What do you think?
Rate this book
La donna che leggeva troppo
Cosa legge Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn, “la poetessa di Qazvin” com’è chiamata nel romanzo? Libri certamente, ma soprattutto la verità. È questo a fare di lei una pericolosa sovversiva e, alla fine, una martire. È il coraggio di una donna che legge e che ripete la verità a scatenare l’odio che la condurrà alla morte. È questo a segnare per sempre l’esistenza di chi la incontra, di chi ne sente parlare e di chi la vede, o anche solo intravede, dietro la finestra della stanza in cui è detenuta.
Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn, poetessa persiana della metà dell’Ottocento, è annoverata tra i fondatori di una nuova religione sincretista, il Bahai, nata da una costola dell’Islam e dall’Islam bollata come pericolosa eresia e a tutt’oggi perseguitata.
La verità non può lasciare indifferenti. La si ama e la si segue, oppure la si odia con tutte le proprie forze. La verità non ammette veli. Perciò è insopportabile, perciò va taciuta, perciò deve essere soffocata. E soffocata muore infatti la poetessa, con quello stesso velo che secondo le accuse si era tolta in pubblico. Una simmetria simbolica così perfetta da risultare inverosimile. E invece le cose sono andate proprio così. Davvero Tahirih è stata accusata soprattutto per quel suo svelamento e davvero è stata soffocata con il suo velo.
Dalle scarne notizie sulla sua vita, Nakhjavani trae un racconto ricco di pathos, reso avvincente dall’abilità con cui adotta di volta in volta la prospettiva delle donne, le figlie, le sorelle, le mogli e le madri che sono le vere protagoniste della storia. Familiari dello scià o infime addette alla composizione dei cadaveri, pure di cuore o avide di potere, sono loro a raccontare la straordinaria vicenda di Tahirih, giovinetta dall’intelligenza lucidissima, poetessa-profetessa capace di leggere nei cuori di rozzi soldati o di casalinghe disperate, infine detenuta e martire dell’ottusità. Questa narrazione “corale”, lungi dall’appiattire i personaggi, ci regala ritratti indimenticabili di uomini e donne e un quadro a forti tinte della vita in Persia sotto la dinastia cagiara, tra inaudite violenze e corruzione dilagante.
Nakhjavani riesce a evitare il rischio dell’agiografia grazie a un uso sapiente dell’ironia che non risparmia notabili e potenti e neppure “gli indifferenti”, primo fra tutti l’ambasciatore britannico, ottusa figura di burocrate, l’immancabile, incorreggibile “Pilato” di questo copione. La nota dominante della storia è il ritmo e “tenere il ritmo” è stata anche la sfida della traduzione: inseguire il tempo di una narrazione che procede a ritroso, dalla conclusione della vicenda all’origine di tutto, ma con frequenti richiami e rimandi ai diversi momenti dell’intreccio. Un ritmo che pulsa nella scrittura e nella lingua, un inglese pulito e rigoroso ma dall’andamento musicale sinuoso… orientale.
Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn, poetessa persiana della metà dell’Ottocento, è annoverata tra i fondatori di una nuova religione sincretista, il Bahai, nata da una costola dell’Islam e dall’Islam bollata come pericolosa eresia e a tutt’oggi perseguitata.
La verità non può lasciare indifferenti. La si ama e la si segue, oppure la si odia con tutte le proprie forze. La verità non ammette veli. Perciò è insopportabile, perciò va taciuta, perciò deve essere soffocata. E soffocata muore infatti la poetessa, con quello stesso velo che secondo le accuse si era tolta in pubblico. Una simmetria simbolica così perfetta da risultare inverosimile. E invece le cose sono andate proprio così. Davvero Tahirih è stata accusata soprattutto per quel suo svelamento e davvero è stata soffocata con il suo velo.
Dalle scarne notizie sulla sua vita, Nakhjavani trae un racconto ricco di pathos, reso avvincente dall’abilità con cui adotta di volta in volta la prospettiva delle donne, le figlie, le sorelle, le mogli e le madri che sono le vere protagoniste della storia. Familiari dello scià o infime addette alla composizione dei cadaveri, pure di cuore o avide di potere, sono loro a raccontare la straordinaria vicenda di Tahirih, giovinetta dall’intelligenza lucidissima, poetessa-profetessa capace di leggere nei cuori di rozzi soldati o di casalinghe disperate, infine detenuta e martire dell’ottusità. Questa narrazione “corale”, lungi dall’appiattire i personaggi, ci regala ritratti indimenticabili di uomini e donne e un quadro a forti tinte della vita in Persia sotto la dinastia cagiara, tra inaudite violenze e corruzione dilagante.
Nakhjavani riesce a evitare il rischio dell’agiografia grazie a un uso sapiente dell’ironia che non risparmia notabili e potenti e neppure “gli indifferenti”, primo fra tutti l’ambasciatore britannico, ottusa figura di burocrate, l’immancabile, incorreggibile “Pilato” di questo copione. La nota dominante della storia è il ritmo e “tenere il ritmo” è stata anche la sfida della traduzione: inseguire il tempo di una narrazione che procede a ritroso, dalla conclusione della vicenda all’origine di tutto, ma con frequenti richiami e rimandi ai diversi momenti dell’intreccio. Un ritmo che pulsa nella scrittura e nella lingua, un inglese pulito e rigoroso ma dall’andamento musicale sinuoso… orientale.
420 pages, Hardcover
First published May 1, 2015
53 people are currently reading
1673 people want to read
About the author
Bahíyyih Nakhjavání
23 books109 followersBahiyyih Nakhjavání is a Persian writer educated in the United Kingdom and the United States. After teaching literature at universities in North America and Europe, she came to live in France where she has been conducting workshops in creative writing/reading for the past decade. Bahiyyih Nakhjavání's books, both fiction and non-fiction, have been translated into many languages. In 2007, she received an honorary doctorate from the University of Liège.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 30 of 75 reviews
Read
June 19, 2025A couple of months ago I was browsing through the antiquarian book stalls where I live. The vendors are very dedicated people; all year around they sell their wares in the market square under the high heavens, only covering their delicate paper goods with tarpaulins when the inclemencies threaten to dilute the ink and turn the cloth covers into rags. Fortunately it was sunny the day I was there so everything was on show, even the older and more fragile volumes. I fingered the binding of some, turned the pages of others, admired the titles, the fine paper, the curious fonts. It was book lover’s bliss.
The title of a cloth-bound book from 1900 caught my eye: ‘Encyclopédie des Ouvrages de Dames’ (Encyclopaedia of Women’s Works). When I opened it up, I found that it was not a treasury of writing by women but rather a book about something quite opposite: embroidery, and needlepoint and other delicate handiwork. So instead of words, there were images of curvilinear stems, delicate leaves, intricately designed blooms full of twirling swirling, petals. I admired the work of those women but I was dismayed by that ambiguous title ‘Women's Works'. It spoke to me only of limitations, of women confined to the enclosed space of the sewing room, of women expressing their creativity with thread and thimble because they were not considered adept with pen or paintbrush.
There is a woman poet in The Woman Who Read Too Much who bravely defies all sorts of limitations and constraints in her life, yet is obliged to engage in handiwork in order to be able to write poetry. She chews green plants to make ink, she strips reeds from floor mats for use as make-shift pens, she saves vegetable wrappings and old rags to use as paper. She does all that so she can write her words and so that she can teach girls and women to read and to eventually learn to interpret the writings of others. And even while she is making her book-objects, there is another woman busy embroidering a beautiful garment for the poet to wear on the most significant occasion of her life. The ambiguous title of the encyclopaedia of embroidery which I found at the book market chimes with the contradictions sewn into this multi-layered book in more ways than one.
Paradox and antithesis play a role in the literary style which the author, Bahiyyih Nakhjavani, has chosen as a frame for the poet's story just as they do in the story itself. Nakhjavani's delicately phrased sentences often contain opposing ideas, and surprising reversals nest within their beautiful confines. To fully appreciate the beauty of the writing, we need to understand what the author has set out to do in this book: she has written the story of the nineteenth century Persian poet in English but she has incorporated the rhythms of the Persian language of the period complete with the formal qualities that were then current: synonymous phrases, multiple perspectives, nonlinear narrative, sentences which seem to form curlicues of both sound and meaning.
