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When Skateboards Will Be Free: A Memoir of a Political Childhood
This edition contains a When Skateboards Will Be Free discussion guide.“The revolution is not only inevitable, it is imminent. It is not only imminent, it is quite imminent. And when the time comes, my father will lead it.”With a profound gift for capturing the absurd in life, and a deadpan wisdom that comes from surviving a surreal childhood in the Socialist Workers Party, Saïd Sayrafiezadeh has crafted an unsentimental, funny, heartbreaking memoir. Saïd’s Iranian-born father and American Jewish mother had one thing in their unshakable conviction that the workers’ revolution was coming. Separated since their son was nine months old, they each pursued a dream of the perfect socialist society. Pinballing with his mother between makeshift Pittsburgh apartments, falling asleep at party meetings, longing for the luxuries he’s taught to despise, Said waits for the revolution that never, ever arrives. “Soon,” his mother assures him, while his long-absent father quixotically runs as a socialist candidate for president in an Iran about to fall under the ayatollahs. Then comes the hostage crisis. The uproar that follows is the first time Saïd hears the word “Iran” in school. There he is suddenly forced to confront the combustible stew of his as an American, an Iranian, a Jew, a socialist... and a middle-school kid who loves football and video games. Poised perfectly between tragedy and farce, here is a story by a brilliant young writer struggling to break away from the powerful mythologies of his upbringing and create a life—and a voice—of his own. Saïd Sayrafiezadeh’ s memoir is unforgettable.
287 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2009
37 people are currently reading
875 people want to read
About the author
Said Sayrafiezadeh
8 books134 followersSaïd Sayrafiezadeh is a memoirist, fiction writer and playwright. He is the author of the forthcoming story collection American Estrangement. His memoir, When Skateboards Will Be Free, was selected as one of the ten best books of the year by Dwight Garner of The New York Times, and his debut story collection, Brief Encounters With the Enemy, was a finalist for the PEN/Robert W. Bingham Fiction Prize.
His short stories and personal essays have appeared in The New Yorker, The Paris Review, The Best American Short Stories, Granta, McSweeney’s, The New York Times, and New American Stories, among other publications. He is the recipient of a Whiting Writers’ Award for nonfiction and a Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers’ fiction fellowship.
Saïd lives in New York City with his wife, the artist Karen Mainenti, and serves on the board of directors for the New York Foundation for the Arts. He is a fellow at the New York Institute for the Humanities and teaches creative writing at Columbia University, Hunter College and NYU, where he received an Outstanding Teaching Award.
His short stories and personal essays have appeared in The New Yorker, The Paris Review, The Best American Short Stories, Granta, McSweeney’s, The New York Times, and New American Stories, among other publications. He is the recipient of a Whiting Writers’ Award for nonfiction and a Cullman Center for Scholars and Writers’ fiction fellowship.
Saïd lives in New York City with his wife, the artist Karen Mainenti, and serves on the board of directors for the New York Foundation for the Arts. He is a fellow at the New York Institute for the Humanities and teaches creative writing at Columbia University, Hunter College and NYU, where he received an Outstanding Teaching Award.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 112 reviews
March 5, 2013
I was really excited to read this book. I love learning about the struggles of anyone who grew up "other," and Saïd is "other" like crazy: half Iranian, half Jewish American, and raised a militant Socialist in 1980s Pittsburgh. Saïd's father left when he was a baby, taking his two older siblings, and leaving Saïd to be brought up by his mother, a delusional, neglectful parental figure who spent the majority of her life waiting for her husband to return, and dedicated most of her time to the Socialist Workers Party. The rearing that she did for Saïd was primarily political, teaching him from an early age that he couldn't eat a single grape until the migrant struggle was over, and forcing them to live barely above the poverty line because for her to get a higher-paying job would be giving in to the decadence of capitalism. Saïd and his mother make a strange, emotionlessly codependent pair in this telling, reserving most of their passion for Socialist ideals and politics, and hungrily following Saïd's father's life from a distance, even though he refuses to communicate with them pretty much at all.
Beyond indoctrinating him with strict political beliefs, Saïd's mother doesn't do a lot in the way of parenting. Saïd is left to make things up as he goes along, with the expected result: a childhood spent alienated from his peers, full of awkward missteps and a good deal of loneliness. It doesn't help that he has a very Middle Eastern name during the Iranian hostage crisis, and that his views are not at all in line with the rah-rah-America fervor of the times.
Saïd, understandably, has a lot of anger at both his parents, and at politics. Though the book is primarily about his unhappy childhood, we are given glimpses of his much calmer, easier present: he is now a graphic designer for Martha Stewart, living in a clean, well-decorated apartment in the West Village, and dating a lovely coworker. What's missing, however, is the transition he made from an angry, isolated little Socialist to a well-adjusted corporate artist. And what is even more cavernously lacking are Saïd's actual emotions. He deadpans more or less the entire book, relating anecdotes flatly, narratively, without reacting to them at all. That's one thing when describing an episode when he was eight where he used a racial slur to get back into the good graces of his classmates, but it's another when telling about the time when, at eleven, he received a letter from his father—who has been completely incommunicado for several years—a letter that is itself devoid of emotion, which Saïd calmly reads twice, then buries in his sock drawer. And it's quite another thing when, at seventeen, Saïd discovers that his mother, who he thought had been sleeping for two days straight, is actually near death from an overdose of psych meds. It is not until he is sitting in the hospital with her and her therapist (and may I note that Saïd, despite spending nearly every waking moment with his mother, somehow did not even know that she was in therapy), when his mother starts screaming that she doesn't want to live, that Saïd even mentions that he cried.
