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Imagine a culture 2500+ years old. Maybe it takes thousands of years to create a Hafez. To collect the memories and the wisdom; to maintain the Savushun and rhythms; to respect the place of ritual, and see the magic that ritual brings to the eyes of children; to value romance in every scent, every breeze, every color, every cool, refreshing drink.

So as I read this I think - maybe - if Hafez had written a novel, as a woman, when Daneshvar was creating this - maybe this is what he would have written.

The title is a tradition, pre-Islamic, that represents hope, despite everything. The Shi’a tradition’s passion of Hoseyn, the Prophet’s (PBUH) grandson, and the tragedy of Karbala, and its transformation into salvation, into idealism, is an example of Savushun.

This is the story of a woman, Zari, living in “the city of flowers and nightingales� Shiraz, Iran during WWII, during the British occupation. She married a radical and loving land-owning man and has 3 children. Yusof is radical because he believes (as his very different brother Khan Kaka complains):
�...he quotes you in Arabic, “The harvest belongs to the one who cultivates the land, even if the land is usurped.�
And so does not want -at any price - to sell his crops to the British army - but to save them for the tenant farmers to eat.

There are so many important threads within this book. One is about how women who become mothers are forced, so often, to sacrifice themselves, to play a role, to stifle their anger. We are gifted with her insight, as well as her honest, loving, yet critical eye.

Another thread is Zari’s commitment to visiting the mental hospital weekly with fresh fruits and flowers; with newspapers for one patient. Learning, as anyone who has worked with the “insane� learns, how often they see most clearly of all. These anecdotes weave in and out of her story coloring it and shading it flawlessly.

And then there is the British occupation - which had been in place since Zari’s forever, but was now about to cause massive starvation as everything was being diverted to the Occupier. The wealthy class, by and large, accepted this (and large payments) and we see all the machinations of greed by what Zari calls “the Passion Play villains�.

We also learn of Zari’s rebellion. As a scholarship (poor) student in a Catholic school, taught by an Indian teacher, Zari excelled in English. Once when an English lady benefactress was to visit the school, Zari was chosen to kiss her hand and recite the (don’t-tie-me-up-too-loose) poem “If� by Rudyard Kipling.
(never breathe a word about your loss...)
But when the time came Zari took the lady’s hand, and rather than give it an obsequious kiss, she shook it. And proudly recited Milton’s poem “The Blindness of Samson�
(Blind among enemies, O worse than chains...)

An excellent choice, methinks.

There is a small boy named Kolu that Yusof brings home to be adopted as a son, because his father has died. Unfortunately, Kolu becomes ill and has to be hospitalized where he is heavily proselytized to by a Catholic priest, confusing this poor Shiite child.
After recovery Kolu ponders:

“What kind of shepherd is he anyway to let his lamb get lost and go sit in the sky? If he is telling the truth, let him come down and take me. If he takes me, I’ll give him my daddy’s pipe that I hid under the bed rolls. But if he doesn’t, may Abolfazl al-Abbas strike me dead, if I get hold of him I’ll land a rock right between his eyes with my slingshot.�
He took three copper crucifixes from a pocket�.

Late in the book, the revered elderly physician who has watched Zari at the mental hospital, visits her after the unthinkable occurs and reassures her that her only disease is potentially malignant, definitely infectious, and sometimes hereditary - Fear.
He tells those around her to “just leave her alone�

But he murmurs to her:
“Try patience, oh heart, for God will not abandon
Such a dear gem in the hands of a demon.�

Zari knew the doctor was a member of the Hafeziyun group that held vigils and read poetry by the tomb of Hafez every Thursday night. Yes, they drink wine, too, and even sprinkle libations over his tomb. And they play music, too.
�.

“Let us do something, otherwise we shall be ashamed
On the day that our souls depart for the other world.�


The grave of Hafez is always crowded by mourners, laying perfect roses, lovers sneaking kisses in corners, garnering inspiration from this immortal poet. Elderly stand silent, reverent, sometimes weeping as though he'd died yesterday instead of 630 years ago. The idea of a group of medical doctors gathering once a week to vigil, read poetry, play music and drink at Hafez’s tomb - how much better would we be, if that had been part of our training & practice as physicians in the west?

Iran is unique among places as it has filled the same borders with its sui generis culture and language for millennia. Cyrus the Great was the Persian /Iranian leader of the first empire that included large areas of different cultures and languages. He was the author of the famous Cylinder; the first peace treaty which recognized the rights of the women and children left by the losing warriors.

Iran created Persepolis; it is the home that nourished Rumi and has always valued poets more than kings. A country - for all of its faults (I was not crazy about the headscarf) that is not hypocritical about welcoming the stranger.

I have traveled slowly & widely in at least 60 countries, been both content and confused in my dépaysement, but i've never been so moved by a country as I have been by Iran. There were times in this book when I had to stop reading because I just needed to cry. Maybe because of all the toxins the USA has attempted to falsely stamp upon Iran, when we were there, the truth: the kindness, the beauty, the sense of continuity with the ancient, the appreciation for the amazing, miraculous, for Allah, perhaps - was overwhelmingly palpable. What was the best was Not for sale. The complex flavors, the smell of a fresh flower floating in rose water, something transient. A poem. Has value. Did I mention valuing things that are Not For Sale? Please join us for tea. All of these are naturally folded into Zari's life.

Learning some about the cruel imperialist history of the UK and the USA in Iran. Shame. Kermit Roosevelt bringing down Mosaddegh. Trump pulling out of a nuclear deal that was working, and placing more sanctions that only hurt the vulnerable. And the lies and manipulations that have created the hard line, but still sane government of today’s Iran, that the USA and the UK brought to life.

And this brilliant novel is set Just Between. Britain is still Empire-ish, but it is slippery and OMG it is WWII and it is not going well. Iran is in British control and, of course all of its resources should go to feed the British troops! (See Famines� remember Bengal 1943?). But some think...No, this food should feed those who grew it, as Allah has said. A decade later Mosaddegh thought Iranians should own part of Iran's oil. Britain didn't like that either. Savushun.

It is useless, dianne. Almost 3000 years of poetry, love, grand stories beyond metaphor, enough. Buy a rug already!

Peace in Iran. Inshallah.