Review of Then the Fish Swallowed Him by Amir Ahmadi Arian

*Then the Fish Swallowed Him* by Amir Ahmadi Arian (2020). Published by HarperVia.

If you’re new here, and stumbled upon this blog through the mythical powers of the Internet, welcome! I know a lot of visitors to my website are people who randomly come upon this website through search engines like Google, but I also do have a lot of visitors who come back. Regardless: my name is Ashley, and I started this blog in order to keep track of everything I’m coming across in the world.

I recently fell into a spell of unemployment probably during the worst time to be unemployed, as it was very hard to find a job. I was applying to hundreds of jobs, getting interviews, but no offer was manifesting for me in the near future. So during this time, I had a lot of free time, and spent a good chunk of it chipping away at the blog.

As a book blogger, something I’ve always been super clear about and dedicated towards promoting are local libraries. I know having access to a good library is a privilege, and there are countries where people don’t really have access to books at all. I am so grateful every day that I have access to a decent library system, especially in today’s world.

I truly like buying books when I can, but when money is tight and room is limited, I stick to the library. I think libraries are such an incredible free resource here in the United States, and we take them for granted because a lot of Americans can’t fathom that most countries don’t have this much access to books, movies, and so much more openly.

I’ve been using my library a lot lately because of my unemployment, but I’ve been focusing a lot lately on reading more literature from SWANA based authors. I define SWANA loosely here, as some of these writers belong to the diaspora, but I’ve had quite a few reviews on my blog on these books and movies lately. Some aren’t out yet, so keep an eye out if you’re into that.

But it was on Libby that I checked out an audiobook of Then the Fish Swallowed Him, which is by an Iranian author. I am Iranian myself, although born and raised in the United States, which is why I wanted to read this one after skimming the synopsis on Libby. I listened to it while I did work and chores, which helped the time go by.

Let’s get into the review! I don’t want to ramble too much, as I know I can do that quite often.

When a Tehrani bus driver is arrested and taken to Evin Prison, he reflects on his life and forms a bond with his guard.

The main character in this novel is Yunus, who lives his life in a very typical way for an Iranian man living and working in Tehran. He lost his parents several years prior unexpectedly, and ever since then he’s been flying under the radar with the people around him in his life. He drives buses for a living, which leads to the predicament in this novel.

Despite not being a political person at all, even avoiding political statements at times when he shouldn’t be, Yunus finds himself surrounded by politics when the bus drivers begin striking. Even though he ignores it at first, he ends up joining in on the strikes once he reaches his limit as a person.

But this has devastating consequences: Iranian officers end up blindfolding and taking him away to Evin, which, if you know anything about imprisonment in Iran, is where the top intellectuals and political activists are often taken away to. It’s also known to be one of the most horrible prisons in Iran because of the way the government runs it.

So begins Yunus’ time in solitary confinement in Evin. It’s during his time in Evin that he begins befriending his guard and interrogator Hajj Saeed—or as much as befriending as we can call two people that in an intense power dynamic and are actually unable to agree with the politics over what’s happening in Iran.

Between that and solitary confinement, we learn throughout the novel’s pages the story of Yunus and his childhood, as he grew up in an Iran that was very different than what it is today. This section of the novel reminded me a lot of the stories my father used to tell me about the Iran he grew up in, which was much different in the late 1960s and 1970s.

Although this was in a completely different area of Iran in Yunus’ story, I could recognize similar themes and patterns many Iranians I know in general talk about with Iran and its sudden shift towards the Islamic Republic. We also learn about a big betrayal Yunus experienced with his best friend, which has left such an impact on him to this very day.

In the end, this very much becomes a novel about whether Yunus will break under a system he’s being imposed upon. Hajj is not his friend in the end, nor are the people working at the prison. This is a very male dominated novel though, which I began picking up on early on, but my thoughts were confirmed as I kept listening.

Overall Thoughts

I’ll have to admit: I really wanted to like this novel. The premise was interesting and highly relevant for understanding contemporary Iran, which many Westerners, especially Americans, have no idea about considering the state of our media and the angles they choose to go with. It’s always good to see a novel depicting the horrors of the Iranian system because it’s a form of representation for those who went through it.

However, the way the story and characters are presented just didn’t do it for me. It didn’t hit the right notes, and this was very obviously written by an Iranian man to me, which in some ways make sense. This is a male character’s perspective, but if this were written by a woman and featured female characters, this story would get a lot uglier.

It also couldn’t sustain itself in a way that felt productive. It felt drawn out while I was listening to it, and there were times I wanted to give up because it was just drowning in prose that felt redundant. It could’ve been a novella versus an almost 300 page book.

I hope someone else out there loves this more than I did! If it sounds interesting to you definitely give it a chance and ignore what a stranger on the Internet says—taste is so incredibly subjective, and something I might dislike could become your favorite novel. Neither of us are wrong—we just like what we like.

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