A lot of bad shit happened to Saïd, and I'm sure that he needs a certain amount of distance from the memories still. But he tells his whole story at such a remove that it almost feels like fiction, like a construct. His conversations tend to go on far too long, and are both too mundane to hold my interest, and too long for me to believe he actually remembered them as such, adding to the feeling of artifice that permeates the book. It's like he's merely recreating the vague structure of a life, rather than dealing with the fallout. We're missing his reactions, his emotions, his growth—and even, most of the time, his anger. So, for me, the book fell short. It was indeed an interesting look at a crazy childhood, but it was lacking in depth, and left me feeling a little hollow.
PS: If you'd like to hear from the author directly, please see this great interview my brilliant, amazing, overachieving friend Leila did with him for the Tehran Bureau; and if you'd like an intelligent (and quite heated) takedown of his politics and his memory, check out this review on the Socialist website Swans.
Beyond indoctrinating him with strict political beliefs, Saïd's mother doesn't do a lot in the way of parenting. Saïd is left to make things up as he goes along, with the expected result: a childhood spent alienated from his peers, full of awkward missteps and a good deal of loneliness. It doesn't help that he has a very Middle Eastern name during the Iranian hostage crisis, and that his views are not at all in line with the rah-rah-America fervor of the times.
Saïd, understandably, has a lot of anger at both his parents, and at politics. Though the book is primarily about his unhappy childhood, we are given glimpses of his much calmer, easier present: he is now a graphic designer for Martha Stewart, living in a clean, well-decorated apartment in the West Village, and dating a lovely coworker. What's missing, however, is the transition he made from an angry, isolated little Socialist to a well-adjusted corporate artist. And what is even more cavernously lacking are Saïd's actual emotions. He deadpans more or less the entire book, relating anecdotes flatly, narratively, without reacting to them at all. That's one thing when describing an episode when he was eight where he used a racial slur to get back into the good graces of his classmates, but it's another when telling about the time when, at eleven, he received a letter from his father—who has been completely incommunicado for several years—a letter that is itself devoid of emotion, which Saïd calmly reads twice, then buries in his sock drawer. And it's quite another thing when, at seventeen, Saïd discovers that his mother, who he thought had been sleeping for two days straight, is actually near death from an overdose of psych meds. It is not until he is sitting in the hospital with her and her therapist (and may I note that Saïd, despite spending nearly every waking moment with his mother, somehow did not even know that she was in therapy), when his mother starts screaming that she doesn't want to live, that Saïd even mentions that he cried.
A lot of bad shit happened to Saïd, and I'm sure that he needs a certain amount of distance from the memories still. But he tells his whole story at such a remove that it almost feels like fiction, like a construct. His conversations tend to go on far too long, and are both too mundane to hold my interest, and too long for me to believe he actually remembered them as such, adding to the feeling of artifice that permeates the book. It's like he's merely recreating the vague structure of a life, rather than dealing with the fallout. We're missing his reactions, his emotions, his growth—and even, most of the time, his anger. So, for me, the book fell short. It was indeed an interesting look at a crazy childhood, but it was lacking in depth, and left me feeling a little hollow.
PS: If you'd like to hear from the author directly, please see this great interview my brilliant, amazing, overachieving friend Leila did with him for the Tehran Bureau; and if you'd like an intelligent (and quite heated) takedown of his politics and his memory, check out this review on the Socialist website Swans.
April 16, 2009
In this era of the memoir, this memoir stands out. Sayrafiezadeh is a splendid writer who has made sense of his past – a childhood spent in thrall to an ideology, with a mother who martyred herself to a political dream.
I would have gravitated to this book in any case, but an added detail is that Saïd’s childhood in the Socialist Worker’s Party was lived out in my own neighborhood in Pittsburgh, and he is the age of my sons. I can recognize neighborhood details, but I never even knew about the SWP’s existence among us. I imagine him and his mother selling "The Militant" at one of those tables on the sidewalk where I strode by without so much as a glance.
It can't be easy to choose among isolated events in your childhood so that they add up to create a person. The author no doubt had to filter his memory bank to come up with a book that is so compelling I stayed up late to finish.
I would have gravitated to this book in any case, but an added detail is that Saïd’s childhood in the Socialist Worker’s Party was lived out in my own neighborhood in Pittsburgh, and he is the age of my sons. I can recognize neighborhood details, but I never even knew about the SWP’s existence among us. I imagine him and his mother selling "The Militant" at one of those tables on the sidewalk where I strode by without so much as a glance.
It can't be easy to choose among isolated events in your childhood so that they add up to create a person. The author no doubt had to filter his memory bank to come up with a book that is so compelling I stayed up late to finish.
November 15, 2010
Bello bello, mi è piaciuto proprio tanto.
I filoni narrativi sono due, essenzialmente. Uno è quello del folle socialismo a cui aderiscono i genitori, le riunioni coi compagni, le insane idee della madre e del padre che coinvolgono la vita del figlio, una realtà grottesca e surreale ma tristemente vera per il protagonista.
