Disoriental by Négar Djavadi (2016): A Review

Title: Disoriental

Author: Négar Djavadi

Publication Year: 2016

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐💫

Pages: 346

Source: audiobook @storytel.tr

Genre: literary fiction, historical fiction, queer

Awards: shortlisted for the 2019 Albertine Prize and the Warwick Prize for Women in Translation; won the Lambda Literary Award for Bisexual Fiction; National Book Award Finalist.

Following my plan to read one book each month either written by an Iranian author or about Iran, March’s choice was Disoriental.

Disoriental traces four generations of an Iranian family from the Qajar dynasty up to the present day: those who start out at the top of the social hierarchy, then fall from power, become part of the opposition, are hunted by the regime they resist, and later by the very regime they helped bring to power in the hope of a new utopia—only to be forced into exile when everything goes wrong in ways they never imagined.

Although the novel covers more than a century of Iranian history, that history functions mainly as the engine and backdrop of the story. You’re introduced to the major political events that shape the narrator’s family for generations, but at its core this is a deeply personal family story. It explores not only their political activism, but also their struggles within society—especially around identity, gender, and family relationships—both in their homeland and in exile.

Reading a book that lays out the history you inherited and the history you are still living through is not easy. It’s painful, but at the same time strangely relieving and cathartic. You can channel your anger and frustration into the book and its characters, or you can feel your anger and frustration reflected back at you—something that only you and these characters truly share and understand; no one else.

What makes me really appreciate this book is the narrator and her humor in the darkest moments of her life. She covers almost every topic imaginable, from politics to sexuality, identity, and motherhood, without ever turning the book into self-righteous, didactic propaganda. She recounts her traumas and joys as she lived them, often before she could fully understand them. In the middle of all this misery, she’ll suddenly say something so sharp and funny that you feel you should be rolling on the floor laughing, yet you’re not sure it’s appropriate. Or you find yourself laughing out loud, only to feel ashamed a sentence later for even smiling.

I love her constant intrusions, her refusal to be straightforward, and how stingy she is with revealing the full story. From the very beginning, she teases us with hints of THE EVENT and other key moments, keeping us hooked but never fully delivering until the final part of the book—when the revelation truly shocks you. I was completely caught off guard. Because the novel has autobiographical elements, I made the mistake of reading about the author and her family beforehand, and because of that I still didn’t see it coming.