu kitabın Türkçeye çevrilmesini sağlasak?

[Rosemarie Björnsdottir Jørgensen · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of the most beautiful books I have ever read

[Kavita · Rating 1 out of 5]

I can't claim to say I really understood anything in this book. Five women, whose lives intersect, are drawn together and crazy, crazy things happen to them.

Mahdokht is dissatisfied with her life and wants to do more with it. Then she catches the maid having sex with the gardener, which disgusts her. And then, she becomes a tree. The tree is fed with breast milk and finally burst into seeds and scatters.

Fai'za is slightly more sensible and remains human. But that's about it. She lusts after her friend's brother, Amir. Said brother kills friend and she helps him hush it up. In the end, she marries the brother and becomes his concubine.

Munis is Amir's sister. She dies and then returns to life and then is murdered by her brother. She then returns to life and can read people's minds. She becomes a whirlwind for seven years and finally becomes a schoolteacher.

Zarrinkolah is a prostitute who sees headless men everywhere. She marries the gardener and then glows with light and gives birth to a flower. Then she and the gardener go up in a puff of smoke.

Farrokhlaqa is the most understandable of all the characters. She becomes a widow, wants more out of life, tries her hand at different things and finally marries a powerful man and the two achieve things together.

Then, there is the gardener (a man) who helps these women.

Don't ask me what it all meant. I can only assume the author was on drugs. Can't even understand why this book got banned in the first place. Maybe they don't want women becoming trees or going up in smoke or whatever.

[Yasmin M. · Rating 3 out of 5]

كتاب عجيبى بود. كتابى بود كه تشبيه و سمبليزم و جان بخشيدن به اشيا و... رو توى يك فضاى واقعى رها كرده بود، اما از اون عجيب تر كه تك تك جملاتش قابل باور بودند. انگار ما با نويسنده، شوخى و زبان رمزى خودمون رو داريم و اون كه بيان ميكنه، ما متوجه ميشيم و پنهانى لبخند ميزنيم، چون اين چيزيه فقط بين ما.
بيشترين مونولوگى كه توى فكر ميگذشت، در نيمه اول كتاب اين بود "چقدر خوشبختم كه توى اين عصر به دنيا اومدم. چه بدبخت بودند اون زن ها و دخترها. چه بدبخت بودند. چه از بدبختى خودشون راضى بودن ."
بقيه كتاب رو هم بلعيدم، چون خيلى ساده خوان و جالب بود.
احساس ميكنم با اين كتاب، فرصت نداشتم تا خوب متوجه بيان نويسنده بشم.
به هر حال جذاب بود.

[Adriana · Rating 4 out of 5]

"Caută întunericul, începutul, adâncurile. Când vei ajunge în adâncul adâncurilor, vei găsi lumina în toată strălucirea ei, în propriile mâini, alături de tine. Asta înseamnă să devii om."

[Leila Dehghan · Rating 4 out of 5]

کتاب من را به یاد قطعه ای از فروغ فرخزاد انداخت، چرا؟
بخوانید لذت ببرید شاید با من هم عقیده شدید

دست هایم را در باغچه می کارم
سبز خواهم شد
می دانم
می دانم
و پرستو ها در گودی انگشتان جوهریم
تخم خواهند گذاشت...

[Saman · Rating 2 out of 5]

لینک دانلود این کتاب را در گروه "دانلود کتاب‌های نایاب" گذاشته‌ام و دوستان می‌توانند به راحتی دانلودش کنند

[City ReadersMag · Rating 5 out of 5]

İran edebiyatı ile tanışmam karantina zamanı Gergedan Kitabevi’nin Fatma Burçak ile İran Edebiyatı okumaları atölyesi ile olmuştu. Neden diğer ülke edebiyatlarından daha çok etkiledi beni diye üzerine düşündüğümü hatırlıyorum. O zamandan beridir de İran Edebiyatından çeviri kitapları bulunca alıp okumaya çalışırım.

Bu kitap ile yolumun kesişmesi tesadüfen oldu aslında, tıpkı kitaptaki Faize, Mehdoht, Munis, Ferruhlikâ ve Zerrinkülah karakterlerinin de şans eseri Tahran'ın eteklerindeki Kerec’de yemyeşil bir bahçede kesişen yolları gibi. Bu kısacık kitap, farklı hayatlardan gelen beş kadının hikayelerinin yanı sıra, okuru da toplumsal cinsiyet, şiddet, ahlak ve bekaret gibi konular üstüne düşünmeye itiyor. Ayrıca 1989'da yayımlandığında toplumun ahlak kurallarına uygun olmayan bekaret söylemleri gibi nedenlerle İran’da yasaklanmış.

İran edebiyatına büyülü gerçekçiliğin çok yakıştığını ve kitabın kapağını da çok beğendiğimi de ekleyerek bitiriyorum. Kitapla ilgili tek eleştirim çok hızlı bir şekilde konunun toparlanıp sonlanması. Bağ evindeki hayatlarına dair daha fazla okumayı isterdim. Küçük bir bilgi daha, 2009 yılında kitabımız aynı isimle de filme uyarlanmış.
Bence siz de okumak için bir şans verin.
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