La differenza tra noi e le altre famiglie povere del quartiere era che la nostra povertà era intenzionale e autoinflitta. Non una realtà inevitabile ma una condizione perseguita con tenacia. Non c'era alcuna ragione impellente perchè vivessimo di stenti. Dagli abiti usati ai mobili di seconda mano, dai libri restituiti in ritardo in biblioteca senza pagare la multa agli skateboard mai comprati, era tutto frutto d'artificio. E' vero che eravamo senza soldi ma non eravamo senza alternative. Mia madre era molto colta; aveva un'educazione raffinata, un linguaggio forbito e una laurea in Letteratura inglese in un'epoca in cui la maggior parte delle donne non andava neanche al liceo. Senza contare che viveva a quindici minuti di distanza da un fratello facoltoso che nel corso degli anni l'aveva generosamente aiutata, arrivando a pagarle le spese quando lei aveva deciso di riprendere gli studi. E ci sarebbe stato anche il marito latitante che con argomenti persuasivi - o con la persuasione del sistema giudiziario - poteva essere spronato ad aiutarci.
Invece mia madre aveva scelto attivamente, coscientemente, non solo di essere poveri, ma di rimanere poveri, con grandi sofferenze per entrambi. Perchè proprio soffrire, soffrire miseramente, era il punto. In questo stava la nostra realizzazione. Senza dubbio era sostenuta dalla filosofia secondo la quale c'era onore nella povertà, virtù nella miseria, nobiltà nel patimento. Per quanto i membri del Partito dei Lavoratori Socialisti in apparenza potessero deridere gli ideali cristiani che esaltavano la povertà e la rinuncia ai beni materiali, intimamente erano convinti che nulla fosse più vergognoso del successo in una società moralmente fallita come la nostra. Non a caso quasi ogni compagno era di estrazione borghese ma aveva ripudiato la propria educazione e i titoli di studio per rispondere a una chiamata più alta e profonda. In questa società prosperava chi ne condivideva la perversità e la mancanza di etica, chi sfruttava la classe operaia. Marx credeva che gli oppressi avrebbero ereditato la terra, e dopo di lui ogni comunista condivideva lo stesso credo, compresi Lenin, Trotsky e i membri del Partito dei Lavoratori Socialisti. Io e mia madre vivevamo secondo una versione del Discorso della Montagna leggermente ritoccata - ma solo leggermente. Quando finalmente sarebbe arrivata la rivoluzione, saremmo stati in prima fila tra gli eletti. Ci avrebbe pensato mia madre.
Questa paginetta trascritta per capire un po' l'ambiente e il contesto in cui si è trovato a crescere il nostro Said.
Ed è proprio lui il protagonista dell'altro filone narrativo, il suo crescere, la sua infanzia e la sua adolescenza, fino a giungere all'età adulta. Il sentirsi straniero nel luogo in cui si nasce, l'essere in costante bilico tra due culture, tra due nazionalità, il non sapere mai da che parte stare, il bisogno di sentirsi americano come può convivere con il desiderio di mantenere le proprie origini e di difendere le idee con cui si è cresciuti? (italiano portami via, ma si capisce no?!)
Ora che ci ripenso mi sembra molto più amaro di quanto non mi sia parso durante la lettura. In realtà ci sono molti aspetti divertenti, surreali, assurdi che lo rendono originale e ben costruito.
Mi è proprio piaciuto, si è capito no?
I filoni narrativi sono due, essenzialmente. Uno è quello del folle socialismo a cui aderiscono i genitori, le riunioni coi compagni, le insane idee della madre e del padre che coinvolgono la vita del figlio, una realtà grottesca e surreale ma tristemente vera per il protagonista.
La differenza tra noi e le altre famiglie povere del quartiere era che la nostra povertà era intenzionale e autoinflitta. Non una realtà inevitabile ma una condizione perseguita con tenacia. Non c'era alcuna ragione impellente perchè vivessimo di stenti. Dagli abiti usati ai mobili di seconda mano, dai libri restituiti in ritardo in biblioteca senza pagare la multa agli skateboard mai comprati, era tutto frutto d'artificio. E' vero che eravamo senza soldi ma non eravamo senza alternative. Mia madre era molto colta; aveva un'educazione raffinata, un linguaggio forbito e una laurea in Letteratura inglese in un'epoca in cui la maggior parte delle donne non andava neanche al liceo. Senza contare che viveva a quindici minuti di distanza da un fratello facoltoso che nel corso degli anni l'aveva generosamente aiutata, arrivando a pagarle le spese quando lei aveva deciso di riprendere gli studi. E ci sarebbe stato anche il marito latitante che con argomenti persuasivi - o con la persuasione del sistema giudiziario - poteva essere spronato ad aiutarci.
Invece mia madre aveva scelto attivamente, coscientemente, non solo di essere poveri, ma di rimanere poveri, con grandi sofferenze per entrambi. Perchè proprio soffrire, soffrire miseramente, era il punto. In questo stava la nostra realizzazione. Senza dubbio era sostenuta dalla filosofia secondo la quale c'era onore nella povertà, virtù nella miseria, nobiltà nel patimento. Per quanto i membri del Partito dei Lavoratori Socialisti in apparenza potessero deridere gli ideali cristiani che esaltavano la povertà e la rinuncia ai beni materiali, intimamente erano convinti che nulla fosse più vergognoso del successo in una società moralmente fallita come la nostra. Non a caso quasi ogni compagno era di estrazione borghese ma aveva ripudiato la propria educazione e i titoli di studio per rispondere a una chiamata più alta e profonda. In questa società prosperava chi ne condivideva la perversità e la mancanza di etica, chi sfruttava la classe operaia. Marx credeva che gli oppressi avrebbero ereditato la terra, e dopo di lui ogni comunista condivideva lo stesso credo, compresi Lenin, Trotsky e i membri del Partito dei Lavoratori Socialisti. Io e mia madre vivevamo secondo una versione del Discorso della Montagna leggermente ritoccata - ma solo leggermente. Quando finalmente sarebbe arrivata la rivoluzione, saremmo stati in prima fila tra gli eletti. Ci avrebbe pensato mia madre.
