Nahid Rachlin

JUMPING OVER FIRE (City Lights Publishers)March 2006
(Readings from the novel are listed under events)
(you can read an excerpt at the bottom of this page)

DESCRIPTION::
Jumping Over Fire is the story of a forbidden love affair with a sweeping backdrop of recent history in Iran and between Iran and America. The characters are vivid, their plight deeply moving. Her writing is very assured, with a thorough understanding of both the Iranian and American cultures. It has elements that will draw in those interested in women's rights, immigration and displacement, Islam, the Middle East, racism, and-- people who want a really good love story. Set against the backdrop of war, betrayal of a nation, death, mutilation, displacement and destruction, there is the tender awakening of desire in pubescent Nora for her adopted brother Jahan. When the Islamic Revolution sweeps Iran the family is forced to move to America in order to escape persecution. Once there, the siblings must confront their identities as Iranians, Americans, siblings, and lovers The passion, the skillful way that the narrative unfolds, propel the reader to keep turning the pages. The novel is a timely book that through its characters illuminates the Iranian culture more intimately than the news can.

ADVANCE COMMENTS FROM OTHER WRITERS:

"If, as Aristotle reminds us, we are our desire,then who are we if the object of our desire is forbidden? What becomes of us if we are born in one world yet long for another? These are just two of the complex and difficult questions Nahid Rachlin explores and ultimately illuminates in this brave, engrossing, and timely novel. I recommend it highly!"--Andre (Dubus III),author of House of Sand and Fog, and In the Bedroom

“This poignant, beautifully told story of an Iranian-American family is both a great read and a fine introduction to a land and a culture about which it is imperative we Americans inform ourselves as much and as quickly as possible.”— Sigrid Nunez, author of The Last of Her Kind and For Rouenna.

“In this new novel, Nahid Rachlin's powers as a writer and storyteller blaze at their fullest, like the Norooz (New Year's) bonfires that the title alludes to. In an era when fear of Middle Eastern terrorism holds the West in thrall . . . it is refreshing to encounter a genuine and truly multicultural voice, able to speak both from within Persian culture and the American society in which Rachlin now lives and writes. Jumping Over Fire presents the sort of nuanced voice that must be heard if Iranians and Americans are ever to understand one another.” — Carolyne Wright, author of Seasons of Mangoes and Brainfire (Blue Lynx Prize, American Book Award)

“Nahid Rachlin's narrative weaves Iran's recent tumultuous history with more universal human experiences to create a powerful story of love, politics, and migration.”— Persis M. Karim, editor of Let Me Tell You Where I've Been: New Writing by Women of the Iranian Diaspora

“An exploration of cultures and cultural differences; of taboos real and imagined; of belonging and isolation — informative, fascinating, beautifully written and, perhaps most important of all — fun to read!” — Tama Janowitz, author of Peyton Amberg: A Novel and The Slaves of New York

“Jumping Over Fire is a wise and passionate novel about the vast cultural divide, and how it can lead to divided hearts.” — Hilma Wolitzer, author of Hearts, Tunnel of Love, and The Company of Writers

PUBLISHERS WEEKLY REVIEW:

Rachlin illuminates the private and public onsequences of the Islamic revolution in herlatest novel of 20th-century Iranian life ). Nora Ellahi, the daughter of an Iranian doctor and his American wife, lives a sheltered life among the economic elite of the oil city Masjid-e-Suleiman in the 1970s. While dissatisfaction with the ruling Shah and resentment of foreign influence spills over into street demonstrations, Nora grows increasingly attracted to her adopted brother, Jahan, a full Iranian, and their sexual affair blossoms during a summer at their country house in Meigoon. Nora and Jahan's illicit relationship plays out against the backdrop of a restrictive society, and the burgeoning revolution lends tension to each daily activity... When the revolution reaches Masjid-e-Suleiman, the Ellahi family leaves Iran and resettles in Long Island, where Nora revels in the more liberal society but the rest of the family struggles to adapt. Ultimately, Jahan must choose between the freedom of America and the patriotic call of serving his birth country in the Iran-Iraq war... She(Rachlin)delivers a complex portrait of a divided Iran.

