The more I read of Satrapi’s work, the more I enjoy it. I enjoyed this more than either of the Persepolis books. I loved the simplicity of the artwork and style, and the simplicity of the story itself, which was nothing more than conversation. In my own life, I love getting together with a group of friends and just hashing over stories from our lives, and that’s all this was. It reminded me of get-togethers with my cousins.
The conversation itself was alternately light and heavy, funny and sad. It was charming and realistic. The women covered a broad range of topics, from cultural traditions to sex to menopause to keeping a husband to the value in being a mistress to the powerlessness of women to the ridiculous price put on virginity. And more. It flowed naturally, as if Satrapi just transcribed an actual afternoon’s conversation (and I’m not convinced she didn’t).
There isn’t really much to say about the book beyond that.