Shokoofah Azar’s The Enlightenment of the Greengage Tree follows the descent of a nation into extremism. We watch from the supernatural perspective of a 13 year old ghost, Bahar, as she witnesses her family fracture after a barrage of tragedies. True to its title, the family goes through a series of enlightenments as each individual struggles to come to terms with their tragic losses.
The novel begins with a barrage of violent atrocities committed by the Iranian Republic. Azar’s ghostly protagonist gives us a bird‘s eye view of the mayhem of senseless killings, as boys of thirteen murder for the first time, and some of those involved go mad with the resulting atrocity of their actions. The sheer amount of violence is staggering, and I found myself rereading passages as the prose seamlessly flowed from beautifully soft images of nature and childhood to cruelty and death. Our protagonist recalls horrifying events and soft, soothing memories together like a horrific nightmare and a gentle, comforting dream intertwine in the confusion of sleep.
’This is the place, they say, where luminous blue butterflies that have never seen the light illuminate the way for the lost; the place that was still occupied by innocent, ancient forest spirits.’
The prose is ultimately beautiful; myths, folklore and family lore weave in and out of the novel like a colourful ribbon leading me into a labyrinth, and I soon found myself lost amongst tales of jjin’s, miracles, and curses as the book progressed. Local lore and religious stories are piled atop one another as the narrator’s unique perspective leaves you wandering through an otherworldly realm, leaving me with the image of a country steeped in rich culture and history, the memory of which was burned away by the Republic like so many political books.
It’s life’s failure and its deficiencies that make someone a daydreamer [...] I think imagination is at the heart of reality.’
As the book progresses we see the family fracture as death takes its toll; one takes off into the forest, and others descend into dreams or depression. While the family shows extraordinary resilience, the tragic events that have befallen them eventually take effect, and we see how, through a series of enlightenments that began with Bahar’s mother ascending the greengage tree, each individual learns to live alongside their grief, rather than plunging into it like a bottomless pool. The family’s spiritual experiences are told in ethereal prose that does them justice, and I became lost in the philosophy of their experiences.
The reality of the Islamic Republic is inescapable, and I read with horror as the village, once sparkling with the depth of its culture, is forgotten and glossed over by fanatics. The realities of the Republic become shockingly up close and personal once more, like turning to find someone standing right behind you, their face directly in front of your own. History and culture are razed to the ground, and the novel became increasingly difficult to read as the violence of the Republic affects the family personally again; vicious attacks are carried out in broad daylight, filmed by onlookers either cheering them on, or too caught in fear and complacency to become involved.
While I sometimes became lost in the wandering myths and the explanatory footnotes, Azar’s heart-rending prose encapsulated me with its dreamy voice, intertwining myth and folklore with the horrific acts of a revolution into violence. Unsurprisingly, the book is currently banned in Iran, and the translator remains unnamed for safety. While the novel becomes too dark to bear at times, there are glimmers of light in the remarkable resilience of a family whose bond remains unbroken in the face of loss, despair, and even death.
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