A story about the relationship between a girl and her brilliant friend that becomes challenged by differences in class and opportunities, set against a vibrant backdrop of post-War political strife — and it isn’t My Brilliant Friend. Trading Naples for Iran, The Lion Women of Tehran follows Ellie’s friendship with the brilliant Homa through the overthrow of Mossadegh and then the Shah, through school, marriage and motherhood.
The comparison with Elena Ferrante’s masterpiece unfortunately renders this novel’s flaws more apparent. Ferrante’s Lila and Lenu are complex women; although both are passionate and smart, they each make very human, very understandable, but ultimately regrettable decisions. Their friendship is sometimes close and sometimes strained, and these moments of separation and reconnection are richly written and resonant.
In contrast, Marjan Kamali’s Homa is too unwaveringly self-confident, wise, ambitious, and forgiving. It is only while working through the trauma of being raped and impregnated in prison that her drive to fix her country temporarily dampens (although these chapters are some of the book’s best writing). Similarly, the conflict between Ellie and Homa is never permitted to venture into the same depths of betrayal, despite the author setting up dramatic stakes. When Homa transfers into Ellie’s high school after several years of separation, Ellie snubs her out of fear of her association with a low class girl harming her social status. But Homa is so self-assured and likable that she misses the slight, wins over all the other girls, and resumes her close friendship with Ellie. At a party, Ellie uncharacteristically jealously accuses Homa of flirting with her boyfriend, and Homa responds maturely and magnanimously. In a moment of unbelievable naivete, Ellie informs a spy about Homa’s communist activities, leading to Homa’s arrest, and eventual rape. When Ellie finally confesses to her role in Homa’s misfortune, Homa forgives her like it was nothing. Homa does cut off their friendship for over a decade, but it is later revealed that she does so purely out of concern for Ellie’s safety. In each of these conflicts, Homa is simply too noble, and Ellie is too undeserving of Homa’s unending patience and love.
So the emotional journeys fall flat and the character’s actions sometimes feel unnatural, but perhaps character development is the wrong yardstick for this work. My Brilliant Friend aims to understand how one’s circumstances and relationships shape a person, but I believe Kamali’s interests lie elsewhere. In her author’s note at the end of my edition, she highlights the theme of Iranian women’s issues that courses throughout her novels, inspired in part by the independent and opinionated Iranian women in her family. She wrote this book during the 2022 women’s protests in response to security forces killing Mahsa Jina Amini for improper hijab, an event featured in the novel. Kamali regularly advocates for women’s liberations through her characters, such as in this speech of Homa’s:
“The dutiful Persian wife is what you became! Look, Ellie, there’s nothing wrong with that. In my women’s organization and in our activism, one thing we’re trying to uphold is that feminism comes in many shapes. We should not shame women who choose to take care of home and family. As long as it’s the woman’s choice. I don’t mean to imply that your job now, or even if you chose in the past or later choose to stay home, is in any way antifeminist. Because all of it has a place in true feminism. A woman has a right to live a life of intense career ambition or one of more mellow ambition or what have you. As I say, whatever she chooses.”
So maybe the yardstick to consider is the author’s development of political questions.
However, here, too, I find the author falls short. Her feminism is a feminism that is unthreatening and unchallenging to the sensibilities of the West, a feminism that was already well-trodded 25 years ago and mainstream a decade ago. It is the feminism that embraces housewives and girlbosses, the feminism that crafted pink hats and marched on Washington in reaction to Hillary Clinton’s electoral loss, the feminism that reaches for elections and the freedoms of speech and association as its most valued political tools. The novel’s publisher is Simon & Schuster, one of the largest publishers in the US; its target reader is American. But who is the reader that is picking up a book about a friendship between two women who would find something to challenge their political views in this narrative?
Moreover, the author’s argument for this limp strain of feminism misses the opportunity to introduce the reader to truly Iranian perspectives on women’s liberation. Homa is a member of the communist party before leaving it to ultimately become part of the women’s movement. However, her impassioned rants — even those from her communist days — emphasize women’s liberation but with little Marxist influence. How did years spent in the Iranian communist movement shape Homa’s views on women’s freedom? Apparently not at all; capitalism’s role in oppressing women and powering imperialism goes unmentioned. Homa’s feminism is the sort that would be welcome in the pages of American news outlets with even the most hawkish stance on Iran (“My focus is not communism. It’s not capitalism. What I care about, Ellie, more than anything is democracy. And women’s rights,” Homa informs us).
While Homa leads marches, Kamali uses Ellie to show us a different tactic for changing the world. At Homa’s encouragement, Ellie opens an Iranian restaurant to introduce New Yorkers to the richness of Persian cuisine.
“And maybe, just maybe, you’ll open your own restaurant here. How amazing would that be? A café. Show these people our culture. Show them our food. Let them taste our dishes. Let them know who we are. What do you say?”
Food is a wonderful way to learn about a culture. But does the American people’s enjoyment of a regional cuisine advance the independence and interests of its people?
Whether an effective strategy or not, this is the yardstick by which Kamali most succeeds. The food and markets of Tehran come alive in her writing. Dishes are lusciously described, and cooking is presented as a real art form, one that can be perfected by women despite severe social restrictions, and one that unites people. In a media environment that paints Iran as a terrifying and alien country, The Lion Women of Tehran introduces the reader to the distinctive beauty of Iranian culture, albeit a version of it most palatable to the average American reader.
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