This nonlinear approach to the telling of the story matches the way in which the poet’s words repeat and echo through the events of the narrative. To return to the handiwork metaphor I used earlier, the chronology of the story, from 1847 to 1896, can be seen as the horizontal threads on a loom. The author simultaneously weaves many vertical threads through the chronology, threads concerning particular people and events, threads which frequently reflect the poet's words, so that the narrative constantly departs from a straight line. This is all carried out so intelligently that the reader very quickly understands the pattern, how one event foretells another. I was reminded of the way A S Byatt constructed her novel Possession and how events from one time period constantly parallel those from a previous time. There is a chronology of events at the end of The Woman to help situate the happenings but the narrative itself is a sufficient guide and the reader quickly learns to read the patterns fluently.
The narrative voice throughout the book is shot through with delicious ironies which reminded me very much of the writing of José Saramago. The irony enables us to remain calm even while reading about despicable rumours, unscrupulous plotting, horrendous massacres. It is as if the language itself is a protective barrier; the phrases dance around the facts, even the most bloody and violent, in a way that is reminiscent of the metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century who used violent images, eg ‘flaming hearts’ as expressions of love.
Nakhjavani's book is divided into four sections, three of which focus on women who had direct or indirect contact with the poet. The fourth and final section takes the reader closer to the heart of the story around which the other parts have been circling from the beginning like the overlapping petals of an intricately embroidered flower. The theme at the very heart of this book is one that has been treated many times in literature by authors such as George Elliot and Henry James: that of a woman constrained by her role in society. But those books were written according to the conventions of the Western psychological novel whereas the poet’s story is told from multiple points of view and necessarily from the outside—we only get to see her as an outline, and though we admire that outline as we might admire the delicate patterns in filigree work, hers is a story composed of the most tantalising and eloquent gaps.
------------------------------------------------
I first read this beautiful book when it appeared in French in 2006 from Actes Sud. Though originally written in English, it was French, Spanish and Italian publishers who picked it up first. The first edition in English was published earlier this year.
Here are some links to recent Press reviews:
The title of a cloth-bound book from 1900 caught my eye: ‘Encyclopédie des Ouvrages de Dames’ (Encyclopaedia of Women’s Works). When I opened it up, I found that it was not a treasury of writing by women but rather a book about something quite opposite: embroidery, and needlepoint and other delicate handiwork. So instead of words, there were images of curvilinear stems, delicate leaves, intricately designed blooms full of twirling swirling, petals. I admired the work of those women but I was dismayed by that ambiguous title ‘Women's Works'. It spoke to me only of limitations, of women confined to the enclosed space of the sewing room, of women expressing their creativity with thread and thimble because they were not considered adept with pen or paintbrush.
There is a woman poet in The Woman Who Read Too Much who bravely defies all sorts of limitations and constraints in her life, yet is obliged to engage in handiwork in order to be able to write poetry. She chews green plants to make ink, she strips reeds from floor mats for use as make-shift pens, she saves vegetable wrappings and old rags to use as paper. She does all that so she can write her words and so that she can teach girls and women to read and to eventually learn to interpret the writings of others. And even while she is making her book-objects, there is another woman busy embroidering a beautiful garment for the poet to wear on the most significant occasion of her life. The ambiguous title of the encyclopaedia of embroidery which I found at the book market chimes with the contradictions sewn into this multi-layered book in more ways than one.
Paradox and antithesis play a role in the literary style which the author, Bahiyyih Nakhjavani, has chosen as a frame for the poet's story just as they do in the story itself. Nakhjavani's delicately phrased sentences often contain opposing ideas, and surprising reversals nest within their beautiful confines. To fully appreciate the beauty of the writing, we need to understand what the author has set out to do in this book: she has written the story of the nineteenth century Persian poet in English but she has incorporated the rhythms of the Persian language of the period complete with the formal qualities that were then current: synonymous phrases, multiple perspectives, nonlinear narrative, sentences which seem to form curlicues of both sound and meaning.
This nonlinear approach to the telling of the story matches the way in which the poet’s words repeat and echo through the events of the narrative. To return to the handiwork metaphor I used earlier, the chronology of the story, from 1847 to 1896, can be seen as the horizontal threads on a loom. The author simultaneously weaves many vertical threads through the chronology, threads concerning particular people and events, threads which frequently reflect the poet's words, so that the narrative constantly departs from a straight line. This is all carried out so intelligently that the reader very quickly understands the pattern, how one event foretells another. I was reminded of the way A S Byatt constructed her novel Possession and how events from one time period constantly parallel those from a previous time. There is a chronology of events at the end of The Woman to help situate the happenings but the narrative itself is a sufficient guide and the reader quickly learns to read the patterns fluently.
The narrative voice throughout the book is shot through with delicious ironies which reminded me very much of the writing of José Saramago. The irony enables us to remain calm even while reading about despicable rumours, unscrupulous plotting, horrendous massacres. It is as if the language itself is a protective barrier; the phrases dance around the facts, even the most bloody and violent, in a way that is reminiscent of the metaphysical poets of the seventeenth century who used violent images, eg ‘flaming hearts’ as expressions of love.
Nakhjavani's book is divided into four sections, three of which focus on women who had direct or indirect contact with the poet. The fourth and final section takes the reader closer to the heart of the story around which the other parts have been circling from the beginning like the overlapping petals of an intricately embroidered flower. The theme at the very heart of this book is one that has been treated many times in literature by authors such as George Elliot and Henry James: that of a woman constrained by her role in society. But those books were written according to the conventions of the Western psychological novel whereas the poet’s story is told from multiple points of view and necessarily from the outside—we only get to see her as an outline, and though we admire that outline as we might admire the delicate patterns in filigree work, hers is a story composed of the most tantalising and eloquent gaps.
------------------------------------------------
I first read this beautiful book when it appeared in French in 2006 from Actes Sud. Though originally written in English, it was French, Spanish and Italian publishers who picked it up first. The first edition in English was published earlier this year.
Here are some links to recent Press reviews:
September 17, 2015
"If one were to believe her highness, the whole country was on the verge of revolution, with women deploying an artillery of inflammatory prose, wielding books like bucklers, and taking up pens as if they were swords." Bahiyyih Nakhjavani, The Woman Who Read Too Much
Most of my favourite fiction books have a strong feminist element. This is the kind of book I adore; stories of women refusing to accept traditional or patriarchal values and vowing to live the lives they wish to lead regardless of society. This account is of a woman in Iranian history, a woman who "read too much.” The title reminded me of the Stefan Bollman book, "Women Who Read Are Dangerous/ Les Femmes Qui Lisent Sont Dangereuses." The woman who read too much was the poetess from Qazvin, Tahirih Qurratu'l-Ayn, who challenged the status quo so spectacularly, so much so that it made her seem dangerous to those in power, and she was eventually put on trial for heresy.
In this book reading too much was just reading, plain and simple. This is Iran in the 19th Century, and religion as well as patriarchy hid the roles and voices of women in historical events. This book presents voices of other women who were somehow involved in the poetess’ trial for heresy:
"But by the time she was arrested in the first winter of the young Shah's reign, both her admirers and detractors were forced to agree that none of the traditional names of womankind could sum her up. She was admitted to be the calamity of the age."
You can't help but be reminded of how women have often been the scapegoats in history. In this time period, the Shah’s regime was experiencing famine, public executions, tortures, and treason trials. But a woman who reads and teaches other women to read will be the talk of the town instead of some of the more heinous events taking place.
In the end, reading meant more than just reading words in books; it also meant reading people, situations, and circumstances. And the more I learn about literacy being denied to certain groups over time, the more amazing it is for me to see how some people are so determined to share this gift because they know it's a gift and can be so freeing. Literacy is seen as dangerous in the hands of the wrong people, as it always has been, but the people who withhold this knowledge are the ones who are dangerous to me:
"The prisoner in the Mayor's house was teaching women how to read and write far more than poetry. She was showing them how to inscribe their lives on the pages of history, how to decipher motives, inscribe actions, interpret the world. She was giving them the tools by which to be autonomous."
"They listened as she told them how languages and marriages were bridges, merely, between man and woman, tongue and ear; how they were the means by which to build, in which to house, on which to raise new meanings between human beings. When a marriage was faithful, it gave birth to poetry, she concluded. If not, it was a dead letter overnight."
