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Le Lezioni di Papa

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Lessons by Father 

Lessons by Father is translated to Italian by Giacomo Longhi and published by Ponte33.

Le lezioni di papà

Novembre 2019
pp. 96
ISBN 978-88-96908-13-6
€ ۱۱,۰۰

Traduzione dal persiano di Giacomo Longhi

In questa raccolta di racconti Mohammad Tolouei compone una piccola saga attorno alla figura di suo padre, Ziya, improbabile capofamiglia che parte per il fronte dopo una lite coniugale, nasconde un passato da guerrigliero, sogna di trascinare la famiglia in Europa e tenta di approfittare del clima di incertezza seguito alla rivoluzione del ’۷۹ per compiere il salto sociale. Un personaggio animato da un idealismo rocambolescoe da un opportunismo un po’ ingenuo che la madre di Mohammad, donna dal carattere schivo e severo, controbilancia con entrate in scena tanto dosate quanto risolutive.
“Perché mai i papà pensano che la memoria dei figli sia solo dispari, come i rami di un Lucky Bamboo? Come mai credono che i figli si debbano ricordare soltanto il lato positivo?” si chiede l’autore che, ormai trentenne e intento a costruirsi una carriera nella capitale, cerca di tenere le fila di un rapporto non proprioidilliaco ma silenziosamente permeato da un affetto incontenibile.
Sarà forse un viaggio a offrire ai due l’occasione per riconciliarsi e accettarsi l’un l’altro così come sono?

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Hazeover, or Toothbrush, Wrong Time

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Short story by Mohammad Tolouei published in Columbia Journal

Translated to English by Farzaneh Doosti

Addiction doesn’t disappear, it only changes forms. I was hooked on idleness, but now I’m hooked on work. I was hooked on weed, now I inject Ketamine. I was hooked on Azadeh, now I’m hooked on Jaleh. I was hooked on being free of family ties, but now I’m hooked on my father.

Why is addiction incurable? Why can’t I just head to a Laleh Park treatment session and proudly declare that I’ve been clean for a while and get heartwarming hugs from anonymous members of the addiction community, and then, once I’m liberated from their embraces, still feel clean? I don’t remember a single night when I haven’t asked myself what brought me to this point, but as morning approaches, I forget the question.

In the morning, I wake up with a hangover. Zia is fasting for Ramadan, so I don’t need to cook lunch. I sleep as late as I can before Zia feels bored and begins to fiddle with cabinet handles or turns on his mobile GPS. I go to the bathroom, turn on the faucet, take the Ketamine capsule and syringe out of the toilet tank, and inject it into my ankle. Where can I hide a sore? Among other sores. My ankles and legs are always marked with scars, I’ve had scars since childhood—I hit my legs on the walls and never know how it happens—so Zia would never suspect that the sores might be caused by shooting up.

Next, it’s time to immerse myself into water—it doesn’t matter if it’s warm or cold, it makes no difference on Ketamine, it disables your body’s thermostat. An addict can walk over red coals or jump into an icy lake. After that, I go out and sit under the breeze from the air conditioner.

Zia gets up and turns the AC off. “Get up. Don’t sit there or you’ll catch a cold,” he says. I don’t move, so he gets up himself and turns it off. Next I should ask what he has to do in Amir-Abad. My father has been staying with me since the first of Ramadan. Every morning he gets up, calls a taxi, and heads to Amir-Abad, leaving me to sleep till noon. When he gets back he fiddles with the cabinets and turns his GPS on. I don’t ask him why; I go to the refrigerator instead and take out a bottle of water, then I remember that Zia is fasting just as I’m about to guzzle it down. I should take it to my room, it’s better to drink it there as I turn on my computer and hunch in the chair.

Read the story here

Someone Without Peers 538 1 - Someone Without Peers

Someone Without Peers

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I have a friend who I see once in a while, and whenever we meet, we talk about our favourite books. Next time, we will take our words back. It’s always like this; we turn back and refine our opinions on books. We do so reluctantly, because ‘to refine’ implies that once we had talked crap and had even insisted that our crap talk was correct. Last night, for instance, my friend sent me a message stating that The Night Journey by Bahman Sholevar is not as compliment-worthy as he had once believed, and that Jalal Ale Ahmad’s criticism (which at the time had seemed like conservative nonsense written out of envy) now sounds thoroughly truthful. We used to enthusiastically praise Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being for how it changed the way we thought about time. Some twelve years later, when we met, the first thing we talked about was how amazing it was that thanks to Kundera we had once thought the world was reversible, and in any event, life was going to give us time for free. We went through a singular agony reading Ismail Kadare’s The Great Winter, and it was only when we next met that we realised all the hardships we read about could also have been part of our own lives.

Published in the October 2017 issue of Asymptote Journal (read the complete text in Persian and English here)

The piece has also been translated to Italian and published in Internazionale.


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Anatomy of Depression Released in Persian

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Mohammad Tolouei’s recent novel, Anatomy of Depression, hits Persian book market.

Anatomy of Depression is Tolouei’s fourth book of fiction for adults, after Fair Wind’s PreyI’m Not Janette, and Lessons by Father. Composed of three episodes, namely ‘The Wandering Train,’ ‘Doors of Perception,’ and ‘The Suspension Bridge,’ it accounts hard times of three characters who affect each other’s lives in different ways and finally withdraw to their own solitude.

The book is released by Tolouei’s exclusive publisher: Ofoq.