The Stationery Shop by Marjan Kamali (English) Paperback Book

Description: The Stationery Shop by Marjan Kamali "A novel set in 1953 Tehran, against the backdrop of the Iranian Coup, about a young couple in love who are separated on the eve of their marriage, and who are reunited sixty years later, after having moved on to live independent lives in America, to discover the truth about what happened on that fateful day in the town square."--Provided by publisher. FORMAT Paperback LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Publisher Description From the award-nominated author of Together Tea and The Lion Women of Tehran, a poignant, "powerful" (The Wall Street Journal) and "affecting novel about first love" (Real Simple) that explores loss, reconciliation, and the quirks of fate. Roya, a dreamy, idealistic teenager living amid the political upheaval of 1953 Tehran, finds a literary oasis in kindly Mr. Fakhris neighborhood stationery shop, stocked with books and pens and bottles of jewel-colored ink. Then Mr. Fakhri, with a keen instinct for a budding romance, introduces Roya to his other favorite customer--handsome Bahman, who has a burning passion for justice and a love for Rumis poetry--and she loses her heart at once. Their romance blossoms, and the little stationery shop remains their favorite place in all of Tehran. A few short months later, on the eve of their marriage, Roya agrees to meet Bahman at the town square when violence erupts--a result of the coup detat that forever changes their countrys future. In the chaos, Bahman never shows. For weeks, Roya tries desperately to contact him, but her efforts are fruitless. With a sorrowful heart, she moves on--to college in California, to another man, to a life in New England--until, more than sixty years later, an accident of fate leads her back to Bahman and offers her a chance to ask him the questions that have haunted her for more than half a century: Why did you leave? Where did you go? How is it that you were able to forget me? Author Biography Marjan Kamali, born in Turkey to Iranian parents, spent her childhood in Kenya, Germany, Turkey, Iran, and the United States. She holds degrees from UC Berkeley, Columbia University, and New York University. She is the 2022 recipient of the National Endowment for the Arts Creative Writing Award. She is the author of The Lion Women of Tehran, The Stationery Shop, and Together Tea. Marjan lives with her husband in the Boston area. They have two children. Review "A big, ambitious, beautifully executed novel that draws the reader in and never lets go." -- "The Santa Barbara Independent""The Stationery Shop is a wistful look at two idealists and the world they should have inherited . . . Kamali offers a paean not just to lost love, but to the poetry, food, and culture that fed their memories for 60 years."-- "Christian Science Monitor""Grab your tissues . . . Marjan Kamalis second novel channels love in the time of coup détats. Set among the political upheaval of 1950s Tehran, The Stationery Shop follows teenager Roya as she discovers the power of love, loss, and then, decades later, fate. And did we mention youll need tissues?"-- "Boston Magazine""I! Am! Obsessed! With! This! Book! . . . Think The Notebook, only better (no offense, Ryan Gosling)."-- "COSMOPOLITAN.COM""The unfurling stories in Kamalis sophomore novel (after Together Tea) will stun readers as the aromas of Persian cooking wafting throughout convince us that love can last a lifetime. For those who enjoy getting caught up in romance while discovering unfamiliar history of another country."-- "Library Journal""Marjan Kamali weaves a powerful, heartbreaking story of star-crossed lovers and Irans political upheavals...The Stationery Shop is at once a layered historical saga of a country struggling toward democracy and an intimate meditation on "a love from which we never recover."-- "Shelf Awareness""Marjan Kamalis The Stationery Shop is an affecting novel about first love."