This is my second book by the author and she paints such a wonderful story of one woman who made a difference and left a lasting legacy that might not have been so obvious at the time. Highly recommended!
"If there were daughters, sisters, wives in these pages, it's only because we cannot be read whole. We come to the last chapter split in parts, Beloved; we come scattered in fragments, torn. There is no such thing as a complete woman in this world."
Most of my favourite fiction books have a strong feminist element. This is the kind of book I adore; stories of women refusing to accept traditional or patriarchal values and vowing to live the lives they wish to lead regardless of society. This account is of a woman in Iranian history, a woman who "read too much.” The title reminded me of the Stefan Bollman book, "Women Who Read Are Dangerous/ Les Femmes Qui Lisent Sont Dangereuses." The woman who read too much was the poetess from Qazvin, Tahirih Qurratu'l-Ayn, who challenged the status quo so spectacularly, so much so that it made her seem dangerous to those in power, and she was eventually put on trial for heresy.
In this book reading too much was just reading, plain and simple. This is Iran in the 19th Century, and religion as well as patriarchy hid the roles and voices of women in historical events. This book presents voices of other women who were somehow involved in the poetess’ trial for heresy:
"But by the time she was arrested in the first winter of the young Shah's reign, both her admirers and detractors were forced to agree that none of the traditional names of womankind could sum her up. She was admitted to be the calamity of the age."
You can't help but be reminded of how women have often been the scapegoats in history. In this time period, the Shah’s regime was experiencing famine, public executions, tortures, and treason trials. But a woman who reads and teaches other women to read will be the talk of the town instead of some of the more heinous events taking place.
In the end, reading meant more than just reading words in books; it also meant reading people, situations, and circumstances. And the more I learn about literacy being denied to certain groups over time, the more amazing it is for me to see how some people are so determined to share this gift because they know it's a gift and can be so freeing. Literacy is seen as dangerous in the hands of the wrong people, as it always has been, but the people who withhold this knowledge are the ones who are dangerous to me:
"The prisoner in the Mayor's house was teaching women how to read and write far more than poetry. She was showing them how to inscribe their lives on the pages of history, how to decipher motives, inscribe actions, interpret the world. She was giving them the tools by which to be autonomous."
"They listened as she told them how languages and marriages were bridges, merely, between man and woman, tongue and ear; how they were the means by which to build, in which to house, on which to raise new meanings between human beings. When a marriage was faithful, it gave birth to poetry, she concluded. If not, it was a dead letter overnight."
This is my second book by the author and she paints such a wonderful story of one woman who made a difference and left a lasting legacy that might not have been so obvious at the time. Highly recommended!
"If there were daughters, sisters, wives in these pages, it's only because we cannot be read whole. We come to the last chapter split in parts, Beloved; we come scattered in fragments, torn. There is no such thing as a complete woman in this world."
August 11, 2017
The Woman Who Read too Much has been a truly wonderful surprise as I have never read any of Bahíyyih Nakhjavání's writing before, nor have I read anything about Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn, the 19th c. Iranian theologian and advocate for women's literacy who was fleshed out to become the model for the titular poetess. What an exciting discovery on both counts. The action of this historically based fiction occurs during the second half of the 19th century and is bookended by assassination attempts on the then-Shah.
Nakhjavání has chosen an interesting organizational technique for this book, one that is at times confusing, but ultimately, for me, very successful. She has divided her story into four books, each written from the point of view, if not always the voice, of one of the woman in this story. First is the Book of the Mother (of the Shah), followed by the Book of the Wife (of the Mayor), then the Book of the Sister (of the Shah), and finally the Book of the Daughter. Together, these tell the stories of the primary characters and events of that half century in Persia and of the woman who dared to read and teach other women of their religion and the world and their place in it. Events slowly become more understandable as each book is revealed. In spite of occasional confusion for the reader as time passes forward then back, the major events remain constant, the Poetess of Qazvin remains and central questions of womanhood remain.
When the Mullah was found stabbed in the mosque in
the last year of the old king's life, they said the daughter
of the house had done it...
The daughter of the house had said too many things. If a
woman put so much into words, the gossips whispered,
perhaps it was because she wanted it all to happen. If she
could read the future so easily, perhaps she had written it.
Female literacy was dangerous and the prime suspect was
nothing if not literate. Heaven only knew how many men
of learning she had destroyed already, just by putting pen
to paper. Her erudition could lay low several generations.
But the worst of it was, if she could write, what was to
stop her from reading history too, to the detriment of all
mankind? The most sacrilegious crime, according to the
priests, was interpretation. (p241-242)
The author also uses an arch and ironic tone as well as some very effective sarcasm, most notably in the Book of the Mother. I found this a major plus while reading as it added to the character of this woman. In addition, there is a helpful afterword that provides the general history upon which this novel is based. And, in addition to an extensive list of further reading, there is a helpful "Chronology of Corpses" to help readers keep a mental timeline of regime changes, assassinations, riots, and murders that affected the kingdom of Persia during the time of this novel, 1847-1896. As I indicated earlier, the author carried her ironic tone throughout the book!
I will end this with one final excerpt from the book.
Her legacy to us was that uncertain, the future of
women in Persia that precarious. It hung on a prayer.
To read is to pray, she used to tell us: to write is to
trust. Illiteracy is fear. She wanted us to be fearless,
to see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears
and read the books of creation and revelation for
ourselves. She taught us to take risks.
If a daughter cannot move for fear of error, for terror
of doing wrong, she used to say, let her give her body
to the northern winds a little more each day,
beseeching aid from the Unfathomable, the Unknown,
beseeching courage from the Uncreated.
If a daughter cannot dream at night for frustration,
she used to tell us, let her sleep with her face turned
south, seeking relief from the Most-Merciful, the Clear.
If a daughter tastes bile on her tongue and bitterness
in swallowing, let her lift her palms to the western
skies and ask assistance from the Limpid, the All-Wise.
And if a daughter cannot breathe on rising because of
filial expectations, let her address her dawn prayers to
the Unconstrained, the Unrestrained, the Wild.
(p309-310)
I highly recommend this book to those interested in reading historical novels based in the Middle East, here from an author of Persian background. This is a fascinating story,
Nakhjavání has chosen an interesting organizational technique for this book, one that is at times confusing, but ultimately, for me, very successful. She has divided her story into four books, each written from the point of view, if not always the voice, of one of the woman in this story. First is the Book of the Mother (of the Shah), followed by the Book of the Wife (of the Mayor), then the Book of the Sister (of the Shah), and finally the Book of the Daughter. Together, these tell the stories of the primary characters and events of that half century in Persia and of the woman who dared to read and teach other women of their religion and the world and their place in it. Events slowly become more understandable as each book is revealed. In spite of occasional confusion for the reader as time passes forward then back, the major events remain constant, the Poetess of Qazvin remains and central questions of womanhood remain.
When the Mullah was found stabbed in the mosque in
the last year of the old king's life, they said the daughter
of the house had done it...
The daughter of the house had said too many things. If a
woman put so much into words, the gossips whispered,
perhaps it was because she wanted it all to happen. If she
could read the future so easily, perhaps she had written it.
Female literacy was dangerous and the prime suspect was
nothing if not literate. Heaven only knew how many men
of learning she had destroyed already, just by putting pen
to paper. Her erudition could lay low several generations.
But the worst of it was, if she could write, what was to
stop her from reading history too, to the detriment of all
mankind? The most sacrilegious crime, according to the
priests, was interpretation. (p241-242)
The author also uses an arch and ironic tone as well as some very effective sarcasm, most notably in the Book of the Mother. I found this a major plus while reading as it added to the character of this woman. In addition, there is a helpful afterword that provides the general history upon which this novel is based. And, in addition to an extensive list of further reading, there is a helpful "Chronology of Corpses" to help readers keep a mental timeline of regime changes, assassinations, riots, and murders that affected the kingdom of Persia during the time of this novel, 1847-1896. As I indicated earlier, the author carried her ironic tone throughout the book!
I will end this with one final excerpt from the book.
Her legacy to us was that uncertain, the future of
women in Persia that precarious. It hung on a prayer.
To read is to pray, she used to tell us: to write is to
trust. Illiteracy is fear. She wanted us to be fearless,
to see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears
and read the books of creation and revelation for
ourselves. She taught us to take risks.
