Kaveh Akbar: Martyr!

First of all, how could I resist a novel whose author’s first name means “regal” in Iran and “coffee” in Turkey?

At least that’s the reason why I was sure I would get this book sooner or later. I think the author would be pleased. He probably would prefer that, than if I said I grabbed a copy because I wanted to read about death, life, and art. 

That’s what the exclamation point in the title is for, he said. Humor. Silliness. 

Sure enough, the feisty language that greeted me felt like I was reading a youthful Rushdie. Serendipitous, because I’m simultaneously reading a book of essays by Rushdie. Ironic, as Kaveh was born in the country whose ayatollah issued a fatwa calling for Salman’s assassination. I’d like to think that both would be entertained by the coincidence. 

The parallels are there. The prose, self-evident of the delight they’ve had in writing it. The reimagining of old stories and reinventing of storytelling itself. The inevitable polyphony of language and overtones about identity that come with being migrant writers. The flawed central characters and mischievous profanities that make their novels not everyone’s cup of chai, or kaveh. (Conservative readers would not find this amusing.)

But the twist gutted me. Perhaps I was wrapped up in the silliness too much and enjoying the passages about art that I didn’t see it coming. Surprisingly, it is also heartwarming. Maybe that’s the real twist.

“And yet when you begin to delve into the story it seems almost inexhaustibly rich, for at its heart is a great triangular tension between the grandest matters of life: love, art, and death. You can turn and turn the story and the triangle tells you different things. It tells you that art, inspired by love, can have a greater power than death. It tells you, contrariwise, that death, in spite of art, can defeat the power of love. And it tells you that art alone can make possible the transaction between love and death that is at the center of all human life.” That’s a passage by Rushdie, from the essay “Wonder Tale,” and that is my review of Martyr!  That’s what great writers do. They write things for you.