Reading Lolita in Tehran_ A Memoir in Books - Azar Nafisi [187]
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are numerous individuals whose real selves, ghosts or shadows make cameo appearances in the pages of this book. Some I have known for a long time, sharing with them many of the experiences narrated in the preceding chapters; others I feel as if I have known all my life, even if they were not there then. There is no way that I can acknowledge their contributions in these few words. Like the good fairies and genies protecting Nabokov’s Pnin, they have been the guardian angels of my book. To them I owe more than I can ever articulate.
My mother, Nezhat Nafisi, died on January 2, 2003. I could not be with her through her last months of illness and her death. That grief will always be accompanied by a hatred I shared with her of evil totalitarian systems which Nabokov denounced for holding their citizens hostage by their heartstrings. For her, the fight against tyranny was not a political but an existential struggle. As a daughter and an individual I could never reach the standards of perfection she expected of me, but she did take genuine pleasure in my work and we believed in the same ideals and values. She had looked forward to reading this book, and I dedicate it to her in memory of her courage and sense of integrity, which were the main causes of her passionate failings. She and my father were the first, most enthusiastic and selfless supporters of my work.
My father was the first storyteller in my life, creating stories for me and with me. He taught me many things, among them how to believe in ideals and how to confront the real world with the possibilities created by fictional ones. With my brother, Mohammad, I shared my earliest dreams and stories (an experience I continue to share with my beloved niece, Sanam Banoo Nafisi); although we lived apart during the writing of this book, his critical and compassionate eye has been my constant companion. My husband, Bijan, with whom I shared so many of the experiences in this book, has been literally my better half throughout this ordeal as all others. He was the only one apart from my editor who read the finished manuscript of my book, helping me much through his impartial judgment, moral integrity and love. My children, Dara and Negar, provided me with the kind of love and support that at times reversed our roles.
Other family members and friends made the writing of this book easier with their support and encouragement: Manijeh and Q Aghazadeh; Taraneh and Mo Shamszad; Parvin, whose invaluable friendship and constant support cannot be acknowledged in words, and also Khosrow, Tahmineh joon, Goli, Karim, Nahid and Zari; my good friend Mahnaz Afkhami, who offered friendship and wise counsel during a difficult and lonely time; Paul (thank you for introducing me to Persecution and the Art of Writing, among many other things), Carl Gershman, Hillel Fradkin and the wonderful colleagues and staff at the University of Freedonia; Bernard Lewis (who opened the door); Hayedeh Daragahi, Freshteh Shahpar, Farivar Farzan, Shahran Tabari and Ziama (for teaching me about the relation between Beethoven and freedom); Lea Kenig for her friendship, support and love of books, which she generously shared with me; my retrieved childhood friends Farah Ebrahimi and Issa H. Rhode; and my voices of conscience and bosom friends Ladan Boroumand, Roya Boroumand and Abdi Nafisi.
I will always remain indebted to my students, who provided me with a new outlook on life and literature, but especially to Azin, Yassi, Sanaz, Mitra, Mahshid, Manna, Ava, Mozhgan, Nassrin and Nima. Almost every page of this book resonates with memories of my teaching experiences and in a sense every page is dedicated to them.
Since I left Iran in 1997, the Paul H. Nitze School for Advanced International Studies (SAIS) at Johns