If a daughter cannot move for fear of error, for terror
of doing wrong, she used to say, let her give her body
to the northern winds a little more each day,
beseeching aid from the Unfathomable, the Unknown,
beseeching courage from the Uncreated.
If a daughter cannot dream at night for frustration,
she used to tell us, let her sleep with her face turned
south, seeking relief from the Most-Merciful, the Clear.
If a daughter tastes bile on her tongue and bitterness
in swallowing, let her lift her palms to the western
skies and ask assistance from the Limpid, the All-Wise.
And if a daughter cannot breathe on rising because of
filial expectations, let her address her dawn prayers to
the Unconstrained, the Unrestrained, the Wild.
(p309-310)
I highly recommend this book to those interested in reading historical novels based in the Middle East, here from an author of Persian background. This is a fascinating story,
July 10, 2021
4.5
I started this novel for a group read with Reem and others before starting A Ghost in the Throat, which I finished the day before. At some point I realized the two books were dealing with some of the same themes: women being defined as their roles; women being erased from history. As if the reading gods wanted to emphasize the comparison, I then came upon a quoted passage in the nonfictional A Ghost in the Throat that describes a perhaps mentally ill man costuming as “the Shah of Persia.” The reading gods make me smile.
Nakhjavání doesn’t give anyone in her historical novel a name, not even the men; and her whole story is a female non-erasure, focusing on the wives, mothers, sisters, daughters (as all women are). I was especially drawn to the sister of the Shah. I also appreciated that the theme of “reading” had as much to do with reading people and situations as it did with reading texts, though of course being well-versed in the latter can lead to the former.
The story is not told chronologically. Time loops back on itself constantly, but it’s rarely confusing. The technique served two purposes for me: the illustration of nothing changing, no matter when events happen; and a preparing of the reader for even more brutalities. With the latter I was reminded of how I felt about Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things.
In her afterword the author explains why she told the story “backwards,” as she says. I think she’s selling herself short—it’s much more complex than just a backwards telling. Her explanation for why she did so has nothing to do with my reasoning in the above paragraph.
I started this novel for a group read with Reem and others before starting A Ghost in the Throat, which I finished the day before. At some point I realized the two books were dealing with some of the same themes: women being defined as their roles; women being erased from history. As if the reading gods wanted to emphasize the comparison, I then came upon a quoted passage in the nonfictional A Ghost in the Throat that describes a perhaps mentally ill man costuming as “the Shah of Persia.” The reading gods make me smile.
Nakhjavání doesn’t give anyone in her historical novel a name, not even the men; and her whole story is a female non-erasure, focusing on the wives, mothers, sisters, daughters (as all women are). I was especially drawn to the sister of the Shah. I also appreciated that the theme of “reading” had as much to do with reading people and situations as it did with reading texts, though of course being well-versed in the latter can lead to the former.
The story is not told chronologically. Time loops back on itself constantly, but it’s rarely confusing. The technique served two purposes for me: the illustration of nothing changing, no matter when events happen; and a preparing of the reader for even more brutalities. With the latter I was reminded of how I felt about Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things.
In her afterword the author explains why she told the story “backwards,” as she says. I think she’s selling herself short—it’s much more complex than just a backwards telling. Her explanation for why she did so has nothing to do with my reasoning in the above paragraph.
May 17, 2016
Because of its title, I was destined to read this novel. I am the woman who reads too much. But for the poetess of Qazvin, her excessive reading brought tragedy and an early death, while for me it is saving my sanity.
Let me say right off that this is an extremely challenging read. Its larger than life characters go by several names and titles each. It is set in mid 19th century Persia. It is told from four different points of view. The time sequence is a tangled and overlapping web. If I hadn't turned to the back of the book and read the author's Afterword first, something I rarely do, and then constantly referred to her "Chronology of Corpses" placed after the Afterword, I would have been as confused and frustrated as the rest of my reading group members were.
Because I used those two aids as much as I did, I was rewarded beyond my expectations. The poetess of Qazvin was most definitely a saint and though her ending was violent and grim, she did as much for women and mankind as most saints do. She was blessed to be born to a father who believed women should be taught to read and encouraged to write, in a time and culture when Persian women were meant to be kept illiterate.
Being a literate woman who studied the Islamic scriptures she was tireless in working to adapt Islamic practices to include rights for women. She was fearless and beautiful but little concerned for her own comfort or happiness or safety. She taught women of all classes to read and to think for themselves.
If one is to read and assimilate Bahiyyih Nakhjavani's extraordinary novel, one must set aside most of her reading habits and expectations and desire to see inside both the palaces and hovels of Iranian culture. In any culture, where women or races or religious beliefs or economic conditions enforce inequality and oppression while using violence to quell discontents, the victims of it develop coping strategies. This is true of the lowliest corpse washer, of the inhabitants of the palace harems, of the mother of the Shah.
The author has woven a tapestry of words and images to portray the many ways in which all of the above might play out. The reward for me in deciphering her art and intent was a deeper understanding of the drama that is our modern world or even perhaps that of humanity throughout all time.
By the end I felt something like enlightenment. I could see the big picture, the stakes, the opponents and the goals. It made me want to read more, to better understand myself and my fellow humans, and I felt very happy to be who I am. To me, that is what great literature should do.
Let me say right off that this is an extremely challenging read. Its larger than life characters go by several names and titles each. It is set in mid 19th century Persia. It is told from four different points of view. The time sequence is a tangled and overlapping web. If I hadn't turned to the back of the book and read the author's Afterword first, something I rarely do, and then constantly referred to her "Chronology of Corpses" placed after the Afterword, I would have been as confused and frustrated as the rest of my reading group members were.
Because I used those two aids as much as I did, I was rewarded beyond my expectations. The poetess of Qazvin was most definitely a saint and though her ending was violent and grim, she did as much for women and mankind as most saints do. She was blessed to be born to a father who believed women should be taught to read and encouraged to write, in a time and culture when Persian women were meant to be kept illiterate.
Being a literate woman who studied the Islamic scriptures she was tireless in working to adapt Islamic practices to include rights for women. She was fearless and beautiful but little concerned for her own comfort or happiness or safety. She taught women of all classes to read and to think for themselves.
If one is to read and assimilate Bahiyyih Nakhjavani's extraordinary novel, one must set aside most of her reading habits and expectations and desire to see inside both the palaces and hovels of Iranian culture. In any culture, where women or races or religious beliefs or economic conditions enforce inequality and oppression while using violence to quell discontents, the victims of it develop coping strategies. This is true of the lowliest corpse washer, of the inhabitants of the palace harems, of the mother of the Shah.
The author has woven a tapestry of words and images to portray the many ways in which all of the above might play out. The reward for me in deciphering her art and intent was a deeper understanding of the drama that is our modern world or even perhaps that of humanity throughout all time.
By the end I felt something like enlightenment. I could see the big picture, the stakes, the opponents and the goals. It made me want to read more, to better understand myself and my fellow humans, and I felt very happy to be who I am. To me, that is what great literature should do.
February 20, 2018
3.5 elegant stars
The Woman Who Read Too Much is a novel inspired by the life of Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn---a hugely mysterious figure about whom even less would be known were it not for the “foreign diplomats, travellers, and scholars” who spread her infamy into the West during the 19th century. It is known that she was born into and educated by a family of mullahs who apparently took things too far. She pursued independent thought and sharp reasonings which emboldened her to challenge the religious orthodoxy of the day as well as to forget her place as a woman. Her unforgivable “crimes” included assuming theological leadership and removing her veil before an audience of men. She rejected sharia law.
The story of “the woman who read too much”---or, the poetess of Qazvin as she is usually called throughout---is told in four sections: The Book of the Mother (of the Shah), The Book of the Wife (of the Mayor), The Book of the Sister (of the Shah) and The Book of the Daughter (of the Poetess). It is from these various angles that the reader gets a sense of the constructs of power amongst the men and women of the political and royal classes of Persia during the last 50 years of the 1800s.
Unlike women of a certain class in the western world---for whom the practice of literacy often included writing autobiographical documents as well as letters, poetry, and novels that served as testimony to the attitudes and lifestyles of their time---it was not until the 20th century that Iranian women began to write their stories. Prior to that, Persian women’s lives---their names, their roles, their gifts and talents were not traceable, not detectable; not a part of the “official” history of their country.