-- "Real Simple" Review Quote "What a pleasure--a novel that is all at once masterfully plotted, beautifully written, and filled with characters who are arresting, lovable, and so real. Brava, Marjan Kamali; now that Ive finished, I miss this world of yours." Excerpt from Book The Stationery Shop Chapter One 2013 The Center "I made an appointment to see him." She said it as if she were seeing the dentist or a therapist or the pushy refrigerator salesman who had promised her and Walter a lifetime guarantee of cold milk and crisp vegetables and unspoiled cheese if only they would buy this brand-new model. Walter dried the dishes, his gaze on the kitchen towel and its print of a yellow chick holding an umbrella. He didnt argue. Walter Archers penchant for logic, his ability to let reason trump all, was a testament to Royas own good judgment. For hadnt she married a man who was reasonable and, my goodness, unbelievably understanding? Hadnt she, in the end, not married that boy, the one she had met so many decades ago in a small stationery shop in Tehran, but lassoed her life instead to this Massachusetts-born pillar of stability? This Walter. Who ate a hard-boiled egg for breakfast almost every single day, who said as he dried the dishes, "If you want to see him, then you should. Youve been a bit of a wreck, Im afraid." By now Roya Archer was almost American, not just by marriage but by virtue of having been in these United States for over five decades. She could remember a childhood spent in the hot and dusty streets of Tehran, playing tag with her little sister, Zari, but her life now was carefully enclosed in New England. With Walter. One visit to one shop a mere week ago--to buy paper clips!--had cracked everything open. Once again she was mired in 1953. Cinema Metropole in the middle of Irans largest city that contentious summer. The red circular sofa in the lobby, over which a chandeliers crystals glistened like corpulent tears, smoke from cigarettes floated in wisps. Up the stairs and into the movie theater he had led her, and there on the screen, stars with foreign names caressed each other. After the film, he had walked with her in the summer twilight. The sky was lavender and layered with shades of purple so varied, they seemed impossible. He had asked her to marry him near the jasmine-soaked bushes. His voice cracked when he said her name. They had exchanged countless love letters, planned their union. But in the end, nothing. Life had pulled out from under her everything that they had planned. No worries. Royas mother had always said that our fate is written on our foreheads when were born. It cant be seen, cant be read, but its there in invisible ink all right, and life follows that fate. No matter what. She had squished that boy out of her mind for decades. She had a life to build, a country to get to know. Walter. A child to raise. That Tehran boy could very well be squeezed to the absolute bottom of the bucket, like a rag useless and worn out and pressed so far down into the depths that after a while he was almost forgotten. But now she could finally ask him why he had left her there in the middle of the square. Walter maneuvered the car into the slippery spot narrowed by snowbanks. When they jerked to a stop, Roya couldnt open the car door. Somehow, during their long drive together, theyd become locked in. He came around and opened the car door because he was Walter, because he had been raised by a mother (Alice: kind, sweet, smelled of potato salad) who had taught him how to treat a lady. Because he was seventy-seven and couldnt comprehend why young men today didnt handle their wives like fragile glass. He helped Roya out of the car and made sure her knitted scarf protected her nose and mouth against the wind. Together they walked carefully across the parking lot and up the steps of the gray building of the Duxton Senior Center. A burst of overheated air greeted them in the lobby. A young woman, about thirty, her blond hair in a bun, sat behind a desk. A plastic badge with the name CLAIRE was pinned to her chest. Flyers tacked onto a bulletin board behind her desk exclaimed "Movie Night!" and "Bavarian Lunch!" all with exclamation marks, even as the edges of the flyers furled, even as crumpled people in wheelchairs inched their way across the linoleum floor and others pushing walkers steadied themselves so as not to fall. "Hi there! Joining us for Friday lunch today?" Claires voice was loud. Walter opened his mouth to say something. "Hello, he wont," Roya quickly said. "My husband is going to try the famous faux lobster roll at the Dandelion Deli. I looked it up on the Yelp. So rare to find lobster roll served in the middle of winter, dont you think? Even if its fake." She was rambling. She was trying so hard not to be nervous. "It was given five stars." "That deli?" The receptionist looked surprised. "Their lobster roll," Roya mumbled. Walter sighed. He held up five fingers to indicate to Claire that his wife believed in the five stars. "Oh, okay! Lobster!" Claire nodded. She pronounced it lobstah. "Have to trust those Yelp reviews!" "Go