FAIRFAX COUNTY PUBLIC LIBRARY, VA REVIEW:

When Muslim extremists outlaw the Persian tradition of bonfires in celebration of Norooz (New Year), the children in Nora and Jahan's neighborhood build their own small fires in the street, jumping and playing until police chase them back into their houses. This is just one of many gemlike memories that, strung together like a series of Persian miniatures, relate Nora's story of her life in a world fragmented by irreconcilable forces. As children, the privileged daughter and son of an American mother and an Iranian father create a magical world of their own within a larger doll's house, the housing compound of the Iranian-American Oil Company. As they enter adolescence, they discover that Jahan was adopted, and their love takes an erotic and ambiguously incestuous turn. When political unrest forces the family to escape to America, they must build new lives; there, and finally in Iran, the now-mostly-American Nora and the now-mostly-Persian Jahan ultimately free themselves of their secret pasts and find very different paths to adulthood. Complexities of Iranian culture, recent history, and current events create a vivid background for a moving and suspenseful story. A deeply flawed family, and the people of many nationalities who touch their lives, is seen with a clear but forgiving eye; the heavy toll of intolerance is shown with an unsparing one. A discussion guide is provided, though it seems unlikely most groups would need one to spark a lively interchange of ideas inspired by this wise and timely novel.
American Library Association.

BOOKLIST REVIEW:

In Rachlin's engaging novel about cultural collision, Nora Ellahi and her brother, Jahan, enjoy a nearly idyllic early life in Iran in the 1960s and early '70s. They live with father Cyrus, a radiologist in the company hospital, and American-born mother Moira in a large house in the Iranian American Oil Company compound, to all appearances a perfect family. Nora and Jahan are friends as well as siblings--indeed, they are lovers--but eventually, envying the freedom of girls in American movies, Nora begins to strain against the strictures of Iranian culture. She seemingly has a wish fulfilled when the family must flee Iran in 1978. She and Jahan secretly hope to be free to go off on their own. But in the U.S., Jahan suffers anti-Iranian hostility, and he, like his father, bristles at American casualness. The stress of a profound cultural adjustment drives a wedge between Jahan and Nora, ultimately separating them to follow disparate loyalties. Donna Chavez

SEATTLE TIMES REVIEW:

Noor Ellahi, the narrator of Nahid Rachlin's new novel, has grown up in Iran — but she scarcely feels Iranian. With her long blond hair and pale complexion, she doesn't look Iranian either (her mother is an American who married an Iranian doctor). She uses an American name, Nora, along with her Iranian name. All her focus is on American culture. She's torn between two worlds, and so is her family, to varying degrees.
None of them pray, observe Ramadan or have any interest in religion. Noor's adoptive brother Jahan, as a young Iranian male, enjoys a freedom of movement that is denied his sister. But his fate is still tied to his family's — and they, clearly, are living in a cultural bubble isolated from the rest of Iran.
That bubble is the Iranian American Oil Co. compound ("a classic colonial enclave") in the southern Iranian city of Masjid-e-Suleiman. Its streets have American names ("Elm Avenue," "Washington Avenue"), its local cinema plays old American movie classics, its houses are in the "grand Tudor style," and many of its inhabitants are American or English.
The Iranian American Oil Co. compound is, in part, a product of Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi's regime, and it's in increasing peril. The time is the late 1970s, and the shah's hold over his country is getting shakier by the week. The Ellahis have quietly acknowledged the shah's abuses of power, but accepted the status quo that allows them to live in luxurious quarters with a number of servants. Now, as protests turn to revolution, they belatedly realize they'll have to flee their own country.
The United States is their natural choice of refuge, given Noor's mother's nationality. But how well will they adapt there? More to the point, what will become of the intense, clandestine, semi-incestuous love affair that Noor and Jahan started in their teens? And why does Jahan look so much like his adoptive father?
As these last two questions suggest, "Jumping Over Fire" is a political novel with a strong dose of "Wuthering Heights" blended into it. Iranian-American author Rachlin has alighted on some potent subject matter here...the book has its strong points, especially as it chronicles the chaos into which Iran tumbles and the swift evaporation of its citizens' personal freedoms. Rachlin is good, too, on the unwillingness of the adults around Noor to believe just how untenable their lives in Iran have become.
The difficulties the Ellahis have in doing their own chores once they're living servantless in the U.S. ring true, too... The oddball out in the family is Jahan, an aspiring artist whose failure to adapt to American life and burgeoning interest in Islam (nicely handled — you never quite know where it's going) precipitates a family crisis. The erotic connection between Jahan and Noor, which has to be kept secret, only adds to the pressures on his behavior. Noor's career dream of becoming a lawyer is another complication...- BY Michael Upchurch