Questa paginetta trascritta per capire un po' l'ambiente e il contesto in cui si è trovato a crescere il nostro Said.
Ed è proprio lui il protagonista dell'altro filone narrativo, il suo crescere, la sua infanzia e la sua adolescenza, fino a giungere all'età adulta. Il sentirsi straniero nel luogo in cui si nasce, l'essere in costante bilico tra due culture, tra due nazionalità, il non sapere mai da che parte stare, il bisogno di sentirsi americano come può convivere con il desiderio di mantenere le proprie origini e di difendere le idee con cui si è cresciuti? (italiano portami via, ma si capisce no?!)
Ora che ci ripenso mi sembra molto più amaro di quanto non mi sia parso durante la lettura. In realtà ci sono molti aspetti divertenti, surreali, assurdi che lo rendono originale e ben costruito.
Mi è proprio piaciuto, si è capito no?
February 15, 2014
This is a bizarrely bad book.
It's very well written, if with a somewhat plodding rhythm.
The problem is, it doesn't go anywhere, or say anything, and it takes an awfully long time to do that.
And just in case it's the title that draws you in, as it did me, this book has nothing to do with skateboards or skateboarding. I think they're in the title in a last-ditch attempt to give the book some of the energy it so sorely lacks. A more honest title would be, My Childhood was Dreary Because My Mother Pretended to Be a Socialist.
The author describes his childhood with mentally unbalanced parents, parents who hide their neuroses behind a facade of activism. I say facade because his mother, who spends her life living in a cramped apartment with her growing son, doesn't seem to even read any of the ideological literature she accumulates... and accumulates... year after year until a massive unread pile of the party newspaper becomes the dominant feature in their apartment (for years she says that she really should put them in chronological order, but never even does that much), and unread books on socialism fill the bookshelves. His mother even gives up her dream of becoming a novelist to dedicate herself to the Party, and the author seems to agree with that version... because it would be completely impossible to be a novelist and a socialist, obviously.
While his dysfunctional mother spends most of her life pining for his emotionally immature father, the father is off chasing younger women and working towards the glorious revolution, the one that will make skateboards free. (And we have a scene of the dedicated socialist father treating an actual worker horribly, over his own mistake.)
Where it gets really bizarre is that the author has only the vaguest idea of what socialism is, something he admits when his girlfriend presses him about it. I suspect having had such a crappy childhood, and blaming that on socialism (though it could have been any cause), he was left with a strong aversion to seeking any deeper understanding. Among other dangers, he might learn that being a socialist doesn't mean you can't get your kid a skateboard, or that you have to spend decades in pitiful apartment dominated by a huge pile of party newspapers.
Despite being somewhat engaging, I didn't really need to read 287 pages to glean what little the author has been able to make of all this.
In the end, he decides that he likes having lots of cheap consumer crap, and a girlfriend.
It's very well written, if with a somewhat plodding rhythm.
The problem is, it doesn't go anywhere, or say anything, and it takes an awfully long time to do that.
And just in case it's the title that draws you in, as it did me, this book has nothing to do with skateboards or skateboarding. I think they're in the title in a last-ditch attempt to give the book some of the energy it so sorely lacks. A more honest title would be, My Childhood was Dreary Because My Mother Pretended to Be a Socialist.
The author describes his childhood with mentally unbalanced parents, parents who hide their neuroses behind a facade of activism. I say facade because his mother, who spends her life living in a cramped apartment with her growing son, doesn't seem to even read any of the ideological literature she accumulates... and accumulates... year after year until a massive unread pile of the party newspaper becomes the dominant feature in their apartment (for years she says that she really should put them in chronological order, but never even does that much), and unread books on socialism fill the bookshelves. His mother even gives up her dream of becoming a novelist to dedicate herself to the Party, and the author seems to agree with that version... because it would be completely impossible to be a novelist and a socialist, obviously.
While his dysfunctional mother spends most of her life pining for his emotionally immature father, the father is off chasing younger women and working towards the glorious revolution, the one that will make skateboards free. (And we have a scene of the dedicated socialist father treating an actual worker horribly, over his own mistake.)
Where it gets really bizarre is that the author has only the vaguest idea of what socialism is, something he admits when his girlfriend presses him about it. I suspect having had such a crappy childhood, and blaming that on socialism (though it could have been any cause), he was left with a strong aversion to seeking any deeper understanding. Among other dangers, he might learn that being a socialist doesn't mean you can't get your kid a skateboard, or that you have to spend decades in pitiful apartment dominated by a huge pile of party newspapers.
Despite being somewhat engaging, I didn't really need to read 287 pages to glean what little the author has been able to make of all this.
In the end, he decides that he likes having lots of cheap consumer crap, and a girlfriend.
August 14, 2010
A well-written memoir about a half-Jewish, half-Iranian boy growing up in Brooklyn and Pittsburgh with unyielding Trotskyites for parents. Two aspects make this better than most memoirs. First, the author is genuinely observant and doesn't just rely on the differences between a child's perceptions and an adult's understanding to make his prose pop. For example, describing their decrepit new apartment near the river in Pittsburgh, he writes "Our neighborhood sloped down toward the water and gave the impression that in due time all the streets and houses would slide completely into it and be no longer."
