I requested and received an eARC of The Ayatollah's Gaze: A Memoir of the Forbidden and Fabulous by Majid Parsa via NetGalley. When browsing titles, this one instantly grabbed my attention because of the bold colors. Much like a gaze, it held me captive. In his memoir, Parsa recounts a childhood of war, prayer, and devotion that is upended by his own sexual awakening and eventual pride. In his book, Parsa explores the persecution experienced by the gay men of Iran, but also dives into the fierce and flamboyant gay scene at the heart of Iran, under the shadow of the grand Ayatollah and the morality police.

This was a terribly interesting read. I really enjoyed the way Parsa weaves his way through time in a nonlinear fashion. It feels more true to the act of remembrance, the way our thoughts form and the ways we make associations between events in our lives and history. Parsa is masterful at painting very vivid scenes, really enveloping the reader in the community and culture he writes about. I think what I really appreciated most about Parsa’s memoir is that this work very easily could have been a much darker thing, and while there are plenty of moments of devastation the author takes great care to balance this with joy, giving a fullness to his recollections.

There are so many captivating figures presented in this memoir. Farid, Leila, Roya all cast their own spells over me. This memoir is about much more than being gay, it’s a delightful, and often quite emotional, coming-of-age story that interrogates religion, culture, and tradition. Parsa is very upfront about the struggles that queer people face in Iran and this is a stark reminder of the international fight for queer rights and safety. He makes a concerted effort to highlight the active queer community in Iran who resist by forging their own happiness. Parsa’s story is also about finding community and contains many important lessons if one is only willing to learn.

3* Slightly disappointing, as it comes across as if the only person who had it hard/suffered a loss, was the side character Reza, who lost his lover, Farid.

My mum came from an ethnic background and country where a gay man was publicly stoned to death in the 60s, in front of new- adult her. That was shocking, not so much the contents of this book in which Majid, not his real name, took silly risks and risked his family's safety, although he's used a pseudonym to maybe protect them, if they're still in Iran.

Was I surprised at what he and his friends got up to? Yes, because they were exposing themselves publicly, and not many were discreet, or seemed to have a braincell or few. Their antics, their openness, the lack of what felt like actual danger, made this book less than it could've been. I'm not sure how I was meant to see Majid and the LGBTQIA community as oppressed and suppressed in Iran, because that's not how it came across. Despite what we're told about his father's and elder brother's embrace of Islam, neither interfered in his antics or seemed to question anything. Perhaps for fear of not liking the answers they'd get? Then again, daddy made his military service cushier, so maybe he'd have intervened with the morality police. Sadly, it felt like Majid had it easy, that lies came to him easily and that he used others, including a female who turned out not to be as liberal as they'd both thought, and who threatened suicide when he 'dumped' her. And he was not a good friend to Ali, in his pleasure seeking. Majid was selfish and not very likeable, which was sad, as I wanted to be rooting for him. Reza and Farid seemed to be the only ones to suffer - Reza, the loss of Farid and not knowing for a year about his tragic end, and to find decent could-have-been in-laws who tried to protect him in the period before the truth came out. THAT was tragic, and sad.

This book didn't feel sincere or believable, sadly.

ARC courtesy of NetGalley and Neem Tree Press for my reading pleasure.

This was a really impactful read. It was devastating, heartbreaking but also filled with determination and human courage. Reading it as a young queer person it reminds me that there is still so much work to be done to protect queer people and to share the stories of those around the world

The Ayatollah's Gaze is an intimate portrait of what it means to grow up and live as a gay man under the Iranian regime, with all the beauty of a vibrant community finding joy and resilience in each other, and all the fear that the criminalisation of homosexuality brings with it. This is a love letter to the community, the living and the dead, that does not shy away from the dark but is much more concerned with the light - Parsa offers a reflective look through his life and all the meaningful connections that shaped his experience of finding himself in Iran, the friendships, romances, and losses that defined him in spite of the looming threats of the regime.

Parsa (pseudonym) walks us through what it meant to live under an oppressive and hateful regime and its politicians, especially as a gay man.
Parsa’s voice is so authentic, funny and engaging that you see how he survived those circumstances with his resilience, wit and resourcefulness.
That is not to say that the absolutely horrifying aspects of Ayatollah’s gaze is not in this book. It is everywhere. Except for Parsa’s and the others’ free minds and their fight for their rights, freedom and liberty.