on, then," Roya said gently to her husband. She raised herself on her toes to kiss Walters freshly shaven cheek. The crepey skin, his Irish Spring soap scent. She wanted to reassure him. "Righty-oh." Walter nodded. "You got it. Off I go, then." But he didnt move. She squeezed his hand, the familiar soft grip of her life. "Dont let her get into too much trouble now," Walter finally said to the receptionist. His voice was strained. A blast of cold air filled the lobby when Walter walked out the double doors and descended into the icy parking lot. Roya stood uneasily in front of the desk. She was suddenly overwhelmed by the smell of ammonia and some kind of stew. Beef? Definitely beef with onions. The heat, cranked up to compensate for the New England cold, made the stew smell overpowering. She couldnt believe she had actually come here. The radiators hissed, wheelchairs squeaked, it all suddenly felt like a terrible mistake. "And how may I help you?" Claire asked. A gold cross hung around her neck. She looked at Roya with a strange expression, as though she knew her. "I made an appointment to see someone," Roya said. "One of your assisted-living patients." "Ah, you mean a resident. Great. And who may that be?" "Mr. Bahman Aslan." The words came out of Royas mouth slowly, like rings of smoke, visible and real. It had been years since shed said his full name out loud. The cross on Claires neck glinted under the fluorescent lights. Walter would be out of the parking lot by now. Claire got up and came around the desk to face Roya. She gently took both of Royas hands in hers. "It is so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Archer. I am Claire Becker, the assistant administrator at the Duxton Center. Thank you for coming. I have heard so very much about you. It means a lot to me that you are here." So she wasnt the receptionist--she was an administrator. How did Claire Becker know Royas name? It must have been in the appointment book. She had made an appointment, after all. But why did this young woman act like she knew her? And how had she heard so much about her? "Please come," Claire said softly. "Ill take you right to him." This time she didnt add the obligatory exclamation mark that seemed necessary for covering up misery around here. Roya followed Claire down a corridor and into a large hall furnished with a long table and plastic folding chairs arranged on either side. But no one sat at the table playing bingo or gossiping. Claire pointed to the far end of the room. "Hes been waiting for you." By the window sat a man in a wheelchair next to an empty plastic chair. His back was to them; Roya couldnt see his face. Claire started to approach him, but then she stopped. She cocked her head and took in Roya from head to toe as if measuring her potential for safety, for harm, for drama. Claire fidgeted with her necklace. "Is there anything I can get you? Water? Tea? Coffee?" "Oh, Im fine, thank you for asking." "Are you sure?" "You are kind to ask. But no." Now it was Claires turn to linger. By God, no one wanted to leave Roya alone with this . . . resident. For crying out loud. As if she, a small woman in her seventies, held any kind of power over him or anyone else anymore. As if she, Roya Archer, could torch the place down with her presence, create a blast just by being there. "I am good," she said. Shed learned to say that from Americans: Im good, Im fine, its all okay, okey-dokey. Easy-peasy Americanisms. She knew how to do it. Her heart pounded, but she looked steadily at Claire. Claire lowered her head and finally turned and walked out. The click-click of her heels as she left the room matched Royas extra-loud heartbeat. She could still follow Claire and leave this smelly place, catch up to Walter before he finished his lunch, go home, climb into bed, and pretend never to have made this strange miscalculation. It wasnt too late. She imagined Walter hunched over his ginger beer and lobster roll alone at that deli--poor thing. But no. Shed come here to finally find out. One foot in front of the other, that was how you did it. She forced herself toward the wheelchair by the window. Her heels didnt click; she had on her trusty gray thick-soled Details ISBN1982107499 Author Marjan Kamali Short Title STATIONERY SHOP Pages 336 Publisher Gallery Books Language English ISBN-10 1982107499 ISBN-13 9781982107499 Format Paperback Publication Date 2020-02-11 Imprint Gallery Books Year 2020 DEWEY 813.6 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. 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