Belonging in Others' Stories: "Reading Lolita in Tehran"

It's been a year since I began reflecting on memoires that have stirred my sympathy, and I hope to share more in the year ahead.

I’ve read Azar Nafisi’s “Reading Lolita in Tehran” three times now. (I still haven’t read “Lolita” which is probably another topic!) Perhaps I keep returning because the memoire centres around hospitality and community, a group of students the author welcomes into her home to enjoy books, coffee, pastries and companionship. Beauty and belonging radiate from each page.

It felt timely to reread given the echoes of recent events; Azar recounts revolutionary Iran, protests turned into government gunfire on their own people, distraught searches for loved ones’ in morgues, bombings of Tehran. It is achingly similar to today’s news.

And still Azar finds beauty among the rubble, from the disorder and destruction of war and revolution. “Every great work of art, I would declare pompously, is a celebration, an act of insubordination against the betrayals, horrors and infidelities of life. The perfection and beauty of form rebels against the ugliness and shabbiness of the subject matter.”

Yet she finds beautiful subjects all around her and renders them vividly, feelingly—walks in the snow, the enduring aspect of distant mountains across seasons, steaming, golden tea in delicate glass mugs shared with “her girls”, gatherings in cafes with grand windows. She seems to demonstrate that beauty is worthy of attention, an act of resistance in turmoil. In my rather different circumstances, I have found this to be true.

Over recent years, I’ve added to my love of this book many-layered memories of arts and hospitality coming together. The nudge to write this post came as a prompt from a writer’s group I’ve been invited into (despite feeling like a fraud, they tell me many writers do!) Its quite fitting to Azar’s memoire that we too gather for thoughtful conversation around books, the crafting of them, albeit within a different faith context. There is often a generous spread of tea and treats, a tray of unique mugs. We’ve met in a home full of lovely things collected over time, tokens of relationship, like artwork by friends and books from the former homeowner. Azar’s living room, where she meets with her girls, is similarly varied, from her nomadic life between places and an eclectic taste.

The places we receive and extend hospitality need not be extravagant, still their thoughtful and personal touches matter to me. I’m the houseguest who loves a tour of bookshelves or pictures on walls, who wants to hear the story behind a handmade mug. As Azar suggests, our homes can narrate aspects of our lives, where we’ve been, who has shaped us. They become part of the stories we share as we gather.

For a year I hosted an arts Bible study, and welcomed friends through my back door, somewhat hobbit-like in its proportions. I enjoyed packing in more people than could reasonably fit in my living room, for wide ranging conversations on Genesis to Revelation, considering together how to live as artists who love a creative God.

For our church arts gatherings, I’ve been let in from snowy chill or crisp autumn evenings into the warmth of family homes, to set something simmering on a stove then welcome more friends. I’ve chatted over charcuterie boards longer than my arm, kitchen islands heaped with food. I’ve lingered at meals with fellow artists, hearing what’s inspiring or challenging them, experiencing belonging in our shared delights and pursuits. We’ve savoured art together - from classical piano to songwriters’ performances to an old timey sing-along. We've enjoyed paintings of vast desert expanses and intricate textile works featuring the tiniest birds.

As we engage art together, as we practice and enjoy hospitality, I see potential for glimpses of God’s beauty. I've tasted a gospel welcome here, and found a haven of belonging. I look forward to seeing what might come as we continue to share such experiences, open our homes, linger in these places and stories, meet one another in our creativity. Ideally over some tea or coffee. And please do tell me the story of your mug.

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Image Credits:

Photo by Seyed Amir Mohammad Tabatabaee on Unsplash

Sources:

Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran, New York: Random House 20