Second, the book carefully explores how a parent's choices can affect their children. While the Socialist Workers Party makes an interesting backdrop, it might be equally true of a parent who is extremely religious or a fanatical outdoorsman. Sayrafiezadeh's parents' beliefs affect him in ways they don't understand, showing that sometimes it's more complicated to be a child than to be an adult.
Second, the book carefully explores how a parent's choices can affect their children. While the Socialist Workers Party makes an interesting backdrop, it might be equally true of a parent who is extremely religious or a fanatical outdoorsman. Sayrafiezadeh's parents' beliefs affect him in ways they don't understand, showing that sometimes it's more complicated to be a child than to be an adult.
February 7, 2023
Saïd's father Mahmoud -- an Iranian immigrant -- and his mother Martha -- Jewish American -- are so enamoured by the promise of the communist revolution that no sacrifice is too large, even if that means abandoning their youngest son's childhood.
Saïd grows up in a world where his father chooses to leave him and his mother. His father is more obsessed with himself and the glamour of being an inspiring leader for the rank-and-file, churning out platitudes on demand. He even tries to bring the revolution to Iran and fails ignominiously.
His mother loves him and cares for him but she cannot leave the imperatives of party activity. She attends Socialist Workers Party meetings and conventions, and enthusiastically and blindly trusts shady comrades. Rather egregiously, she chooses to deprive her son of every little joy (despite having the money and means to provide them) because eschewing ice cream and skateboards means eschewing the evils of capitalism.
The mental scarring this ordeal creates in Saïd's life is palpable. That the pursuit of greatness (or of great-causes) often means jettisoning loved ones into the wilderness is well-known. Take most great names and search beneath the glowing narrative of their achievements: you will surely find spouses left in the dust, children abandoned, parents left to fend for themselves in destitution. This memoir is a reminder that the same torture is endured by family and friends of countless individuals who fail too badly for anyone to write about them.
Saïd's memoir has considerable humour and little sentimentality even though it is, at its core, a heart-breaking story. Through his childhood and as an adult, Saïd wants to be closer to his father Mahmoud, despite his Quixotic endeavours. This attraction and longing for Mahmoud is shared by Saïd's mother Martha as well, who continues to love her husband decades on. Martha's obsession with the SWP, however, poisons her relationship with her son. That they all survive -- especially Saïd -- through all this madness is a miracle.
It's a good memoir.
Saïd grows up in a world where his father chooses to leave him and his mother. His father is more obsessed with himself and the glamour of being an inspiring leader for the rank-and-file, churning out platitudes on demand. He even tries to bring the revolution to Iran and fails ignominiously.
His mother loves him and cares for him but she cannot leave the imperatives of party activity. She attends Socialist Workers Party meetings and conventions, and enthusiastically and blindly trusts shady comrades. Rather egregiously, she chooses to deprive her son of every little joy (despite having the money and means to provide them) because eschewing ice cream and skateboards means eschewing the evils of capitalism.
The mental scarring this ordeal creates in Saïd's life is palpable. That the pursuit of greatness (or of great-causes) often means jettisoning loved ones into the wilderness is well-known. Take most great names and search beneath the glowing narrative of their achievements: you will surely find spouses left in the dust, children abandoned, parents left to fend for themselves in destitution. This memoir is a reminder that the same torture is endured by family and friends of countless individuals who fail too badly for anyone to write about them.
Saïd's memoir has considerable humour and little sentimentality even though it is, at its core, a heart-breaking story. Through his childhood and as an adult, Saïd wants to be closer to his father Mahmoud, despite his Quixotic endeavours. This attraction and longing for Mahmoud is shared by Saïd's mother Martha as well, who continues to love her husband decades on. Martha's obsession with the SWP, however, poisons her relationship with her son. That they all survive -- especially Saïd -- through all this madness is a miracle.
It's a good memoir.
February 25, 2018
Mein gott, hatte ich mit diesem Buch einen harten Kampf.
Ursprünglich dachte ich, dass dieses Buch bloß Fiktion wäre. Zwar ist kommunismus nicht unbedingt eines meiner Lieblingsthemengebiete, aber was Bettina Abarbanell übersetzt, muss automatisch gut sein.
...wäre es bloß, wie in diesem Fall, keine Biografie. Das kommt davon wenn man die Beschreibung eines Buches nicht richtig liest.
Ehrlich gesagt gibt es an der Geschichte nichts zu bemängeln, außer, dass ich persönlich keine Biografie lesen wollte und dementsprechend Dauergelangweilt da saß. Dem Buch wegen so ner dummen Meinung jetzt nur 1-2 Sterne zu geben wäre irgendwie frech, weils ja nicht schlecht ist, aber mMn langweilig.
Keine Ahnung was man noch großartig dazu sagen soll außer: Nächstes mal Klappentext besser lesen.
Ursprünglich dachte ich, dass dieses Buch bloß Fiktion wäre. Zwar ist kommunismus nicht unbedingt eines meiner Lieblingsthemengebiete, aber was Bettina Abarbanell übersetzt, muss automatisch gut sein.
...wäre es bloß, wie in diesem Fall, keine Biografie. Das kommt davon wenn man die Beschreibung eines Buches nicht richtig liest.
Ehrlich gesagt gibt es an der Geschichte nichts zu bemängeln, außer, dass ich persönlich keine Biografie lesen wollte und dementsprechend Dauergelangweilt da saß. Dem Buch wegen so ner dummen Meinung jetzt nur 1-2 Sterne zu geben wäre irgendwie frech, weils ja nicht schlecht ist, aber mMn langweilig.
