Born in Iran and exiled in the UK from the age of nine, in 1979, journalist, travel writer and broadcaster Kamin Mohammadi went back to her country of birth to write her first book, telling the story of 20th-century Iran through three generations of Iranian women—Kamin, her mother and her grandmother. Excerpts from an emailed interview.
What did you feel when you left Iran in 1979 with your family?
I’m not sure I understood what was going on, I certainly didn’t know we were leaving forever. I was scared by chaos and violence I saw. I remember leaving our house in Ahvaz without saying goodbye to my friends. I had a pet lamb I was forced to give away to a friend who later ate it. More than anything, I was scared.
What struck you most on your return in 1996?
Iran had changed in many superficial ways. Women wore drab hijabs, Tehran had grown massively, with towering skyscrapers instead of rambling old Persian houses with walled-in gardens. But the thing that struck me most when we landed in Tehran was the smell of the night air. It struck me so hard—the smell of home—that I cried with joy.
When did you conceive The Cypress Tree?
I’ve had the idea for 10 years, since the first trip back in 1996. I wanted to write about my family because when I rediscovered them, I fell in love with them and felt the need to share them with the world. Also when I realised that my father was born the same year Reza Shah took the throne, that his life reflected the great shift towards modernity that the Shah’s rule brought about: the symbolism was too perfect to ignore. Add to that my compulsion to share the culture of my beautiful country.
How long did it take?
I’d say a year on research in Iran travelling about and talking to family members, 18 months on research in the British Library in London, and 2-3 years writing it. It was the longest work I’ve undertaken—I’m a journalist, used to turning work around rather more quickly!
Iran from the diaspora POV?
I love it. It is my dream that in my lifetime I can go back and live in Iran in freedom and democracy, choosing what to wear and who to be seen with. I know that history will turn again and Iran will triumph. I just don’t know when. I am optimistic.
Wasn’t writing about your family invasive?
That’s an interesting question, I was concerned about this. We’re conditioned not to divulge anything about the family to strangers, to preserve ‘face’ and family honour. So this made it very hard to negotiate a book like this. But I wrote nothing that any of my family weren’t happy to have in the public domain. It was quite a tightrope to walk.
Family reaction?
I couldn’t have begun to imagine the incredible support I got. It has brought my family together again, everyone is reading it and getting in touch, reminiscing about old days, saying how proud and grateful they are that their children will have a record of their family and country’s history. That’s a gift I didn’t dare anticipate. One of my uncles, a main character in the book who lives in the US, told me that he reads it aloud every night to his wife. For them it’s amazing to have their story told, to have their experiences validated, to have the world know what they have been through. I am very proud of this.
Any comparison with Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis?
I love all Marjane Satrapi’s books, and her film too. I love her storytelling, and the comic book form is wonderful. I think we attended the same school in Tehran, and we are contemporaries, so I found reading Persepolis the first time very moving indeed—as parts of it were my story too. I do think our books are different, though. Although like her I tell my story, I have also made great efforts to present the modern history of Iran, as well as what happened during the revolution, in an objective way. I think my book reaches back further than hers, historically.
Why the title?
I got the title from a family saying which struck me as being the truest aphorism about the Iranian character: “Iranians are like the cypress tree. We bend in the wind but do not break”. Cypress is indigenous to Iran and so very familiar, not just in the landscape but in our decorative arts and architecture. I also liked the symbolism—major poets have used it to describe a beautiful, modest and elegant woman, and the fact that in Zoroastrian times, it was seen as a tree of paradise.
Your take on Iran today?
You can sum it up in the words of a friend of mine: “Before the revolution, we partied in public and prayed in private. Now we pray in public and party in private”. Beyond that, I find the young people of Iran inspiring and engaged, well educated and open minded. They’re amazing, our hope for the future.