I wanted to like this book more than I did. The writing is compelling and I never felt as if I didn’t want to know what was going to happen next. There is a lot of treachery and violence and no characters or counter-stories to relieve or rub against those acts and themes. I grew frustrated with not feeling able to access anyone at a soul level: everyone is only identified by their success or failure to fulfill their societal role. The poetess of Qazvin never emerges as a full woman. I tired of reading how she may have been here or there doing this or that but that no one could be sure. The author’s narrative writes both forward and backward at the same time, and while I admire her strategy in theory, I found myself losing threads.
What I enjoyed most about the book are the many radical attributes assigned to literacy sprinkled throughout. Bahiyyih Nakhjavani’s labor of love shines light around the subject of a figure like Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn to show that “The world changed when definitions of womankind were altered.” Toward the book’s end, the gift of the poetess of Qazvin - "the woman who read too much”--- is summed-up this way:
“To read is to pray, she used to tell us: to write is to trust. Illiteracy is fear. She wanted us to be fearless, to see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears and read the books of creation and revelation for ourselves. She taught us to take risks.”
The Woman Who Read Too Much is a novel inspired by the life of Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn---a hugely mysterious figure about whom even less would be known were it not for the “foreign diplomats, travellers, and scholars” who spread her infamy into the West during the 19th century. It is known that she was born into and educated by a family of mullahs who apparently took things too far. She pursued independent thought and sharp reasonings which emboldened her to challenge the religious orthodoxy of the day as well as to forget her place as a woman. Her unforgivable “crimes” included assuming theological leadership and removing her veil before an audience of men. She rejected sharia law.
The story of “the woman who read too much”---or, the poetess of Qazvin as she is usually called throughout---is told in four sections: The Book of the Mother (of the Shah), The Book of the Wife (of the Mayor), The Book of the Sister (of the Shah) and The Book of the Daughter (of the Poetess). It is from these various angles that the reader gets a sense of the constructs of power amongst the men and women of the political and royal classes of Persia during the last 50 years of the 1800s.
Unlike women of a certain class in the western world---for whom the practice of literacy often included writing autobiographical documents as well as letters, poetry, and novels that served as testimony to the attitudes and lifestyles of their time---it was not until the 20th century that Iranian women began to write their stories. Prior to that, Persian women’s lives---their names, their roles, their gifts and talents were not traceable, not detectable; not a part of the “official” history of their country.
I wanted to like this book more than I did. The writing is compelling and I never felt as if I didn’t want to know what was going to happen next. There is a lot of treachery and violence and no characters or counter-stories to relieve or rub against those acts and themes. I grew frustrated with not feeling able to access anyone at a soul level: everyone is only identified by their success or failure to fulfill their societal role. The poetess of Qazvin never emerges as a full woman. I tired of reading how she may have been here or there doing this or that but that no one could be sure. The author’s narrative writes both forward and backward at the same time, and while I admire her strategy in theory, I found myself losing threads.
What I enjoyed most about the book are the many radical attributes assigned to literacy sprinkled throughout. Bahiyyih Nakhjavani’s labor of love shines light around the subject of a figure like Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn to show that “The world changed when definitions of womankind were altered.” Toward the book’s end, the gift of the poetess of Qazvin - "the woman who read too much”--- is summed-up this way:
“To read is to pray, she used to tell us: to write is to trust. Illiteracy is fear. She wanted us to be fearless, to see with our own eyes, hear with our own ears and read the books of creation and revelation for ourselves. She taught us to take risks.”
July 10, 2017
The Woman Who Read too Much by Bahíyyih Nakhjavání is based on the life of the 19th century Persian poet, theologian, radical thinker, and staunch advocate for women’s rights, Tahirih Qurratu’l-Ayn. The novel pays homage to Qurratu’l-Ayn for challenging orthodox interpretations of Islam and for her insistence on a woman’s right to literacy. Qurratu’l-Ayn, referred to throughout the novel as the poetess of Qazvin, is a courageous, brilliant, and stunningly beautiful woman who refuses to compromise her principles or submit to the role of a subordinate female as dictated by her patriarchal culture.
Grounding her advocacy of women’s rights on Islamic texts, the poetess of Qazvin debates the clerics and mullahs sent to interrogate her, outsmarting them at every turn. She incurs the wrath of her husband because of her superior intelligence. She challenges the cultural precepts designed to restrict a woman’s intellectual development by citing Islamic religious texts, which impose no such restrictions on women. In short, the poetess of Qazvin defies cultural norms and threatens the status quo by being a woman who is not only literate but is also educated, intelligent, articulate, outspoken, fearless, and a religious scholar.
The men responsible for her incarceration and brutal murder are threatened by her intelligence and ability to unmask their motives and behaviors. In times of famine, public executions, assassinations, torture, and the Shah’s callous indifference to the suffering of his people, the all-consuming focus of those in power is what to do with a woman who reads and who teaches other women to read to provide them with tools to think for themselves.
Nakhjavani is to be credited for recognizing that opposition to pioneers frequently comes from the very people they are trying to elevate. The Shah’s mother is particularly virulent in her opposition to the poetess of Qazvin because she understands a literate female with the unmitigated gall to think for herself poses a serious threat to the status quo. The younger sister who ultimately betrays the poetess is fueled by vindictive jealousy.
The novel is in four parts: The Book of the Mother (the Shah’s mother); The Book of the Wife (the mayor’s wife); The Book of the Sister (the Shah’s sister); and The Book of the Daughter (the poetess of Qazvin). Nakhjavani employs interesting techniques in telling the story. None of the characters are named. Instead, they are identified by their roles, perhaps to suggest their universality. The non-linear narrative shifts backwards and forwards in time. The movement is spiral, circling back to the same event but moving upward as it does so with the addition of details, layers of meaning, and differing perspectives.
Nakhjavani sustains the readers’ attention with her storytelling technique and beautifully crafted sentences. Her words create patterns by weaving in and out through shifting time sequences. With irony and humor, the narrative voice exposes the hypocrisies, contradictions, willful ignorance, greed, and sheer brutality of those persecuting the heroine.
This is a novel about the power of literacy to subvert authority by undermining systemic efforts to oppress a people. It is about who has control over whom. Political events of the past and present are replete with examples of oppressive regimes exerting power over others by demonizing, persecuting, ridiculing and eradicating the opposition; engaging in censorship; curbing debate; stifling freedom of expression; seeking scapegoats for political unrest, and curtailing the education and movement of women. Nakhjavani’s novel about the struggles facing a pioneering advocate for women’s rights in 19th Century Persia is as relevant today as it was then. Ultimately this novel is about the struggle for autonomy and self-determination.
An inspiring and compelling read. Highly recommended.
Grounding her advocacy of women’s rights on Islamic texts, the poetess of Qazvin debates the clerics and mullahs sent to interrogate her, outsmarting them at every turn. She incurs the wrath of her husband because of her superior intelligence. She challenges the cultural precepts designed to restrict a woman’s intellectual development by citing Islamic religious texts, which impose no such restrictions on women. In short, the poetess of Qazvin defies cultural norms and threatens the status quo by being a woman who is not only literate but is also educated, intelligent, articulate, outspoken, fearless, and a religious scholar.
The men responsible for her incarceration and brutal murder are threatened by her intelligence and ability to unmask their motives and behaviors. In times of famine, public executions, assassinations, torture, and the Shah’s callous indifference to the suffering of his people, the all-consuming focus of those in power is what to do with a woman who reads and who teaches other women to read to provide them with tools to think for themselves.
Nakhjavani is to be credited for recognizing that opposition to pioneers frequently comes from the very people they are trying to elevate. The Shah’s mother is particularly virulent in her opposition to the poetess of Qazvin because she understands a literate female with the unmitigated gall to think for herself poses a serious threat to the status quo. The younger sister who ultimately betrays the poetess is fueled by vindictive jealousy.
The novel is in four parts: The Book of the Mother (the Shah’s mother); The Book of the Wife (the mayor’s wife); The Book of the Sister (the Shah’s sister); and The Book of the Daughter (the poetess of Qazvin). Nakhjavani employs interesting techniques in telling the story. None of the characters are named. Instead, they are identified by their roles, perhaps to suggest their universality. The non-linear narrative shifts backwards and forwards in time. The movement is spiral, circling back to the same event but moving upward as it does so with the addition of details, layers of meaning, and differing perspectives.