Q&A

Jumping Over Fire tells the story of a family that is forced to leave Iran just before the fall of the Shah. Once in the U.S., they face anti-Iranian backlash when the hostage crisis erupts. The schism between cultures, the loss of home and possessions, the distance from family and friends, along with confusing new possibilities — this is the common ground for anyone who must immigrate to a new place. But outright hostility in addition generates a different sort of identity crisis, and the emotional and psychological stakes are even higher. Assimilation” becomes that much more difficult. Your characters embody this crisis.

Q. What was the seed of this novel?

Answer: I was fascinated by the idea of an Iranian multi-ethnic family. The main characters are Nora and Jahan, sister and adopted brother, who are in their teens when the story begins. Nora takes after her American-born mother and Jahan after his Iranian father. I wanted to develop how each of them copes differently when the family immigrates to America. Nora, blond, speaking good English, finds acceptance much more easily than Jahan, who looks Middle-Eastern and speaks with an accent. And Cyrus and Moira, the parents, must also adapt to a disruptive change in their lives.

Q. Though your story takes place in the early 1980s, it feels like it could be current. What do you think this says about the situation for Iranians living in the US today? How have things changed (or have they)?

Answer:Since the hostage crisis Iranians in America have been targets of hostility, and that hasn't changed; today the situation feels more precarious than ever. Even if they’ve been here for years, Iranians live in apprehension, are often discriminated against, and remain caught between the two cultures. Some are ashamed to call themselves Iranians; instead they call themselves Persians, hoping to borrow a positive aura from this ancient name.

Q. Can you talk about Jahan, the process you understand him going through as he neglects his college studies and turns to religion and makes his choice to return to Iran?

Answer:Jahan was a privileged individual in Iran -- first, because his father was educated and his family had money; second, just because he is a boy. Though he was adopted he felt completely accepted in Iran. He strongly identified with his father. He looked Iranian. But when he came to America things were very different for him. The hostage crisis exacerbated the prejudice he already faced. Students taunted and avoided him, he sensed enmity from teachers, and everything began to go wrong. His parents weren’t much help; his mother was struggling to get back into the culture that she had left behind and his father had his own problems -- improving his English and trying to pass the medical exams. Above all his intense relationship with the sister he loved began to disintegrate; with her fair looks and unaccented English, she blended into American culture.

In the Muslim community Jahan found new friends, who were also alienated and adrift. He hadn’t been brought up in any religion but, in America, he began to be obsessed with his Iranian roots. It was hard for him to become a man, to see a role for himself in the future. He hated the injustice of his treatment and also the war against Iran being waged by Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. He wanted to take action, to do something meaningful.

Q. What is it about Islam that attracts Jahan and his friends? What is the sudden appeal that religion has for its people who haven’t been religious before? We see that happening frequently now. What is civil culture not providing?

