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My Birthday Was When the Pomegranates Grew Ripe
Regent Press 2006 ISBN #1-58790-122-6 This is a first novel by author Fae Bidgoli. It is semi-autobiographical, and very much a "coming of age" story. It is also a compelling story of how women relate to each other, and how the generations connect. While the setting is far from anything that most of us could comprehend (Bidgoli was born in rural Iran, and raised in Iran), the writing is so very well done that we are caught up in the emotions of the times, and are gifted with a very clear picture of the people, the environment, and the times. Bidgoli thanks her daughters and her mother for their support and input into her life, into how she was able to be who she is. She also thanks her editor for taking what she terms "broken English" and forming it into viable prose. There is nothing broken about this book - it reads well and easily, is evenly paced, and carries such a deep story that, as readers, we care and pray for each of the characters presented. Her dedication itslef is spine tingeling "This book is dedicated to all of the women in the World living in silence." The one thing that this is not is a political novel. Are politics involved - as is the way of the world, they are both the downfall and the redemption in this book. Is religion involved? In Iran, where politics and religion are one and the same, yes, religion is involved. It is neither good nor bad, it is simply there. The influence of the Muslim faith, and how it can be used for good, as well as twisted for horrific personal gain. The story revolves around two thirteen year old girls, both born in the rural village of Abadi, although a generation apart. One marries, and is looking forward to a very happy life, only to endure a traumatic rape attempt, be accused of adultery by the leading religious leader in Abadi, and ordered to face death by stoning. Thirty years later we enter the life of the second girl, about to turn thirteen years old - a time when her schooling will stop and a marriage arranged. This is also the story of two brothers - both leaders, one in the rural village of Abadi, and one in the big city of Tehran. Each brother carries the same hopes, dreams, and goals. One brother lives within the culture of the "old" Muslim ways, one within the culture of the evolving Muslim world. The pomegranate is both literal and symbolic in this book - literal, in that Mina, the primary character, does not know her exact birth date. She times her birthday by the ripening of the pomegranates. On another level, the pomegranate is an esoteric symbol for the feminine, and for fertility. Bidgoli speaks in detail of the houses that these women live in, of moving from one section to another with the changing of the seasons, and of the arrangement within each of the rooms. She also speaks of the food that is shared, which took this reader right back to her childhood, and family times spent around the kitchen table. (Actually, not just childhood memories for me. In my family, life still revolves around the kitchen table. Even in a more formal setting, when guests are being entertained, food is a predominate theme.) We see how the women relate to each other - and the importance of the mother in her son's life (and, by extension, in her daughter-in-law's life). The mother has extensive input into choosing a daughter-in-law. Once married, the daughter-in-law has to follow the dictates of her mother-in-law, who may choose to treat her well, or who may choose to beat her. It is not uncommon for a husband to beat his wife, and it is not uncommon that a son will follow his mother's wishes, and not his wife's. A husband may divorce his wife, but a wife may not divorce her husband. If she is divorced, or her husband dies, a woman cannot remarry. These are the laws of the land. Through the coming-of-age story of Mina, we see how these things are changing in Iran. We see the evolving of more freedom of choice for women, of more options being presented, especially in the area of schooling. Nothing is perfect. When the author returned to Iran for a visit, she found that on the site of her family home a mosque had been constructed. Or, as she puts in, "another" mosque had been constructed, as there were many others in the area. A desperately needed hospital, school, or library had not been built there. The iron hand of religion still reigns. This is a book about women, for women. It is about our freedom, our choices, and the paths that we choose to follow. It is a strong voice, and a compelling read.
Bonnie Cehovet
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