Now gazing at the gorgeous endpapers of Dalia Sofer's novel The Septembers of Shiraz. Touches such as these: ribbons, embossing, endpapers, good binding-- once so common, to encounter them now is quite extraordinary. Highlighting, I believe, that what lies inside is special, and this book truly is. It came recommended by Deanna, and secondarily through a review by Claire Messud (who I've come to respect exponentially). My own review is to follow upon finish, but in the meantime, I am enjoying this, the story of a family's experience just after the revolution in Iran. The son's story in particulous is resonating, and showing a side of immigration that I've previously noted being omitted from American novels. The loneliness-- "And his jokes, when translated, are no longer funny." That one simple line broke my heart, with all its implications, the tenderness and the longing. Like being cut off from one's own soul, I suppose.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Now gazing
Now gazing at the gorgeous endpapers of Dalia Sofer's novel The Septembers of Shiraz. Touches such as these: ribbons, embossing, endpapers, good binding-- once so common, to encounter them now is quite extraordinary. Highlighting, I believe, that what lies inside is special, and this book truly is. It came recommended by Deanna, and secondarily through a review by Claire Messud (who I've come to respect exponentially). My own review is to follow upon finish, but in the meantime, I am enjoying this, the story of a family's experience just after the revolution in Iran. The son's story in particulous is resonating, and showing a side of immigration that I've previously noted being omitted from American novels. The loneliness-- "And his jokes, when translated, are no longer funny." That one simple line broke my heart, with all its implications, the tenderness and the longing. Like being cut off from one's own soul, I suppose.