Answer: That’s a complicated question. Some people seek religion because they hope for a better afterlife, “paradise” as opposed to the deprivation of their lives on earth; and others look to religion as an ethical guide. For Jahan the appeal is the connection with the Muslim boys from other countries. Cast adrift in this culture, they are all seeking something spiritual, something beyond themselves, to hang onto. And in their pain and confusion, they are also seeing in Islam a code of behavior that seems clear and simple.

Q. The young daughter, Nora, embodies the other choice, the turn toward the new as opposed to reaching back toward the old. Can you talk about how your own experiences might have informed or shaped Nora's character?

Answer:Growing up in Iran, then under the Shah's regime, I experienced the limitations and restrictions imposed on young girls and women. Perhaps the strength of these feelings was accentuated by the fact that I was brought up (and spoiled) by my aunt as an only child. At the age of nine I was suddenly taken from my aunt, taken back to my parents, who were strangers to me. There I had to compete for my their affections with six siblings. Meanwhile, I was being exposed through American movies and books to another way of life. As my older brothers were being sent to the U.S. to study, I could see this as a path to my own liberation. In the novel, Nora anticipates a miraculous freedom, as I did. Like me, she is partially disappointed -- the streets are not really paved with gold. But still, like me, she is able to construct a life for herself here.

Q. What were your biggest disappointments?

Answer: I couldn’t make close friends as I did in Iran. In the small Midwestern woman’s college my parents sent me to, I experienced prejudice, perhaps to a lesser degree than what developed during the hostage crisis, but it was still strong. Some of my feelings of being an outsider had also to do with our different value systems. For example, forbidden to date boys, Iranian girls became very close to each other. In this college, my peers would cancel plans with their girl friends as soon as a boy asked them out. This was hard for me to get used to.

Q. The incestuous attachment between Nora and Jahan is arresting. How did you come to make incest a principal motif? Can you talk about this?

Answer: I chose incest as a motif in order to symbolize Nora’s lack of freedom in her environment in Iran. In the neo-colonial oil-refinery town full of foreigners, Nora is aware of the freedom American and European girls have. As she grows into adolescence, she rebels against all the restrictions. She and Jahan have always been very close, but then when they accidentally find out he was adopted and they are not related by blood, she begins to feel strong physical attraction to him. They are constantly thrown together. She isn't allowed to go out with other boys and Jahan is right there. Once their sexual relationship begins, their proximity and privacy at home make it difficult for them to stop.

Q. The suppression of truth in a family and its repercussions is a powerful theme.

Answer: Yes. Nora and Jahan’s incestuous relationship is abetted by their parents’ emotional neglect. Within the family, feelings are not acknowledged, and communication is seriously impaired. The secrets prevent a normal life.

Q. In spite of her strong will and desire to be free, Nora finds it difficult breaking away from the men in her life. Can you comment on that struggle?

Answer: Nora is torn by her complicated emotions and conflicting loyalties. Cyrus, her father, was a partriarchal figure typical in Iran. Though he
had gone his own way by marrying an American woman rather than an Iranian one arranged by his family, he still tried to be a traditional Iranian father,in control of his children, particularly his daughter.
Since that was their relationship in Iran, it was hard for them to break away from it in America.
She and Jahan were lovers as well as best friends from childhood. Beginning to experience a more liberated life, she tries to break away from their mutual attachment and dependency. But she finds it hard to abandon him, particularly because he cannot find a path toward liberation for himself. When she grows dissatisfied with her American boyfriend, Carlo Rossi, she doesn’t want to let go of him in fear that
she might fall back on her interdependency with Jahan. So, really one of the major themes of the book is Nora’s struggle to be her own woman. It’s certainly more complex for her than it is for most American girls.

Q. When Nora returns to visit Iran after the war, she knows it will be difficult to get into the country. She observes the stricter dress codes and other changes. Have you found it hard to go back on visits?

