Persepolis: The Story of a Childhood
January 11th, 2004by Marjane Satrapi
ISBN: 0375422307
In this graphic novel, Satrapi draws us a childs-eye view of revolution and war in Iran.
In the opening story “The Veil” we see girls using veils as a toys on the playground, underneath the narrator’s explanation: “we didn’t really like to wear the veil, especially since we didn’t understand why we had to.” This story reveals a fervent, childlike faith in God (whose appearance is stereotypical, with flowing hair and beard) which does not appear to follow any particular religious precepts. It sets the tone for the stories that follow: Satrapi trying to understand what is happening around her and to her, wondering what to believe.
Satrapi’s parents are activists who go to dangerous protests (her mother dyes her hair in fear after her picture appears in magazines) and yet they are well-to-do, having both a Cadillac and a maid. So what we see is at times confusing–they march against an existing social order, yet expect that the boy next door will not want to see their maid once he realizes she is a maid, and not a daughter of the family. They talk about Marx, Lenin, and Communism–and go on a European vacation.
The everyday stories are the most compelling: Grandmother comes to visit, the family runs to the basement every time the sirens go off (until the missiles–then there is no point in going to the basement, the damage is too great bother sheltering from), an Uncle who was imprisoned comes to visit, Mother hangs heavy curtains so they neighbors can’t see what they are up to and report them, Satrapi risks arrest for wearing fingernail polish. These events take place as Satrapi grows from tween to teen, stretching to understand more of what happens around her even as events become more inexplicable to the grownups, who in the end of the book send her on to Europe, alone at fourteen.
Satrapi’s art is stark black and white, with heavy lines and strong shadows. The page layouts vary from large, full-page panels to arrangements of rows three to a page. The art is simplified, with details generally rendered no finer than a bold print on a shirt. All the main figures are distinguishable, but the others, whether women on the street, or soldiers, or schoolkids, are drawn more as groups than identifiable individuals. The sameness of the images is broken only by a few jagged, sketch-like scenes of violence: the fire at the cinema, the boys on the minefields, and the rubble of the neighbor’s house after a missile strike.
I understand there is a sequel, which I will be interested in reading. I found young Satrapi’s stories interesting enough to want to see how she turns out as a grown up, and found the glimpses of Satrapi’s drawing in the sketchy scenes tantalizing enough to see what she can do if she lets herself go.
