Saturday marked the beginning of Banned Book Week. Here at LTWF we’re dedicating the whole week to awareness about banned books. We’ve got a lineup of fantastic articles, culminating in our announcement of our banned books-inspired book of the month for October on Friday. This coming Saturday we will post pictures of ourselves with our favorite banned books, and pictures that our readers send us. One lucky reader will even get a giveaway prize!
What I learned from Azar Nafisi’s
READING LOLITA IN TEHRAN
by Julie Eshbaugh
Oppressive regimes, such as those in power in North Korea, China, and Iran, ban books. This is a fact of which most literate citizens of the world are aware. However, as a woman who has had the benefit of living all her life in the West, I was rather ignorant of the impact a seemingly apolitical book might have on those living in a society where the free exchange of ideas was suppressed as a dangerous evil. I learned quite a bit about the power of what I and many of my friends might consider an “innocent” book – Fitzgerald’s THE GREAT GATSBY, for instance – and how access to such a book might feed the minds and fuel the souls of the many people who are subjects of governments that fear ideas.
Before I discuss Professor Nafisi’s memoir, let me say that I am not ignorant to the fact that my own society is home to many people who would limit my access to ideas they do not approve of. Here in the United States, a professor in Missouri, as most readers of this blog are well aware, is campaigning to limit access to Laurie Halse Anderson’s SPEAK, out of his misguided apprehension that it will corrupt the morals of young people. I realize that the citizens of no country can let their guard down and assume that the flow of ideas is truly “free.” We must all be vigilant. I have, however, recently been enlightened by Professor Nafisi to the ways in which different books can take on widely different meanings in different cultures. I have learned that a book that might be challenged in the United States because of its sexual content –Nabokov’s LOLITA, for instance – might contain a widely different message when read by women living under the repression of a government that would deny them not only the right to read the book LOLITA, but the right to read any book at all.
Azar Nafisi was a professor of literature at the University of Tehran at the time of Iran’s Islamic Revolution. She was expelled from her position at the university in 1995 for refusing to wear the veil. In 1997, she left Iran for the United States. But during the two intervening years, Professor Nafisi taught clandestine classes in literature for a small group of students that met on Thursday mornings in her home. The theme of the class was the relationship between fiction and reality. They read Persian classical literature, as well as Western classics such as PRIDE & PREJUDICE, MADAME BOVARY, and THE GREAT GATSBY. But LOLITA was the book that perhaps best demonstrates what the students and teacher came to discover in those intimate classes.
Why LOLITA? Why LOLITA in Tehran? Professor Nafisi endeavors to answer this question by quoting from Nabakov’s masterpiece. This is from the scene where Humbert arrives at Lolita’s summer camp to bring her home. Her mother has recently been killed in an accident that was, in a way, indirectly caused by Humbert himself.
“Let me retain for a moment that scene in all its trivial and fateful detail: hag Holmes writing out a receipt, scratching her head… photographs of girl-children; some gaudy moth or butterfly, still alive, safely pinned to the wall (‘nature study’); the framed diploma of the camp’s dietician; my trembling hands…”
To many a Western reader, this brief description within this seemingly minor scene might go unnoticed. But to Professor Nafisi and her students, it holds the key to the book.
Consider the butterfly, or is it a moth? Humbert couldn’t care less. The true nature of this creature, pinned to a wall, still alive, matters not at all. He is indifferent to it, just as he is indifferent to Lolita’s mother’s death, and to Lolita’s own nightly sobs in the arms of her rapist and jailer, because, as Humbert says himself, “she had absolutely nowhere else to go.”
Some Western readers of LOLITA may find it to be a story of misplaced passion. To others it may be a story of a little vixen who deserved what she got. But to women living in Iran after the Islamic revolution, LOLITA is more than that. It is the story of a man’s confiscation of a young girl’s life.
“To reinvent her, Humbert must take from Lolita her own real history and replace it with his own, turning Lolita into a reincarnation of his lost, unfulfilled young love, Annabel Leigh… Yet (Lolita) does have a past. Despite Humbert’s attempts to orphan Lolita by robbing her of her history, that past is still given to us in glimpses. Nabokov’s art makes these orphaned glimmers all the more poignant in contrast to Humbert’s all-encompassing obsession with his own past… Like my students, Lolita’s past comes to her not so much as a loss but as a lack, and like my students, she becomes a figment in someone else’s dream.
“At some point, the truth of Iran’s past became as immaterial to those who appropriated it as the truth of Lolita’s is to Humbert. It became immaterial in the same way that Lolita’s truth, her desires and life, must lose color before Humbert’s one obsession, his desire to turn a twelve-year-old unruly girl into his mistress.
“When I think of Lolita, I think of that half-alive butterfly pinned to the wall… Humbert fixes Lolita in the same manner that the butterfly is fixed; he wants her, a living breathing human being, to become stationary, to give up her life for the still life he offers her in return…
“That is how I read LOLITA. Again and again as we discussed LOLITA in that class, our discussions were colored by my students’ personal sorrows and joys… And more and more I thought of that butterfly; what linked us so closely was this perverse intimacy of victim and jailer.”
LOLITA has always been one of my favorite books, but I have never seen it as a metaphor for the oppression of a totalitarian regime. Not until now, that is. Professor Nafisi’s memoir of the study of literature in a secret class in the Islamic Republic of Iran has opened my eyes, not only to the various possible interpretations of LOLITA, but to the innumerable ideas that can be contained in a single book.
Banned Book Week has made me feel, in turns, frustrated, angry, and, finally, motivated. Motivated to be vigilant. To guard against any threat to the free exchange of ideas. And for this motivation, I owe a sincere debt of gratitude to Professor Azar Nafisi and her brave students in Iran.