Answer: Going to Iran is always anxiety provoking. It isn’t just the rules one has to follow, it’s the arbitrary nature of what is enforced and what isn’t at any particular time and who is in control and what to watch out for. That was true to some degree under the Shah’s regime and has continued in various degrees to today. You never know what can get you into trouble, get you detained for weeks, months.

Q. A common view in this country is that Iranian women all cower behind veils and have no lives at all except as virtual slaves to their husbands. In your novel, you show a broader view of women’s lives in Iran.

Answer: Iran isn’t as restrictive of women as Saudi Arabia or Afghanistan. In Iran women have made advances. The last time I visited Iran, about four years ago, I found that many women who had been in arranged marriages had left their husbands. Many more were attending universities, and others had professions. Though there are strong forces to keep them down and various restrictions make the work environment difficult, many women have risen above that and hold responsible jobs and professions. But there is still a vast gap between men and women, both in law and general mores.

Q. As you read the newspapers, you must have some fear that the U.S. will invade Iran.

Answer: Of course I am very concerned about America’s policy toward Iran, and apprehensive. Though I myself don't intend to live in Iran, I would be horrified if this country were to attack Iran. I have many relatives and friends there. The death and destruction caused by such a war would be a terrible catastrophe -- unthinkable.

EXCERPT:
[JUMPING OVER FIRE]