Keine Ahnung was man noch großartig dazu sagen soll außer: Nächstes mal Klappentext besser lesen.
January 23, 2022
מעניין מרתק וקל מאוד לקריאה. מלא גם בתובנות על משפחה והשקפות פוליטיות. ממליץ
November 20, 2023
The truth must not only be the truth, it must also be told
April 5, 2009
This memoir of a childhood in the Socialist Workers Party interested me mainly because of my own interactions in the past with radical political groups, and also because the author is a Gen-Xer like me (typing that makes me gag... I mean it somewhat jokingly) and I think all of us had at least somewhat alienated childhoods. So I was interested in reading about his, and although his experience was quite different from mine--absentee father; withdrawn, moodswinging mother; childhood spent mostly alone--I could really understand where he was coming from. His own inability to connect with other children sometimes had more to do with his being Iranian during a time of widespread hostility towards Iran in the United States than anything else, but still, it's something I've lived through myself. His stunted relationships with his parents were also something I could understand, even if, again, the circumstances couldn't be more different than my own.
The real reason I enjoyed this book as much as I did, though, is because of Sayrafiezadeh's writing style, which is evocative of emotion without being overwritten. He's good at staying subtle, at showing instead of telling, of giving us his perspective of a particular situation in a way that makes clear what reaction he'd have to it and why. Another interesting factor in the telling is the stuff he inserts in which he talks about his adult life, living on his own in New York, trying to make it as an actor, having uncomfortable and infrequent interactions with his parents, trying to date. And through it all, there's the thread of his indoctrination into Socialist Workers Party ideology at a very young age, forever affecting his thought patterns and making him feel set apart from everyone else he meets. This was the most interesting part, for me; I've always felt like the radical political movements that I encounter encourage the sort of blind faith that is just as often part and parcel with evangelical Christianity, and this book made it clear that this is true, or at least that it was for both Said Sayrafiezadeh and both of his parents. The way Said writes the book makes it clear that he has started to question a lot of these beliefs now, but that back when these stories occurred, his own dim understanding of them was often a source of discomfort. I feel like this book, if nothing else, once again proves that it's not a good idea to adhere too closely to one particular school of thought where politics is concerned, to make up your own mind on specific issues and not let a pre-designed ideology box in your own thought patterns. By the end of the book, you can tell that Said has learned this lesson, even if, again, he never says so. In a book that is more often depressing than uplifting, it's nice to at least come away with this one positive conclusion.
The real reason I enjoyed this book as much as I did, though, is because of Sayrafiezadeh's writing style, which is evocative of emotion without being overwritten. He's good at staying subtle, at showing instead of telling, of giving us his perspective of a particular situation in a way that makes clear what reaction he'd have to it and why. Another interesting factor in the telling is the stuff he inserts in which he talks about his adult life, living on his own in New York, trying to make it as an actor, having uncomfortable and infrequent interactions with his parents, trying to date. And through it all, there's the thread of his indoctrination into Socialist Workers Party ideology at a very young age, forever affecting his thought patterns and making him feel set apart from everyone else he meets. This was the most interesting part, for me; I've always felt like the radical political movements that I encounter encourage the sort of blind faith that is just as often part and parcel with evangelical Christianity, and this book made it clear that this is true, or at least that it was for both Said Sayrafiezadeh and both of his parents. The way Said writes the book makes it clear that he has started to question a lot of these beliefs now, but that back when these stories occurred, his own dim understanding of them was often a source of discomfort. I feel like this book, if nothing else, once again proves that it's not a good idea to adhere too closely to one particular school of thought where politics is concerned, to make up your own mind on specific issues and not let a pre-designed ideology box in your own thought patterns. By the end of the book, you can tell that Said has learned this lesson, even if, again, he never says so. In a book that is more often depressing than uplifting, it's nice to at least come away with this one positive conclusion.
September 27, 2009
I have a rule that you can only blame your parents for screwing up your life until you are 30. After that you pretty much have to take responsibility for your own special dysfunction.
In this book Said Sayrafiezadeh was able to vent long held sadness and yet did not feel like a big blame story. The reader is taken on a trip to heartbreak after heartbreak of this young boys life.
Rebecca Walker's Black and White and Jewish also takes us back to a 1970's childhood divorce story, but her story holds no compassion for the parents.
Sayrafiezadah gives us a context and perspective about his parents that let us know he has done his work to make peace with parental demons and generously accepted them for who they are now. I did not get this same sense from Walker's book. Her's was a good old fashioned F-U to mom & dad.
Growing up Gen X in lefty, divorced, mixed raced families is hard work and well deserving of some documentation even if we can't blame our parents any more after our 4th decade of life.
In this book Said Sayrafiezadeh was able to vent long held sadness and yet did not feel like a big blame story. The reader is taken on a trip to heartbreak after heartbreak of this young boys life.
Rebecca Walker's Black and White and Jewish also takes us back to a 1970's childhood divorce story, but her story holds no compassion for the parents.
Sayrafiezadah gives us a context and perspective about his parents that let us know he has done his work to make peace with parental demons and generously accepted them for who they are now. I did not get this same sense from Walker's book. Her's was a good old fashioned F-U to mom & dad.
Growing up Gen X in lefty, divorced, mixed raced families is hard work and well deserving of some documentation even if we can't blame our parents any more after our 4th decade of life.
