I've had the
Persepolis box set sitting on my shelf. After reading that it's been made into an Oscar nominated movie and seeing Marjane Satrapi on
The Colbert Report, I decided to rip open the shrink wrap today. I just finished it. Let me tell you how affecting this
true story was for me: I've never cried so hard at the end of a book's conclusion. Not once. I've read sad books, I've cried, but I don't think I've ever sobbed. The sum of it had a really strong impact on me. I cried so hard it freaked out my cat, who was sleeping next to me. She put her nose in my face three times to see what's up, purred and rubbed against me in an attempt to comfort me, walked over me, jumped when my jobs jolted her off my back, and nipped my arm when none of the usual stuff worked. The nip actually worked. I laughed.
It's not a total sob fest the whole way through. I only cried during one other part, and I managed to keep it together as I was out and about in public at the time. It's just... tough. And frustrating. It makes you want to do something, and I feel like I should, but I don't know what I can do to help. It's so complicated and fucked up, and there are people just stuck in the middle of all of this fundamentalist bullshit, and that's the point of the book. And it worked. I think everyone should read it. I think it's an important book, whatever that means. I can't recommend it highly enough.
I don't know if I have the strength to start
Persepolis 2 tonight. I do want to see the movie this weekend, though. It's only playing at one whole movie theater in Miami, which is bullshit, but it's close enough to me anyhow. And I want to see it even though one of the characters -- most likely, Marji, the author herself -- in the adaptation sniffs, "ABBA is for wimps."