Chapter 1

I clearly remember the afternoon when we were led to that amazing discovery. It started out in an ordinary way, with me waiting by the door of my high school for Jahan to pick me up. His boys’ school was close to my girls’ school and it was easy for him to accompany me home and back. He had started doing that when we were still in elementary school to make sure that the tough boys from other neighborhoods who came to our area wouldn’t harm me. His instinct to protect me was reenforced by a general attitude that a girl needed protection.
Other students, all in the school’s required uniforms, gray with white collars, were also waiting to be picked up or were getting into cars to be driven home. The relentless heat that had seized Masjid-e-Soleiman for the last six months hadn’t quite subsided. The air smelled of gas discharged from the refinery and the underground petroleum deposits. Flames coming out of the refinery towers visible from almost every area of the town glowed like an advertisement for the inferno. Trees were withered and dusty.
Jahan was late and I looked up and down the street anxiously. Then I saw him coming, wearing what his school required: gray pants, a white shirt, a navy blue jacket, well-shined shoes.
“Jahan, I was worried.”
“I’m sorry Noor, I was held up talking to Bijan.”
Even though it was hot we decided to walk around for a while before going home. We passed through the square that divided the old town from the new town, where the Americans and Iranians working in the oil business lived. Around the square were teahouses, restaurants, and shops. Some vendors were selling their merchandise from carts—leather handbags and belts, watches. One vendor had piled chunks of gum that looked like white soap on a cloth spread in front of him on the ground.
We came out of the square onto a narrow, winding street, lined with jewelry shops. Customers, mainly women, were looking in the shop windows at displays of gold rings, earrings, bracelets, and necklaces, studded with sapphires, rubies, and other precious stones. Some were inside haggling with the shopkeepers, trying to bring down prices.
Then we came into the old town’s residential section. The streets in this quarter were winding and narrow, flanked by baked mud-brick houses so close together that they formed high walls along the street. They had flat roofs, small doors, and there were no windows overlooking the streets. Instead, they faced inward, into courtyards and gardens. This was to protect women from the eyes of passersby. Jahan thought the houses were beautiful and liked this part of town more than I did, but he was a boy and could play freely in these streets with his friends, some of whom lived here, while people always stared at me because I looked like an American girl. The majority of women in this neighborhood wore headscarves or chadors, even though covering up was optional at that time, during the Shah’s regime. The ultra-conservative Muslims who lived here resented the presence of Americans and English because they were a constant reminder of the Shah’s embrace of what they considered to be materialistic and immoral. They thought that these foreigners, farangis, were spreading vice and that the Shah collaborated with them. Soon I became aware of critical glances for not covering my hair. A bearded man wearing a turban approached us. He stared at me and then said to Jahan, “Who is she to you?”
Jahan ignored him but the man repeated his question, took my hand “Let’s get out of here,” he said.
We took the quickest way home. When we reached Elm Avenue, an employee of the Christopher Cinema was putting up a poster for A Place in the Sun. I was excited about another American movie coming there. The films they showed were usually decades old but still they transported me away from Masjid-e-Suleiman, which I found more and more stifling as I grew older. I saw some movies more than once, usually with Jahan. He was willing to go if the movie had Farsi subtitles. His English wasn’t as good as mine because he didn’t try to speak in English with Maman as I did. He stayed with Farsi.
Then we entered the wide, palm-lined Washington Avenue, where our two-story house stood among other grand Tudor style houses, all set back in courtyards, their only Muslim feature. The compound was a classic colonial enclave. Our house was provided by the oil refinery’s hospital, where our mother had once worked as a nurse and our father was still employed as a radiologist.
Once home, we immediately put on our bathing suits and dove into the large swimming pool to cool off. When we got out, bubbles of water like pearls covered our skin. Then we lay in the hammock, which was suspended between two trees behind some dense bushes. It was shaded and secluded there. Lizards scuttled beneath the bushes. Hawks flew above us, their wings spread. We could hear the loud shriek of the parrot, Sabz (Farsi for green), on the porch. “Salaam, halet chetoreh,” he squawked the greeting Jahan had taught him. Crows that had built a nest on the top of a tall palm tree, excited by Sabz’s voice, flew out, cawed, and wheeled around frantically. Petals from flowering bushes drifted over our faces and into the water, their perfume enveloping us. White-yellow butterflies danced around honeysuckle flowers.
“Jahan do you know how butterflies are born?”
“From caterpillars. They have a thin, yellow string wrapped around them and the string forms cocoons. Butterflies grow inside the cocoons. Then they tear the cocoons open and fly away.”
After a while we dressed and went into the basement to do our homework. It was cool there, well insulated by stone walls. There was a comfortable sofa to sit on. A large filing cabinet and many boxes stood against one of the walls. One box was filled with items left from our early childhood— rattles, toy cars, dolls. A closet contained splendid, formal clothes that Maman and Baba had worn on special occasions—parties given for the refinery employees, an elaborate wedding or Norooz party. After we were finished with homework I took out a shimmering satin dress and put it on. Jahan put on a velvet vest. We took those clothes off and put on others, making up stories, playing different parts. Jahan loved adventure tales, identifying with princes and heroes of the times of Cyrus, Darius, and Xerxes. He’d choose a story from Shahnameh, the epic poem by the tenth-century poet, Ferdowsi, and we’d act it out. This afternoon I was Princess Noor, disowned by my family, and Jahan was the prince who comes to my rescue.
Then my eyes went to a locked filing cabinet. “Why is that always locked,” I said.
“Let me see if I can open it,” Jahan said.
I hesitated. “Maybe there’s a reason they keep it locked. They wouldn’t like it if they find out we opened it.”
“We won’t tell them,” he said.
He began to pull the drawer in different ways but it didn’t open. He took a wire hanger from the closet, straightened it, and then hesitated before he pushed the wire into the space between the lock and the upper part of the drawer. He pulled the drawer and this time it opened. There were several files in it with labels on them: House, Investments, Travel.
“Look at this one,” he exclaimed, pointing to a file all the way in the back. It was labeled, Jahan.
We looked at each other, puzzled. He pulled out the folder and we sat with it on the sofa. We found several sheets of paper with signatures and stamps on them. We read every passage slowly, some several times. The technical language was hard to understand. We were utterly silent as we read:

In the name of Allah. At the Surrogate court, held in Shiraz, the province of Fars. April 18 1960. . . .