The Street of Butterflies
short fiction by Mehri Yalfani

978-1-77133-425-9
160 Pages
September 15, 2017
Fiction All Titles Stories Short Fiction

$22.95

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The Street of Butterflies short fiction by Mehri Yalfani

Mehri Yalfani's stories in The Street of Butterflies feature Iranian women dealing with displacement, cultural change, and struggles for survival and adaptation as immigrants in North America. At the same time, the challenges they face also reveal the racial, gendered and cultural anxieties of these same individuals who carry with them the biases of their country of origin to the norms of the new land. "Soleiman's Silence," "Felicia," "If You Were I," "Geranium Family," and "Line," all portray many dimensions of the migrant’s strive (or the refusal) to build a home, away from home. The stories that are set in Iran contain the complexity of the social and political context after the revolution that deposed the shah. These stories provide a glimpse of life in post-revolutionary Iran, where the new regime that replaced the old one continues the suppression and prosecution of political activists, only more harshly and mercilessly. Anyone who has lived under a brutal dictatorship can easily identify with the paralyzing fear of Sara and Nazar in the story, "Books," the agonizing wait of Zinat for her disappeared son in "Unexpicable Story," or the narratives of the ten-year-old child whose activist parents have perished in notorious prisons of the Islamic regime in "Where is Paradise?"

Mehri Yalfani was born in Hamadan, Iran. She graduated from the University of Tehran with a degree in electrical engineering and worked as an engineer for twenty years. She immigrated to Canada in 1987 with her family, and has been writing and publishing ever since. Four novels and two collections of short stories written in Farsi, her mother language, were published in Sweden, the U.S. and Canada. Her novel, Dancing In A Broken Mirror, published in Iran, was a finalist for the "Book of the Year" in 2000. She has published several books in English, including Parastoo: Stories and Poems (1995): Two Sisters (2000); and Afsaneh's Moon (2002). A Farsi version of Afsaneh's Moon was published in Iran in 2004. A volume of poetry in Farsi, Rahavard, was also published in 2004. Her short fiction has appeared in a number of American and Canadian anthologies. She lives and writes in Toronto.

From “Books”

     Nozar opened the door of the house and peeped into the alley. Streetlights
were off but there were lights on in some houses and their front yards, though
they barely lit the alley. Because there hadn’t been any air attacks for a few
months, some neighbours didn’t care about the war—carried on between
Iran and Iraq in Khuzestan, almost one thousand kilometres from Tehran.
     Nozar was breathing hard from lugging five big garbage bags full of books
down the stairs in three trips. The car had been parked a few meters away
from the front door; he started the engine, put the car in reverse and drove
backward to be as close as possible to the entrance, then placed the bags one
by one inside the trunk, as quietly as possible.
     Sara was sitting on the stairs, watching Nozar’s ordeal. She was wearing a
loose flowered cotton dress with short sleeves and was as mute as if she were
dumbfounded. With her hair tied at the back of her head, her sunken eyes
looked bigger. Her silence and her frightened expression were extra burdens
on Nozar, who was preoccupied by what he was doing. With a few days’
growth of whiskers, his complexion looked darker and he appeared older;
his tall, sturdy body was wet with sweat and hunched slightly. He looked at
Sara, sitting on the stairs, watching him with desperation. He softened his
voice and said, “You’d better go upstairs and rest. You need…”A passing car
cut out Nozar’s words. He listened carefully until the noise faded away. With
the same calm, soothing tone he continued, “I’ll finish the job in an hour
and come back. I promise.” He continued ferociously, “These wicked books!
We should get rid of them. They are the reason for our...”
     The sound of faraway shooting stopped him.
     Sara couldn’t bring herself to say a word—she just smiled anxiously.
     …Nozar closed the trunk of the car quietly and came back into the house.
She stood up, her hands in her pockets, and let Nozar hug her, kiss her forehead
and lips, but she was remote. Looking in her eyes, he added, “Don’t worry.
Many people are doing the same. Everybody is throwing away the books
that might cause them problems. Farahzad’s and Varamin’s ditches or even
Shahre Ray and the roads out of Tehran are full of books. I won’t go very far.”

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