Nakhjavani sustains the readers’ attention with her storytelling technique and beautifully crafted sentences. Her words create patterns by weaving in and out through shifting time sequences. With irony and humor, the narrative voice exposes the hypocrisies, contradictions, willful ignorance, greed, and sheer brutality of those persecuting the heroine.
This is a novel about the power of literacy to subvert authority by undermining systemic efforts to oppress a people. It is about who has control over whom. Political events of the past and present are replete with examples of oppressive regimes exerting power over others by demonizing, persecuting, ridiculing and eradicating the opposition; engaging in censorship; curbing debate; stifling freedom of expression; seeking scapegoats for political unrest, and curtailing the education and movement of women. Nakhjavani’s novel about the struggles facing a pioneering advocate for women’s rights in 19th Century Persia is as relevant today as it was then. Ultimately this novel is about the struggle for autonomy and self-determination.
An inspiring and compelling read. Highly recommended.
November 23, 2015
I wanted to love this, but I just didn't. Slow. Meandering storyline and jumbled timelines frustrated a potentially interesting story with a vitally important message about female literacy. Disappointing.
March 28, 2016
While I like the idea of a book about an historical person who actually fought for women's education in 19th Century Persia, I was disappointed by the author's writing style. Many things were repeated in a confusing way and the storyline was difficult to be followed. I had the impression that the author wanted to show her artistic and writing skills by writing complicated chapters and an by using an alternative narration, but that the trick didn't work. The books could have been way more interesting by adding clear events and storyline. A wasted occasion.
February 5, 2008
Un texte superbe sur la condition de la femme au sein de la culture musulmane. En Iran, au XIXème siècle, une poétesse est emprisonnée pour ses prises de position. C'est en effet elle qui a demandé le divorce et quitté son mari.
Sur ordre du Shah, elle se retrouve donc enfermée dans la résidence du maire. Mais sa présence n'est pas sans susciter des questions. Cette femme, plus cultivée que les hommes qui l'entourent, est dangereuse aux yeux de ces derniers.
Autour d'elle, le destin de plusieurs personnages va se sceller.
Sur ordre du Shah, elle se retrouve donc enfermée dans la résidence du maire. Mais sa présence n'est pas sans susciter des questions. Cette femme, plus cultivée que les hommes qui l'entourent, est dangereuse aux yeux de ces derniers.
Autour d'elle, le destin de plusieurs personnages va se sceller.
may-read
July 26, 2024The title seems like an oxymoron.
Read
July 13, 2021You always knew she was going to die. The question was when, how, and how many was she going to take with her. I was first of all enchanted. Secondly, I learned a lot. Finally, it was a great great story. And oh the poetry! To find out how many succumbed to the brain that ran the tongue of the Poetess of Qazvin you really have to read The Woman Who Read too Much
For a really good descriptive review, go here: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
For the best lyrical opening to any review, ever, you cannot go past Fionualla: this one happens to be about this book! https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
June 15, 2017
Sono delusa.... Ero rimasta affascinata dalla quarta di copertina ed ho iniziato a leggere con molto entusiasmo... Quattro punti di vista differenti che narrano la medesima storia, quella della poetessa di Qazvin,un personaggio scomodo quanto potente.
Belli i temi toccati, l'emancipazione femminile, il contesto storico interessante, la visione dell'occidente in una Persia del 1800, il coraggio e l'intelligenza di una donna che sceglie di non essere schiava.... ma il libro è scritto davvero con i piedi! Troppi intrecci, troppe ripetizioni, troppi sbalzi temporali, troppo moralismo!!!
Si è persa un'ottima occasione di raccontare nel migliore dei modi una storia vera che avrebbe meritato uno stile decisamente diverso!
Belli i temi toccati, l'emancipazione femminile, il contesto storico interessante, la visione dell'occidente in una Persia del 1800, il coraggio e l'intelligenza di una donna che sceglie di non essere schiava.... ma il libro è scritto davvero con i piedi! Troppi intrecci, troppe ripetizioni, troppi sbalzi temporali, troppo moralismo!!!
Si è persa un'ottima occasione di raccontare nel migliore dei modi una storia vera che avrebbe meritato uno stile decisamente diverso!
December 29, 2016
Táhirih (Arabic: "The Pure One") or Qurratu'l-`Ayn (Arabic: "Solace/Consolation of the Eyes") are both titles of Fátimih Baraghání (1814 or 1817 - August 16-27, 1852), an influential poet and theologian of the Bábí Faith in Iran. Her life, influence, and execution made her a key figure of the religion. Bahíyyih Nakhjavání has written a novel that takes the raw facts of Táhirih's life and creates a dreamlike meditation on her influence on women's rights, famously stating to the Grand Vazir "You can kill me as soon as you like but you cannot stop the emancipation of women."
July 12, 2015
I desperately wanted to like this book- having loved the Saddlebag. But the book is slow and thick like treacle- pages and pages of the same words, slowly swirling towards a conclusion we already know.
July 10, 2021
Cleverly crafted. Deeply disturbing knowing that it was based on real life, Tahirah Qurrat'ul Ayn. Nakhjavani writes, " I wrote a fiction inspired by the life of Tahirah rather than a biography based on her life". We owe it to Tahirah to read #TheWomanWhoReadTooMuch #Nakhjavani21 !!
February 2, 2016
While this novel has rich prose, the story seemed somewhat repetitive, slow and grating. I am wondering if I didn't have the patience without the cultural knowledge or context. The book was "inspired by a nineteenth-century Persian woman, Tahirith Qurrwtu'l-Ayn, a renowned poet and theologian, radical and outcast." It revolved back and forth upon itself about the misunderstanding, mistrust, and implications of an Englishwoman who could read and had knowledge and religion. The Poetess of Qazvin, her husband a theologian, was believed to prophetize the future with the assassination of the Shah, the hanging of the Mayor for starving the women and children and ruthlessly executing prisoners in coldblood, the murder of the Grand Vazir in the bathhouse of Fins, and the stabbing of the Mullah in the mosque. The story is told from the perspective of the Shah's mother, the Mayor's wife who also died at the hands of the Mayor, the Shah's sister who was married to the Grand Vazir, and Mullah's daughter of the house.
This book is written with a strong tone of feminism. This is a rather odd story and likely not for the majority of readers. I loved the richness and vivid descriptions of the prose but not the plot.
This book is written with a strong tone of feminism. This is a rather odd story and likely not for the majority of readers. I loved the richness and vivid descriptions of the prose but not the plot.
May 18, 2013
Dunque, era stato solo per quello? [...] Tutti quei complotti e quelle congiure, arresti e interrogatori, accoltellamenti, avvelenamenti, gelosie e recriminazioni, non erano stati altro che racconti, nient'altro che storie?
Creazione e rivelazione non hanno niente a che fare con tutto questo. Lasciate che i preti facciano suonare le loro campane. Questi libri non sono sacri, anche se ci sono dentro delle madri. Nessuno di essi è il Grande Libro di tutti i libri. Le storie non hanno simili presunzioni. Non sono dettate dagli angeli ma scritte con sudore e sangue. Anche se in queste pagine ci sono figlie, sorelle e mogli, è solo perché noi arriviamo all'ultima soglia fatti in pezzi, ridotti in frammenti dispersi, sparpagliati in cocci. Non possiamo essere tutti interi. Non esiste in questo mondo una cosa come una donna completa. Né un racconto che dica tutto.
Creazione e rivelazione non hanno niente a che fare con tutto questo. Lasciate che i preti facciano suonare le loro campane. Questi libri non sono sacri, anche se ci sono dentro delle madri. Nessuno di essi è il Grande Libro di tutti i libri. Le storie non hanno simili presunzioni. Non sono dettate dagli angeli ma scritte con sudore e sangue. Anche se in queste pagine ci sono figlie, sorelle e mogli, è solo perché noi arriviamo all'ultima soglia fatti in pezzi, ridotti in frammenti dispersi, sparpagliati in cocci. Non possiamo essere tutti interi. Non esiste in questo mondo una cosa come una donna completa. Né un racconto che dica tutto.
