I thoroughly enjoyed these Persian folk tales. As with all folk tales, it seems, there are certain elements: cruel rich people, young people trying to find their own path, magical helpers like fairies, and wicked spells cast creating beasts and then broken by selfless true love.
But all with a Persian sensibility. Like the a chickpea who was sent on an errand by his father to get the long owed penny payment from the Shah. Along the route, the little chickpea was able to absorb a river, a leopard, a wolf, and a jackal--all which came to his rescue when the Shah wanted to punish him for asking for the penny that was due to his father.
My favorite was the first story in the collection, "Miss Cockroach and Mister Mouse," being perhaps the one with a message and sensibility that I have not encountered before. A silly, but beautiful and uniquely adorned Miss Cockroach is sent out by her father to find herself a suitable a husband. Each possible suitor she encounters would love to have her for her beauty, but warn her that if she is unable to do specific wifely chores, he will treat her ill for failing. She declines each offer of marriage (smart cockroach). Then, she meets Mister Mouse, who will love her, adore her, and care for her without any quid pro quo. He just wants to love her and be with her. She is happy and silly with Mister Mouse. But due to a mishap, during her rescue and subsequent making of soup for her, Mister Mouse falls in the soup and drowns. Miss Cockroach never again adorns herself so beautifully and goes back to her father where she is the humdrum, dutiful daughter.
To me, that was the level of a Shakespearian tragedy!
On a personal note, I am sad. I have been reading Iranian stories (I have more to read) because I made an Iranian online friend, an intelligent, quirky, young person with an immense appetite for life. A cultural and generational exchange, if you will. The person has gone missing from my inbox for a couple of months now. I worry but do understand these things happen. Indeed, I recall being remiss in my international penpal correspondences in my own youth and hope it is no more than that, that life has naturally become very full and sweet.
I will continue to read my Iranian books, feel connected to a dear Iranian friend (and Nanaie too), through the ether, heart to heart.
“You are not just the drop in the ocean. You are the mighty ocean in the drop.”
— Rumi