Monthly Archives: October 2015

Hello again Readers,

Last week I talked about memory, with a central theme being the question: Is memory a reliable source for recounting events? This week I am going to further this topic of recounting events from memory by focusing specifically on the subject of authority.

In class we continued to focus on Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis. A primary topic of today’s class lecture was: Does Satrapi have the authority to recount the events that transpire in her graphic memoir? The fact that it is a memoir, and is a retelling of events that happened to Marjane Satrapi personally, leads one to believe that Satrapi does have the authority to tell this story. After all, it happened to her. Arguments could be made, however, that because these events happened to her when she was a child, and Satrapi is writing about them much later as an adult, that it cannot possibly be a 100% accurate retelling of the events that transpired.

Of course. No one is claiming Satrapi has a photographic memory and can recall every conversation she ever had as a child with perfect clarity. In fact, Satrapi throughout her graphic memoir drops subtle hints that undermine her authority as the author. On page 98, Satrapi is describing a scene where a representative of the school called all the parents in to discuss the behaviour of their children. (It’s important to note that Marji wasn’t actually there to witness the conference between the parents and the principle.) The scene ends with Marji’s father flippantly stating to the principle, “If hair is as stimulating as you say, then you need to shave your moustache!” Marjane proceeds to input, “My father actually said that.” This statement then undermines all the other lines of dialogue on the page, and perhaps the whole of Persepolis. It causes the reader to think, “Wait, if he actually said this line, did he not actually say any of the others?”

A different example of Satrapi impairing her authority is on page 62. Marji’s uncle, Anoosh, is seen in the last panel stating, “…she’s just a child who repeats what she hears!” The Islamic Revolution happened at a critical time in Marji’s life: adolescence. This is the time that she is most impressionable, most likely to develop her intrinsic values, and most likely to change her mind (as can be seen by her radical flip-flopping of religious beliefs early on in the memoir. She begins by wanting to be a prophet, and then proceeds to cast God out of her life entirely when the war begins.) This is Satrapi acknowledging the fact that she was young and didn’t always understand what was going on at the time. The fact that Satrapi acknowledges the flaws in her authority, and the limits of her own view, leads readers to trust in her authority more.

This is Marjane Satrapi’s testimony of her experiences during her childhood, but they are also reflective of the larger community as a whole. The Islamic Revolution did not solely affect Satrapi and her family. So, in this context, does Satrapi still have the authority to tell this story? I think she does.

This relates to the whole “message in a bottle” idea that we briefly talked about in class. Satrapi, by writing Persepolis, is essentially just putting her story out there for someone to receive the message. Satrapi is wholly within her rights to do so, and do so with authority.

Hillary Chute, a Junior Fellow in Literature in the Harvard Society of Fellows, analyzes Persepolis in her article “The Texture of Retracing in Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis”. She mentions how Iran did not approve of Persepolis, refusing to sell copies or allow it to be published there. They also criticize the film as being “anti-Iranian” and “accus[e] it of trying to ‘sabotage Iranian culture’” (Chute 106). So, I guess it’s safe to say that the Iranian government does not approve of the message Satrapi is trying to broadcast.

Before I leave you, readers, just food for thought: A classmate of mine mentioned in today’s lecture how, in court testimonies, we never question someone’s authority until it becomes outlandish or defies a fact that most people know to be true. Do you believe that the same is true for literature testimonies? I wonder…

Until next time, Readers.

-Kendall Manifould

Hello Readers,

My name is Kendall Manifould. I am a student of the Global Citizens CAP stream here at UBC, and as such, am a participant of an Arts Studies (ASTU) class. In this class in the past week we have discussed, in-depth, many topics. However the subject that I am most interested in is the topic of memory.

Memory is such a broad and all-encompassing topic. Memory can be regarded as strictly individual, memory can also be collective—within a group, society or culture—memory can even be passed down through generations. The reason why this subject is so interesting to me is because even though memory is a part of everyone’s lives, there’s so much mystery surrounding it. What causes one memory to be stored over another? Why do we foster some memories, while trying desperately to forget others? And, the real question: Is memory a reliable source for recounting events?

Scott Fraser, a forensic psychologist, argues in his TED talk that no, memory should not be regarded as a reliable source of recounting events. He argues that reconstructed memories fill in too many of the gaps when we recall events—that “the human brain fills in information that was not…originally stored.” (Note: Fraser’s TED talk deals mainly with eye-witnesses to crimes such as murder.) And this may be true—I do believe that the human brain only picks up bits and pieces and that it is impossible to recall events with perfect clarity—however, I also believe that memory is arguably the most authentic way to record history. First hand accounts may not get all the nitty-gritty details correct, but if the event leaves a powerful impression, first hand accounts are also the most likely to be true, and not muddled by governments, editors, or societies and will not be glossed over like in history books.

I recently finished reading Marjane Satrapi’s graphic memoir, Persepolis. It recounts Satrapi’s experiences as a child living in Iran during the Islamic Revolution, and all the horrors that were a part of her daily life growing up. What is unique about this memoir, besides its graphic format, is the fact that the main character, narrator, and author are not all the same person. That is, the plot is told from the viewpoint of a younger Satrapi, recounting her experiences and what she thought of them at the time, but narrated by a much older and more knowledgeable Satrapi. It is a powerful juxtaposition.

A question posed during our discussion in class was, does the fact that Satrapi is writing based on experiences that happened so long ago cause the meaning and significance of the work to lose its authority? Something Dr. Luger stated off hand that really stuck with me was that it is “a story of childhood, not a story of politics.” Satrapi is simply recounting events that happened to her, personally; her main aim is not to recount a historical summary of the Islamic Revolution in complete historical and political accuracy.

Another question that was posed during our first lecture was “Is remembering a moral act? What about forgetting?” and this is also a subject that young Satrapi grapples with throughout her memoir. I personally believe that remembering is a noble act, and forgetting is an atrocious crime. Forgetting as a self defense mechanism in reaction to trauma is one thing, but I wholly believe that it is one’s duty to remember and be a witness to important events. It is the brave, and noble thing to do. Even in the introduction of Persepolis, Satrapi ends it by stating, “One can forgive but one should never forget.”

Individuals all have collected and stored memories within them. These memories then, in turn, shape who they are as an individual.

People are stories, just waiting to be told.

Until next time, readers.

—Kendall Manifould