October 24, 2016
The stories in this memoir--the events of Sayrafiezadeh's life, particularly his young boyhood--are compelling, and I did the devour the book within 24 hours of starting it. However, the absence of feeling at key points in the narrative was jarring. I kept reading, not only because I wanted to know how things would end up but also because I was continually hopeful that author would elaborate on his emotional responses. There is one event early in the book that is supremely awful, yet we never learn of its impact. Other painful experiences also end with whimpers instead of bangs. Maybe this was all intentional, so that we as readers would experience the same dislocation and compartmentalization that Sayrafiezadeh did, but I would have appreciated a little more reflection. That said, Sayrafiezadeh's writing is clean and flows beautifully, and I do recommend this book.
May 12, 2017
I read this quickly because it was immensely readable. The silences around chapters and sections were as full and meaningful as the words on the page. I admired how much restraint Sayrafiezadeh used, allowing the reader draw conclusions on her own and feel the absences he experienced.
November 12, 2018
Said tells his story, all his story, with remarkable courage and humor, it must have been hard putting these sad life events on paper and still seeing the other positive aspects of his life, I definitely want to read more of his books.
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February 7, 2021A must-read.
July 23, 2020
A touching and deftly written memoir of an unusual childhood growing up in what is in effect the cult of communist political activists in the US during the 1970s and 1980s. In addition to struggling with what Said increasingly realizes is the absurd dogmas of true believers of the Socialist Workers Party (and which explains his apolitical stance as an adult), the memoir also shows how he had to deal with two other challenges. His mixed ethnic heritage – he was the third child of an Iranian Father and an American Jewish Mother – set him apart from both white and black kids in his school; this became especially so during the 1979 US Embassy hostage taking in Iran. The author is particularly brave in showing how his unfamiliar family name comes to define him and why, despite having no connection whatsoever to Iran as a country or culture, nonetheless refuses to change it into something more recognizable to Americans as his siblings did. It defines him, sets him apart, and even at times pains him: “The spelling of that odd first name and that even odder and more colossal last name, “S-a-y—S like Sam—a-y—yes, y like yellow—r …” Interminable spelling, exhausting everyone involved.” The third axis of the book, perhaps in the end the most important, is the narcissism and self-absorption of both parents who are so ideological doctrinaire they both neglect the young Said to devote all their energies to the Party. All they seem to be interested in indoctrinating the young boy into the beliefs of what is essentially a cult like subculture. Said and his Mother are abandoned by his Father as a baby. Among many telling anecdotes, one is particularly poignant. After decades of estrangement, Said is invited by his Dad to dinner in New York to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. Instead of enquiring about his son's life, he proceeds to give a speech about socialist party politics and hands Said the Party newspaper; Said jokes that he should probably pay the cover price, only to have his Dad promptly ask for the $1.50.
Throughout the author’s voice is subtle and wry in describing the foibles of his almost crazy parents and the fact that he was in many ways lost as a young boy and teenager. (He didn’t fall off the rails though: he was a top student and didn’t get into illegal activities.) What might appear to some readers to be ironic detachment in fact skillfully captures the absurdity of the naïve communist worldview avoiding either taking himself too seriously or alternatively in mounting a frontal attack on his parents for their irresponsible behavior towards him. It should be said though that their irresponsibility is probably more an expression of personal shortcomings and in the case of the mother, the sad and painful reality of mental instability; the mother experiences a breakdown exacerbated no doubt by the belated realization of all the years she wasted after abandoning her personal ambitions of being a writer to the chimera of a failing and soon to be (with the fall of the Soviet Union and the adoption of capitalism by China) an irrelevant cult. Highly recommended.
Throughout the author’s voice is subtle and wry in describing the foibles of his almost crazy parents and the fact that he was in many ways lost as a young boy and teenager. (He didn’t fall off the rails though: he was a top student and didn’t get into illegal activities.) What might appear to some readers to be ironic detachment in fact skillfully captures the absurdity of the naïve communist worldview avoiding either taking himself too seriously or alternatively in mounting a frontal attack on his parents for their irresponsible behavior towards him. It should be said though that their irresponsibility is probably more an expression of personal shortcomings and in the case of the mother, the sad and painful reality of mental instability; the mother experiences a breakdown exacerbated no doubt by the belated realization of all the years she wasted after abandoning her personal ambitions of being a writer to the chimera of a failing and soon to be (with the fall of the Soviet Union and the adoption of capitalism by China) an irrelevant cult. Highly recommended.
March 20, 2023
Q. "How many leftists does it take to screw on a lightbulb?'
A. "One-hundred. One to screw in the bulb and ninety-nine to shout 'Down with Darkness!"
This joke, which some comrades and i used to tell about ourselves pretty much sums up the state of the American left and serves as the perfect introduction to Said's memoir of growing up in an American family with a mother who was a devoted Trotskyist. Said's mom became a full-blown, sky-high dedicated member of the American Socialist Workers Party (SWP) in the 1980s, which is akin to jumping unto the TITANIC after it hit the iceberg. (The American Socialist Workers Party is not not be confused with the British Socialist Workers Party. Just as one does not mistake the Revolutionary Communist Party USA (Maoist) with the Revolutionary Communist Party UK---now extinct. See what I mean about the left?) After 1980 the SWP shrank from roughly 800 members to 200 by the end of the decade, the result of mass resignations, expulsions and purges. (And you thought only Stalinists purged people.) Weirdly, this made mama even more committed and radical, from running for public office (I have a personal friend who once ran as a socialist in Florida and got all of 9 votes, including, I presume, his wife's) to shilling for the godawful SWP newspaper THE MILITANT. (Trust me; it does not live up to its name but is a good substitute for valium.) After being dragged from Party meeting to meeting, often falling asleep (insomnia is not a problem on the left) our brave lad is told by mummy that he need not worry about Christmas presents or other capitalist luxuries because "after the revolution skateboards will be free". Moving into his teens Said must ask himself the Albert Camus question: Which does he love more, his mother or justice? SPOILER: The lad opted for what passes for justice under capitalism, and let his mother continue to dream on, kind of like mama in GOODBYE, LENIN. This memoir is the only way to view and appreciate the American left, and that is with a sardonic sense of humor.
