book info: on sale: now copy from: public library pages: 348 review written: 21.12.17 originally published: 2009 edition read: Penguin NAL 2009 title: Rooftops of Tehran author: Mahbod Seraji In a middle-class neighborhood of Iran's sprawling capital city, 17-year-old Pasha Shahed spends the summer of 1973 on his rooftop with his best friend Ahmed, joking around one minute and asking burning questions about life the next. He also hides a secret love for his beautiful neighbor Zari, who has been betrothed since birth to another man. But the bliss of Pasha and Zari's stolen time together is shattered when Pasha unwittingly acts as a beacon for the Shah's secret police. The violent consequences awaken him to the reality of living under a powerful despot, and lead Zari to make a shocking choice... my thoughts: This book was first published in 2009 and I remember adding it to my list around that time but never actually reading it since I preferred checking out library books to ...
This blog post is prompted by a discussion I had at lunch on Friday with my table of friends. We're all book lovers, so it became a passionate discussion.
I make myself happy, even when I'm not. If someone were to ask me "Are you happy?" I wouldn't know what to respond. I think because I'm quite bubbly at school, people automatically assume that I'm just always happy all the time. I'd beg to differ: I'm not a very cheery person when I get home. It's because of my introverted-ness. I know you're thinking "What? Then why is she bubbly at school?" Because I like being friendly, but school usually drains out all my social-ness and I recover over the weekend by staying in room all by myself and doing things alone.
Back on topic. We asked a question: "Which do you prefer, sad books or happy books?"
I said, "I like sad books"
And that fired off into passionate "argument". A friend (let's call her C) told me something along these lines:
C: "It's because you're happy all the time that sad books don't affect you as much. Sad books make me more sad, and I don't like that. Only when I'm really happy will I read a sad book. Depressed people who read sad books make them even more depressed"
Of course, her argument does have some extent of validity that I agreed with, but I'm not happy all the time and sad books do affect me. That's why I love them. My argument was this:
Me: "I love sad books because they're easy to write, meaning that it's easier to portray sad feelings, angry feelings, and all those negative emotions through writing than it is to write happy emotions. Sad books impact the reader in a tear-jerking, heart panging way that happy books sometimes can't achieve"
Then another friend, M, agreed with C and I became...well, that person on the other end of the spectrum. We compared different tastes, in which I and C were total opposites (thus this conversation)
I am too happy at school, or I seem to portray that too much so it bothers people that aren't. C is awesome: she's funny, sarcastic, and a great friend, but she has a sadness to her that I somehow challenged by saying that I liked sad books. I don't like making people upset, so this made me feel terrible. But then I thought, why feel bad about my opinion?
M and C both said they preffered happy books over sad ones. And once I again, I tried arguing that more often, sad books meant good literature (that's not always the case!). I used The Count of Monte Cristo as an example, but in the end, I was shot down. After lunch, I thought about what others would pick.
Sad books or happy books?
I make myself happy, even when I'm not. If someone were to ask me "Are you happy?" I wouldn't know what to respond. I think because I'm quite bubbly at school, people automatically assume that I'm just always happy all the time. I'd beg to differ: I'm not a very cheery person when I get home. It's because of my introverted-ness. I know you're thinking "What? Then why is she bubbly at school?" Because I like being friendly, but school usually drains out all my social-ness and I recover over the weekend by staying in room all by myself and doing things alone.
Back on topic. We asked a question: "Which do you prefer, sad books or happy books?"
I said, "I like sad books"
And that fired off into passionate "argument". A friend (let's call her C) told me something along these lines:
C: "It's because you're happy all the time that sad books don't affect you as much. Sad books make me more sad, and I don't like that. Only when I'm really happy will I read a sad book. Depressed people who read sad books make them even more depressed"
Of course, her argument does have some extent of validity that I agreed with, but I'm not happy all the time and sad books do affect me. That's why I love them. My argument was this:
Me: "I love sad books because they're easy to write, meaning that it's easier to portray sad feelings, angry feelings, and all those negative emotions through writing than it is to write happy emotions. Sad books impact the reader in a tear-jerking, heart panging way that happy books sometimes can't achieve"
Then another friend, M, agreed with C and I became...well, that person on the other end of the spectrum. We compared different tastes, in which I and C were total opposites (thus this conversation)
I am too happy at school, or I seem to portray that too much so it bothers people that aren't. C is awesome: she's funny, sarcastic, and a great friend, but she has a sadness to her that I somehow challenged by saying that I liked sad books. I don't like making people upset, so this made me feel terrible. But then I thought, why feel bad about my opinion?
M and C both said they preffered happy books over sad ones. And once I again, I tried arguing that more often, sad books meant good literature (that's not always the case!). I used The Count of Monte Cristo as an example, but in the end, I was shot down. After lunch, I thought about what others would pick.
Sad books or happy books?
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