February 12, 2016
This book is not easy to read because the reader is plunged headlong into a time and space that's unlabeled and totally unfamiliar (unless maybe you are properly schooled in the history of Iran). I picked it up because I was intrigued by a book that had been translated into so many other languages first before it was published in English. The novel is a collection of "books" written from the points of view of different female characters and their interaction about the Poetess of Qazvin, a literate woman whose poetry challenged the order of things. As you read through, you see the effects of her life on the people who meet her, even though she herself only "speaks" through a poem she wrote that others quote.
December 24, 2018
El argumento me ha encantado. Pero leí 100 páginas y 100 paginas repitiendo lo mismo sobre un hecho ocurrido (un asesinato e intrigas) y la mujer que leía solo salió en 1 párrafo… no pude seguir leyéndolo, me aburrió muchísimo. Luego eche un vistazo en los capítulos que hay en el libro y veo sigue hablando del mismo asesinato visto desde otro punto de vista.. resumen me pareció muy repetitivo y lo que yo buscaba que es la historia de la mujer apenas apareció.
Definitivamente lo abandoné.
Definitivamente lo abandoné.
December 15, 2017
Tahirih was one of the earliest feminists. Born in Persia (Iran) in the early 19th century, Tahirih bucked tradition by becoming well-educated and discussing theology with men. This book portrays the life of Tahirih as well as many of her supporters and enemies in a very interesting way. I highly recommend this book for anyone interested in feminism.
October 20, 2017
Perhaps I read this in the wrong mood, but I found the slow pace of this book really hard to get through. It's a lovely mosaic, multifaceted, quietly rebellious, interspersed with sumptuous metaphor. And for all that, I was mostly just glad to finish :/
July 1, 2024
En esta ficción histórica la autora resurge del olvido a la primera poetisa y teologa persa Tahirih Qurratu'l-ayn, una mujer muy adelantada para su época que pese a la ignorancia y analfabetismo de la mayoría de las mujeres en el siglo XIX en plena sociedad de islam no tuvo miedo de desafiar las costumbres de como debiera actuar una mujer en su sociedad , siendo perseguida y privada de su libertad hasta su muerte
Su legado era ansiar un futuro donde las mujeres fueran libres al pensar , donde hubiera sororidad entre mujeres dejando esa rivalidad absurda entre cuñadas.
De las historias que merecen ser conocidas y difundidas
Su legado era ansiar un futuro donde las mujeres fueran libres al pensar , donde hubiera sororidad entre mujeres dejando esa rivalidad absurda entre cuñadas.
De las historias que merecen ser conocidas y difundidas
July 20, 2016
"A woman should know her place."
- the grand Mullah, uncle/father-in-law of the poetess of Qazvin
This is a story about a woman who most definitely did not know her place, or rather, she rejected the "place" that her society assigned to her. The story is based on a real woman, Tahirih Qurratu'l-Ayn, the poetess of Qazvin, who lived and died in the mid 19th century in Persia, during the time of the Qajar dynasty.
The poetess was the daughter of a Mullah who took the unusual step of defying the strictures of his society and his religion by teaching his daughter to read and to think in philosophical terms. Literacy was something that was denied to Persian women, so this was a revolutionary act.
The poetess was beautiful and intelligent, possessed of a first rate mind, and she took to learning as a duckling takes to water. She learned not only to read but also to write, something that was completely unheard of in her day, and she ended up writing history as well as reading it.
Her learning led the poetess to refuse to accept traditional patriarchal values. Moreover, she was a pioneering woman who also taught other women to read. Although she married her cousin, the son of the grand Mullah, and produced four children with him, she continued to challenge religious orthodoxy. She dared to assume theological leadership herself and espoused independent thought. She rejected Sharia law. She scandalized men by removing her veil in front of them. That's when her troubles seriously started.
When her uncle/father-in-law was attacked while he was at prayer in the mosque and ultimately died of the wound to his throat, the poetess was blamed because she had prophesied about seeing him with his mouth filled with blood.
The authorities sought to arrest her, but she and her maid escaped and traveled around the country, continuing to spread literacy, until she was at last captured and taken to the home of the Mayor of Tehran for imprisonment. Even there, she continued to find ways to reach out to other women, to influence them and to spread literacy. She remained a captive, along with her young daughter, for more than three years.
These were times of treachery and unspeakable violence in Persia. There seemed to be constant famine and much of the population was ever on the brink of starvation. The Shah's regime was cruelly tyrannical, marked by torture and executions without benefit of trial of those he considered his enemies. There was an attempt to assassinate him early in his rule and the regime's retaliation, masterminded by the Mother of the Shah, was indiscriminate, destroying the innocent along with the guilty.
The imprisoned poetess continued to give warnings and predictions of dire consequences for the regime's injustices. She seemed to predict the deaths of the Mayor, the Grand Vazir, and the Shah. The poetess, in fact, was not just a reader of literature, she was a reader of people and situations and circumstances. In the end, she foresaw her own death as well, but even in death, her words continued to echo and her poems continued to be passed on to others.
I became aware of this book through reading the glowing review of it that one of my blogger buddies wrote. She loved the book, and, upon reading her review, I wanted to read the book and love it also. Sadly, I found that I could not like it as much as I was predisposed to.
The book is divided into four parts: the Book of the Mother (of the Shah); the Book of the Wife (of the Mayor); the Book of the Sister (of the Shah); and the Book of the Daughter (of the poetess). I very much enjoyed the last book, the Book of the Daughter, especially the poetry near the end, but I found the other three (and even this last one to some extent) to be written in very dense prose that was often murky to the point of being opaque for me. I found that I could not get a good sense of the characters.
Part of my problem, I think, was the author's choice to not give the characters names. She only identified them by their societal roles - Mother of Shah, Wife of Mayor, Poetess of Qazvin, etc. In the afterword, she explained that decision, but people are more than just their societal roles. They have identities and individualism beyond the boxes that we put them into and their names help to give them the dignity of those identities. Without names, the characters remained somewhat anonymous for me and it was more difficult to empathize with them.
Moreover, the writer did not label her story in time. I read for a considerable period before I finally figured out that the events occurred during the reign of Queen Victoria in England, which finally gave me a time reference. (If I had read the afterword first as my friend did, I would not have had that problem.)
But the writer jumped back and forth in time in the same chapter to describe events that occurred both late and early in the Shah's reign and with her meandering storyline, I found it very hard to keep up. The poetess of Qazvin's life was a fascinating story of an early feminist in an impossibly patriarchal society and I wanted to understand her. I just wish the story could have been told in a more straightforward fashion.
January 21, 2024
I’ll be blunt. This isn’t an easy read, nor is it a breezy fiction. Persevere and the rewards are incalculable. You will root for the poetess, even as you cringe on behalf of the sister of the shah and the simpering mayor. I could write so much more, but I want to pique readers’ curiosity as this book piqued mine.
May 8, 2017
Sin terminar.
Lo he dejado oficialmente; no digo que no lo vaya a leer y terminar nunca, pero por ahora ahí se queda, en el limbo, porque no me he visto capacitada para terminarlo. No es que no me haya gustado o que me haya horrorizado, sino que he ido perdiendo las ganas de leerlo y me cuesta mucho ponerme con él, para mi desgracia.
Mantengo lo dicho durante mi lectura del mismo (que he avanzado más desde lo último indicado, pero ya no merece la pena ni marcarlo), la autora sabe escribir de manera bonita pero no creo que sepa manejar bien la trama: ni ritmo, ni marcar las etapas en las que nos encontramos, ni atraparte y mantenerte con ganas de más, sobre todo porque en muchas ocasiones cambia de momento temporal y tienes que darte cuenta mientras lo estás leyendo de cuándo estás, además de que recurre en repetir muchas de las mismas historias desde los diferentes puntos de vista (desde el tendero, de su mujer, de la hermana del sha, de su madre, del marido de la hija, del visir...) pero no llega nunca el momento en que podemos conocer a la que da título al libro, a esa mujer, que sólo la conocemos a través de los "recuerdos" de todas esas otras personas de las que sí nos muestran su vida en diferentes momentos, pero que en ningún caso es realmente el centro de la narración sino que al final es una excusa para acabar contándote toda una época o lo que le rodea, pero a mí no me acababan de interesar algunas de esas historias, sobre todo cuando me la repiten demasiadas veces desde los diferentes puntos de vista.
