ownership squared

my brother received a copy of this book, Persepolis, at school, for some reason. yesterday I read it all in one sitting at the breakfast table. it is a simple and beautiful autobiographical thing of 153 pages.

I think it is the first and only graphic novel I've ever read. its sequel may or may not be the second, if I ever get my hands on it.

little Marji, growing up with political and social conflict all around her, struggles to make sense of what she hears from her teachers, the news, her family, and in her own conversations with god.

god is a real person for Marji, and he talks to her like a real person. but after Marji's uncle is executed, she banishes god from her life, screaming at him, "Shut up, you! Get out of my life!!! I never want to see you again! Get out!" we never see god again for the rest of the story. that moment is the part I will always remember: our angry protagonist in the darkness of her bedroom, literally screaming at the white, bearded figure who once was her best friend. all the horror of the revolution and the war is downplayed by the simple illustrations, but the personal epiphanies and pains and wonders that come to this little girl's mind--those get the full-page spreads and the curly, expansive artwork.

and that is the way it should be. despite tragedies and tortures to the ends of the earth, our own personal lives will always mean more to us than whatever newsworthy calamities happen to float through the media. but this doesn't have to be selfish of us. you telling your own story will also mean more to me than you telling someone else's story.

though it might be more precise to say that the stories own us, sometimes. maybe we'll never make sense of all of them. but we can give voice to the ones that are ours and give ear to the ones that are not.