Cultural Fiction | Paige's Page

“The union is not a political organization. We just want our rights. We don’t care who is in the government.”

Yunus is a fourty-four year old bus driver in Tehran. Gathered at a bus drivers strike, things quickly intensify and chaos ensues. Violence breaks out and one thing leads to another. Yunus is arrested and sent to Evin Prison where he fights to hold onto the truth. The corruption of the justice system is exposed during his time in prison and later when he goes to trial.

“As soon as politics touches you, you are contaminated for good. It’s a virus that never gets cured.”

After he is arrested, stories alternate between interrogations and flashbacks. The flashbacks occur during the 1970’s-2005 for Yunus. Most flashbacks focus on his relationships. Though there are flashbacks, the majority of the book takes place in Evin prison.

His time in prison when he was alone without his interrogator made me slightly bored. For example, there were pages about his turd, masturbation, and another about a string. (Though very well-written pages about his turd.) At these moments, it felt like it was taking a long time to reach the resolution. The character Yunus is not a very interesting character. It’s hard to really make a strong connection with him because he is such an unremarkable guy. The political situation surrounding him keeps it interesting.

The prose is beyond beautiful. It is the star of the book and caused me to look forward to reading more. I loved Amir Arian’s use of language and will be looking for his next book.

Then The Fish Swallowed Him is Amir Arian’s first English novel. Read more about it here.

Read or listen to NPR’s interview with Amir Arian about this novel.

Then The Fish Swallowed Him made Book Riot’s list for the top 20 books to read in 2020.

Follow Amir Arian on Twitter.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for an advance copy. Opinions are my own.

|Purchase on Amazon| Goodreads Review|

“They seemed the most unlikely of friends, even beyond the obvious, one being Israeli, the other Palestinian.”

Rami and Bassam’s story is humbling. Centered around the Israeli-Palestine conflict, Rami and Bassam relive the day that each of their daughters died at the hands of a oppressive barrier that has effected more than just a perimeter. After each lose a daughter to violence, they learn to find solace in their grief and overcome the boundaries defined by their government.

“…everyone knew at least one child who was killed, and most of us knew several. You get used to it, sometimes you think it’s normal.”

It is a somber read with graphic gory scenes from beginning to end. Rami and Bassam’s recollections and revelations were heartbreaking. Just when I thought my heart couldn’t break anymore, it did. But the power and value behind the words is undeniable.
(The speeches they gave on pages 217-240 were unequivocal and would provide great dialogue for panel discussions and Socratic Seminars.)

There are only sections; most sections are about a paragraph in length, some sections are one sentence, some might be a small photo, though other sections are the length of a regular chapter. With a total of 1,001 sections, there are no chapters or parts.

It is a blend of fiction and nonfiction. For example: the story will be describing the anniversary of the time of deaths for the girls, so the very next section then discusses how the Greeks measured time in antiquity. Or, another example: there is a flashback when Salwa and her daughter are watching Arabian horses, so the next section goes into facts about Arabian horses. The fiction and nonfiction weave back and forth relying on each other. It jigsaws, using the previous section to build on the next section. The sequence is ornamental but blends cohesively.

I loved the book. It changed the way I think. When I wasn’t reading it, I was thinking about it. It had a profound impact on me.

“Truth is, you can’t have a humane occupation. It just doesn’t exist. It can’t. It’s about control.”