A. "One-hundred. One to screw in the bulb and ninety-nine to shout 'Down with Darkness!"
This joke, which some comrades and i used to tell about ourselves pretty much sums up the state of the American left and serves as the perfect introduction to Said's memoir of growing up in an American family with a mother who was a devoted Trotskyist. Said's mom became a full-blown, sky-high dedicated member of the American Socialist Workers Party (SWP) in the 1980s, which is akin to jumping unto the TITANIC after it hit the iceberg. (The American Socialist Workers Party is not not be confused with the British Socialist Workers Party. Just as one does not mistake the Revolutionary Communist Party USA (Maoist) with the Revolutionary Communist Party UK---now extinct. See what I mean about the left?) After 1980 the SWP shrank from roughly 800 members to 200 by the end of the decade, the result of mass resignations, expulsions and purges. (And you thought only Stalinists purged people.) Weirdly, this made mama even more committed and radical, from running for public office (I have a personal friend who once ran as a socialist in Florida and got all of 9 votes, including, I presume, his wife's) to shilling for the godawful SWP newspaper THE MILITANT. (Trust me; it does not live up to its name but is a good substitute for valium.) After being dragged from Party meeting to meeting, often falling asleep (insomnia is not a problem on the left) our brave lad is told by mummy that he need not worry about Christmas presents or other capitalist luxuries because "after the revolution skateboards will be free". Moving into his teens Said must ask himself the Albert Camus question: Which does he love more, his mother or justice? SPOILER: The lad opted for what passes for justice under capitalism, and let his mother continue to dream on, kind of like mama in GOODBYE, LENIN. This memoir is the only way to view and appreciate the American left, and that is with a sardonic sense of humor.
November 8, 2019
Said Sayrafiezadeh paints a nuanced picture of a childhood growing up with parents dedicated the their activism.
Whilst the book highlights the police brutality, imperialism and working class struggles of the U.S. it doesn't fail to include both humorous and more severe critiques of The Socialist Party.
The critical stories of The Socialist Party, raises important questions about favoritism and flaws found in almost any activist group.
The stories of Said's childhood is described with empathy and honesty, it had me greatly invested.
This biography is of historic interest whilst also being emotionally authentic.
Said's life is one that I am happy to have learned about!
Whilst the book highlights the police brutality, imperialism and working class struggles of the U.S. it doesn't fail to include both humorous and more severe critiques of The Socialist Party.
The critical stories of The Socialist Party, raises important questions about favoritism and flaws found in almost any activist group.
The stories of Said's childhood is described with empathy and honesty, it had me greatly invested.
This biography is of historic interest whilst also being emotionally authentic.
Said's life is one that I am happy to have learned about!
October 22, 2024
I enjoyed several of Sayrafiezadeh's short stories, looked to see what else he had written, only to find this highly original memoir of growing up in, in fact being conceived in the shadow of the Socialist Workers Party. Such poorly matched parents; such an oblivious, absent father; his mother such a tragic figure, giving everything of herself to the party until she has nothing left. Most poignant: the narrator's longing for a real father, or real contact with his father.
My college campus makes a cameo appearance as the site of the party's summer conferences in the 1970s (and perhaps 80s) -- very recognisable.
My college campus makes a cameo appearance as the site of the party's summer conferences in the 1970s (and perhaps 80s) -- very recognisable.
February 6, 2023
I oddly related to the writer's childhood anxiety, stress and constant struggle to fit while being true what he things his values (whether his own or his family's) even though the conditions are very different. The traumas of our upbringing, carry on and shape us. They made him who he is, and I believe by only facing those traumas through his writings, especially this memoir, that he truly overcame them. I usually prefer fiction, but this memoir was worth reading. There are moments where crying is inevitable, so beware
September 29, 2021
Recommended by a staff member of my library, this was a rather unusual memoir. The author’s parents were members of the Socialist Workers Party. His father abandons Saiiïd and his mother and eventually returns to Iran where he later runs for president. His mother, meanwhile, descends into depression. Saïd’s life has many measures of normalcy for a boy growing up it also tells of his abuse at the hands of a comrade and his anxious attempts to win back the love of his father.
February 8, 2019
This memoir was so relatable. Politics have definitely always influenced me & how I view the world but the book carries so much truth on what it means to take sides & lose your sense of self along the way. So beautifully written with humor & courage.
January 24, 2021
This book reminded me of growing up with a parent that is part of an organized religion. Same concept, different organizations, same results. This story is raw and authentic and the author played well between pass and present.
November 6, 2019
Quick read. Enjoyed reading about growing up in Socialist environment, seeing Iran hostage crisis, Cuba, and the world in general through other eyes.
October 1, 2021
Just incredible. Thank you for writing and sharing. We are lucky for it.
September 19, 2022
3.5 Stars
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January 2, 2023Me gustó mucho
March 10, 2024
Divertido. Triste. Irónico. Descorazonador. ¿De qué sirve defender una causa (por muy loable que sea) si no eres capaz de cuidar de los tuyos?
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