Empecé este libro porque me llamaba mucho la atención el título de la novela y la sinopsis de la misma: quería saber la historia de esa mujer que se había enfrentado sola a un sistema cerrado y contrario a sí misma sin preocupación por su propia vida, sino que se enfrenta al sistema establecido, sabiendo desde el principio cuál va a ser el final, sin aceptar un posible acuerdo que le salve la vida. Eso fue lo que me hizo comenzar la novela y lo que me pareció muy interesante y muy llamativo, pero eso no sucede, no he podido conocer a esa mujer subversiva, valiente y con capacidad para cambiar todo un país y me ha dado mucha pena.
No puedo decir que el libro no esté bien escrito, la autora sabe escribir, pero no ha sido suficiente para mí y para las expectativas que me había creado (a través del título y de la sinopsis, no había escuchado antes otras opiniones) y he decidido aguantar lo más posible en la lectura del libro por si llegaba a una parte en la que viésemos la perspectiva de esa mujer, pero al final he desistido.
Espero que otros lectores lo disfruten y también espero volver a leerlo en algún momento y terminármelo.
Lo he dejado oficialmente; no digo que no lo vaya a leer y terminar nunca, pero por ahora ahí se queda, en el limbo, porque no me he visto capacitada para terminarlo. No es que no me haya gustado o que me haya horrorizado, sino que he ido perdiendo las ganas de leerlo y me cuesta mucho ponerme con él, para mi desgracia.
Mantengo lo dicho durante mi lectura del mismo (que he avanzado más desde lo último indicado, pero ya no merece la pena ni marcarlo), la autora sabe escribir de manera bonita pero no creo que sepa manejar bien la trama: ni ritmo, ni marcar las etapas en las que nos encontramos, ni atraparte y mantenerte con ganas de más, sobre todo porque en muchas ocasiones cambia de momento temporal y tienes que darte cuenta mientras lo estás leyendo de cuándo estás, además de que recurre en repetir muchas de las mismas historias desde los diferentes puntos de vista (desde el tendero, de su mujer, de la hermana del sha, de su madre, del marido de la hija, del visir...) pero no llega nunca el momento en que podemos conocer a la que da título al libro, a esa mujer, que sólo la conocemos a través de los "recuerdos" de todas esas otras personas de las que sí nos muestran su vida en diferentes momentos, pero que en ningún caso es realmente el centro de la narración sino que al final es una excusa para acabar contándote toda una época o lo que le rodea, pero a mí no me acababan de interesar algunas de esas historias, sobre todo cuando me la repiten demasiadas veces desde los diferentes puntos de vista.
Empecé este libro porque me llamaba mucho la atención el título de la novela y la sinopsis de la misma: quería saber la historia de esa mujer que se había enfrentado sola a un sistema cerrado y contrario a sí misma sin preocupación por su propia vida, sino que se enfrenta al sistema establecido, sabiendo desde el principio cuál va a ser el final, sin aceptar un posible acuerdo que le salve la vida. Eso fue lo que me hizo comenzar la novela y lo que me pareció muy interesante y muy llamativo, pero eso no sucede, no he podido conocer a esa mujer subversiva, valiente y con capacidad para cambiar todo un país y me ha dado mucha pena.
No puedo decir que el libro no esté bien escrito, la autora sabe escribir, pero no ha sido suficiente para mí y para las expectativas que me había creado (a través del título y de la sinopsis, no había escuchado antes otras opiniones) y he decidido aguantar lo más posible en la lectura del libro por si llegaba a una parte en la que viésemos la perspectiva de esa mujer, pero al final he desistido.
Espero que otros lectores lo disfruten y también espero volver a leerlo en algún momento y terminármelo.
September 12, 2017
I realize my assessment of this book is far out of step with most readers but I had several serious problems with it. First of all, the time-scale and sequence of events is so badly scrambled that it becomes almost impossible to follow the plot; there are several events that could not possibly have occurred as as described. Likewise, the actions of more than one character are at times blended together so seamlessly, even within a single sentence that it makes no sense. This is not being clever, it's being sloppy.
And then there's the problem of characters: When ALL of the main characters are venal, self-seeking, vicious, brutal, totally engaged in power struggles, there's no relief, no bright star, no breath of fresh air to overcome the stench of cruelty and misery. Of course, you will argue that the Poetess is a good person, the heroine of the piece, the individual around whom the tale revolves; but that's just my point: the tale revolves and revolves around her but she remains an almost mythic figure. We hear of her qualities second or third hand, she's a thing of rumor. But she never emerges as a whole person and she is frankly not believable.
The concept was very promising -- a mysterious figure of legendary accomplishment, a setting in 19th century Persia, palace intrigues, popular uprisings, meddling European powers. But there were so many flaws in execution that for me it failed to come off.
And then there's the problem of characters: When ALL of the main characters are venal, self-seeking, vicious, brutal, totally engaged in power struggles, there's no relief, no bright star, no breath of fresh air to overcome the stench of cruelty and misery. Of course, you will argue that the Poetess is a good person, the heroine of the piece, the individual around whom the tale revolves; but that's just my point: the tale revolves and revolves around her but she remains an almost mythic figure. We hear of her qualities second or third hand, she's a thing of rumor. But she never emerges as a whole person and she is frankly not believable.
The concept was very promising -- a mysterious figure of legendary accomplishment, a setting in 19th century Persia, palace intrigues, popular uprisings, meddling European powers. But there were so many flaws in execution that for me it failed to come off.
December 4, 2015
Dense prose, the specific gravity of say, the planet Jupiter [ if that is still classed as a planet]. But the subject matter is the downer. Bring a rusty razor blade for the human condition looks hopeless in the mideast. After all, they have yet to have plumbing.
My appetite has dwindled for tales of how awful certain mideastern cultures are. When are they going to catch up? What's with the willful ignorance?
The most striking thing about this tale is how little society has changed in Iran since the 19th century; in fact, it has slid backward. Newspaper articles, CURRENT ARTICLES, discuss in all seriousness as a deep theological issue:
to whom one may sell a chicken after one has had sex with it ? ( The discussion assumes all-male readership). As humorist Dave Barry (USA) would say, I am not making this up.
Willful ignorance has no charm, and I'm not reading any more of this. Made it to page 129. Enough!
I really don't care if the PC crowd, the haters, flock here. Have at it. Go live there, why don't you.
My appetite has dwindled for tales of how awful certain mideastern cultures are. When are they going to catch up? What's with the willful ignorance?
The most striking thing about this tale is how little society has changed in Iran since the 19th century; in fact, it has slid backward. Newspaper articles, CURRENT ARTICLES, discuss in all seriousness as a deep theological issue:
to whom one may sell a chicken after one has had sex with it ? ( The discussion assumes all-male readership). As humorist Dave Barry (USA) would say, I am not making this up.
Willful ignorance has no charm, and I'm not reading any more of this. Made it to page 129. Enough!
I really don't care if the PC crowd, the haters, flock here. Have at it. Go live there, why don't you.
October 6, 2016
Quattro stelle piene per questo romanzo particolare. Dal titolo ci si potrebbe aspettare la storia di una donna, in realtà ci troviamo davanti alla storia di un intero paese. Il libro è diviso in più parti e tocca i punti di vista di tutte la persona che hanno a vuto contati con questa donna coraggiosa. Ma si tratta anche della storia di tutte le donne, nella Persia ottocentesca. Essere donna era difficile, eppure questa figura coraggiosa ha sfidato le convezioni di un paese maschilista e ha aperto la strada alle donne nei secoli a venire. Un libro strano, che va letto con attenzione. Pagina dopo pagina, le vicende di questa eroina del suo tempo, conquistano e incantano. Come i versi immortali lasciati dalla poetessa di Qazvin.
July 23, 2021
La traduzione secondo me non ha facilitato la lettura.
E' uno di quei libri il cui genere ti deve piacere. Sicuramente interessante dal punto di vista storico ma ahimè non nelle mie corde.
Quattro punti di vista di uno stesso accaduto attraverso quattro donne del loro tempo.
Mi dispiace davvero abbandonarlo ma a rilento, e con grandi pause non riesco a fare diversamente.
E' uno di quei libri il cui genere ti deve piacere. Sicuramente interessante dal punto di vista storico ma ahimè non nelle mie corde.
Quattro punti di vista di uno stesso accaduto attraverso quattro donne del loro tempo.
Mi dispiace davvero abbandonarlo ma a rilento, e con grandi pause non riesco a fare diversamente.
Displaying 1 - 30 of 75 reviews