A young girl, about six, sits in the bathroom, watching her dad shave. She is fascinated by the brush, the sharp blade. She knows she is different from other girls, without understanding why, and she assumes she will grow up to be a man. It’s just a matter of time.
In Négar Djavadi’s new novel, Disoriental, the young girl has grown up into Kimiâ, a woman waiting for hours, alone, inside a fertility clinic. Her thoughts curlicue back through time, out of sequence. As we wait beside her, she talks to us directly. She tells us her story, which is the story of her family, which is the story of Iran—which her family fled for Paris when she was 10.
She tells us about her parents, who became revolutionaries. She tells us about Uncle Number Two (she has six), who harbors a secret much like her own. She tells us about the bomb. She tells us about escape, about exile, and how it feels the first time she hears her sister say the word “lesbian.” PLEASE READ
