Polyphony Feeds Disintegration in The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran
The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran lacks a climax or central conflict, but it does evoke empathy for those who end up in exile after having fought an authoritarian regime.
This is not a review. See why.
Context
Behzad is part of the socialist wing of the 1979 revolution in Iran. He has been interested in its ideas for a couple of years and protests regularly. When the revolution gets serious, he leaves his family and travels to a compound owned by the revolutionaries. But then the clerics take over and begin hunting down those who were insufficiently religious. An atheist, he ends up fleeing Iran with his wife and their two small children. In West Germany, they have a third child. Although initially they believe it will be temporary, they stay in Germany for the rest of their lives—though when the Islamic regime eases up a bit in the 90s, the wife and daughters visit their relatives and family friends. The story ends in 2009, with the youngest two children going to a demonstration in Germany in support of the Iranian protestors.
The novel is in four parts, each from a different decade and perspective: the first in 1979 from Behzad’s point of view, the second in 1989 from his wife Nahid’s, the third in 1999 from their oldest daughter Laleh’s, and the last in 2009 from their son Mo’s.
Evaluation
Before discussing what the theme of the novel is, it’s important to note that this book is in important ways not a novel. The characters, of course, are made up, as are the specific actions they take. But the book lacks key elements of fiction. First, it lacks a plot. A plot is not merely a series of events; it is a logically connected series of events that leads to a climax that resolves the conflict. There is no climax that resolves the conflict here, and moreover, there is not one central conflict. Each part has a character dealing with his or her own desires: Behzad wants the revolution to succeed, Nahid wants to go back to Iran, Laleh wants to find community in her visit to Iran, and Mo wants thrills without responsibility. Though there may be an inner conflict within some of the parts—for example, Behzad wants the revolution to succeed but isn’t sure how best to play his part—the desires of the various family members only connect in the sense that they are family. The subject is clear: the struggles of Iranians living in exile. But the conflict, the ideas and values at stake in the novel overall (as opposed to for any one particular character) are not clear. Novels can feature different characters who have different values that are integrated into one larger overarching theme—but in this case, they are not.
Of course, it is interesting to picture what it would be like to be a person in this family, imagining the experience of having to leave one’s homeland and loved ones and start over somewhere new where you don’t know the language. But as written, this novel is more like narrative journalism, aiming to portray the effects of specific historical events on real people without the philosophic meaning or constructive efforts of fiction. It is possible to create a fictional work that pulls heavily from real life but still has a plot and a conflict. The Director, another book shortlisted for the International Booker Prize, does precisely that, its subject being a real-life director, its conflict being complicity in tyranny versus art, and its climax dealing with the film the director loses. The author of The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran states that one of her inspirations and favorite books as a child was Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, which showed her how one’s family history could be a template for a novel (the author’s parents fled Iran for Germany before she was born).1 However, Little Women also has a conflict (how to maintain independence in a particular period of history with socioeconomic restraints) and a climax (Jo’s book being published). The issue is not that The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran is historical fiction, but that it lacks key elements of fiction and thus is more like history written to provoke empathy.
Idea: The cost of revolution can be one’s homeland—but this may not be the disaster it seems at first
All that being said, it does convey an idea. Behzad loves his country and wants it to prosper; this isn’t only abstract for him, he loves the food, his extended family, and the traditions he grew up with. He sincerely (but mistakenly) believes that socialism is the only way to ensure everyone there will live a better life, and he is willing to take risks to make that happen. He loses a dear friend to the tyranny of the new Islamic regime and decides to flee to protect himself and his family. Years later, he reflects that when they were protesting, “We thought we were doing the only thing that was right. . . and that shields you from the reality” (175).
In Nahid’s section, we feel the loss of this most acutely. She grieves her community, the country that inspired the poetry she loves, the culture she grew up with, and more. She appreciates they’ve been given sanctuary and yet is conflicted about German culture, feels she must guard her tongue around West German friends, and worries her daughter will grow up more German than Iranian. However, we can see in the second half of the book that although the children are in many ways more German than Iranian, they are happy. Laleh learns to enjoy and appreciate her visits to Iran even as her life in Germany feels more real to her. She and her brother later both study in German universities and Laleh gets married there. Nahid’s and Behzad’s pain is real, but their family heals.
The Vibe
Because each narrator has his or her own voice, the vibe is different for each section. Behzad is self-righteous, his voice coming through as though he were writing a diary he knew might one day be read by others; it contains poetic descriptions of Iran along with a glowing pride in what he deems the worthiness of his cause. Nahid’s section is more sentimental. Her sadness at leaving Iran mingles with her love for her husband and her tenderness toward her children. Laleh’s section is that of an awkward teenage girl trying to find her way in a more complex situation than most. And Mo is a slovenly college student, and it shows. I found it easiest to connect with Nahid and Laleh; Behzad’s and Mo’s outlooks on life seemed, in very different ways, disconnected from the facts.
Conclusion
The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran is more a work of narrative journalism than of historical fiction, because it lacks a central conflict and climax. Its four sections feel largely disconnected. However, it does evoke empathy for those who end up in exile after having fought an authoritarian regime.
“An interview with Shida Bazyar and Ruth Martin, Author and Iranslator of The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran,” The Booker Prizes, March 16, 2026, https://thebookerprizes.com/the-booker-library/features/an-interview-with-shida-bazyar-and-ruth-martin.