Darius the Great Is Not Okay

“When she was a baby, I tried to talk to Laleh in Farsi too. But I never really got the hang of it, and Mom’s friends kept correcting me, so after a while I kind of gave up. After that, me and Dad talked to Laleh exclusively in English. […] That left the two of us in the dark whenever we were at gatherings with Mom’s friends. That was the only time Dad and I were on the same team.” 

The fact that Laleh speaks Farsi and Darius does not is a source of insecurity for Darius; it’s responsible for much of his sense that he isn’t truly Iranian, and it likely exacerbates his feeling that Laleh is his parents’ favorite child. The bright side, as Darius sees it, is that the shared language barrier is one of the few things he has in common with his father, creating a bond between them (at least when they’re around other Iranians). Even this connection is fragile, however. Stephen has had more exposure to Iranian culture than his son, and the fact that he fits in in ways that Darius doesn’t (e.g., by playing Rook) is a source of pain for Darius during their trip to Iran.

“It was like I had this well inside me, but every time I saw Mamou, it got blocked up. I didn’t know how to let my feelings out.” 

Darius’s difficulty talking to his grandmother is twofold. For one, the idea of Iran is so emotionally removed from Darius’s reality that it might as well be a make-believe place; in fact, just prior to this, he likens video chatting with his grandparents to receiving “a garbled transmission from a starship in distress” (23). Perhaps even more importantly, Darius at this point in the novel isn’t used to “letting his feelings out” with anyone; American culture doesn’t generally tolerate emotional vulnerability in men, and Darius’s father is so worried about his son’s depression that he discourages any sort of emotional display. A large part of what Darius learns during his trip to Iran is how to express his emotions healthily.

“Dad never really talked about his own diagnosis for depression. It was lost to the histories of a prior age of this world. All he ever said was that it happened when he was in college, and that his medication had kept him healthy for years, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. It wasn’t a big deal.” 

Given that Darius and his father share a diagnosis of depression, the fact that his father hasn’t talked about his own experiences of depression might seem surprising. It’s certainly confusing for Darius, because while Stephen says that depression isn’t a “big deal” but rather an illness to be treated and controlled like any other, his general avoidance of the topic suggests otherwise. Stephen’s reticence stems from a general discomfort talking about emotion and his guilt over having passed his condition on to Darius. Regardless, this silence on the subject is one of the primary sources of tension in Darius and Stephen’s relationship.

“I wondered why [Mr. Apatan] called it that. What made him call Iran home, when he knew I was born and raised in Portland.” 

Because all of Darius’s formative experiences in life have taken place in Portland, he naturally regards that city—and America more broadly—as his home. Despite this, Mr. Apatan’s comment implies that Darius is in some sense out of place in America. As a first-generation immigrant, Apatan is probably thinking about his own experiences trying to adjust to a new country, but it is true that Darius is something of an outsider in the US. However, Darius struggles to understand in what sense Iran could be considered his home, given that (unlike Mr. Apatan) Darius has no personal experiences of his ancestral country.

“I was ‘randomly selected’ for an enhanced screening after that, even though my messenger bag had nothing liquid, gel, or aerosol in it.” 

Darius’s use of scare quotes in this passage highlights that his selection was not random but representative of the experiences of many Middle Eastern Americans—even those who, like Darius, have never lived anywhere but the United States. Darius’s name, travel destination, and ethnically ambiguous appearance cause him to be profiled by security at the Portland airport; a similar set of factors contribute to the bullying he experiences at school.

“For Fariba Bahrami, love was an opportunity, not a burden.” 

Darius gets along well with his grandmother from the start; in fact, he says the above during the car ride from the airport in Tehran to his grandparents’ home in Yazd. His remark that Mamou sees love as an “opportunity” rather than a “burden” is significant considering Darius’s more troubled relationships with Babou and his own father. Both of these characters feel that loving Darius involves controlling what they pass on to him—a religion, a mental illness, etc. Meanwhile, Darius himself feels obliged to live up to (what he takes to be) Babou’s and Stephen’s expectations to earn their love. By contrast, Mamou simply accepts and loves Darius as he is. 

“Sohrab laughed. I liked Sohrab’s laugh: It was loose and free, like he didn’t care who heard it.” 

One of the first things that attracts Darius to Sohrab is the latter’s emotional openness; unlike the more guarded Darius, Sohrab has no inhibitions about laughing, crying, or otherwise expressing himself in front of others. As Darius will discover, the most striking example of this is the ease with which Sohrab shows physical affection, especially towards Darius. Having grown up in the US, Darius has internalized the idea that men aren’t supposed to get too close to one another, physically or emotionally. He’s surprised but pleased to discover that Sohrab is comfortable hugging him, walking close beside him, or putting an arm over his shoulder. Darius begins to copy this behavior while also opening up about his personal life with Sohrab.

“I thought about that: How back home, all Persians—even Fractional Persians like me and Laleh—were united in our Persian-ness. We celebrated Nowruz and Chaharshanbeh Suri together in big parties, Bahá'ís and Muslims and Jews and Christians and Zoroastrians and even secular humanists like Stephen Kellner, and it didn’t matter. […] But here, surrounded by Persians, Sohrab was singled out for being Bahá'í.”

One of the reasons Darius and Sohrab become close friends so quickly is their shared sense of exclusion—particularly as it relates to their identity as Iranians. As Darius observes here, some aspects of Persian experience that he has always taken for granted are not accessible to Sohrab as a result of his religion. This frames Darius’s own Persian identity in a new way; although he might be an outsider in some respects (e.g., language), he is an insider in others. Furthermore, Sohrab’s example suggests that it’s possible to be Iranian without having an easy relationship to that identity, opening up more space for Darius to claim his heritage. 

“Babou’s mustache twitched. ‘Stephen,’ he said, ‘you take these pills too?’

Dad dry-swallowed and then drank his water—the entire glass—in one long gulp. He almost blushed.” 

Traveling to Iran allows Darius to see his father from a different perspective. Although it’s an exaggeration to say (as Darius does earlier in the chapter) that Babou simply doesn’t like his son-in-law, he is on some level disappointed that his daughter married a man who is not Zoroastrian, or even Iranian. Moments like this one present Darius with a different image of his father than the one he’s used to—one in which Stephen is not scrutinizing and judging his son’s actions but is instead showing signs of insecurity. The fact that Darius believes his grandfather is also disappointed in him (and for many of the same reasons) provides an additional opportunity for empathy and solidarity, but it isn’t until the end of the novel that he and his father will talk openly about their feelings of shame, inadequacy, and depression.

“Babou looked right at me. ‘Darioush was a great man. Strong. Smart. Brave.’

I didn’t feel strong or smart or brave.

Like I said, my parents were setting themselves up for disappointment, naming me after a titanic figure like that.

[…]

‘Your mom and dad picked a good name for you.’” 

Darius’s struggles relating to Babou and his Persian heritage are a function of his poor self-esteem. Because he takes it as a given that he is not and never will be “strong or smart or brave,” he sees his parents’ choice of name as a burden he’ll never live up to. Darius doesn’t understand why Babou thinks the choice was a good one because he believes his grandfather views him as insufficiently Persian. Although Darius will struggle with doubts about his claims to Iranian identity, his sense of self begins to shift as he comes to see his heritage less as something he needs to measure up to, and more as something he can take pride in.  

“Babou looked up at me. There was something sad and lonely in his eyes, in the way his mustache drooped over his frown.” 

The above passage takes place shortly after Babou loses his way home on the way back from Persepolis. The episode underscores his advancing illness, leading Babou to reflect on the legacy he hopes to leave behind, and the fact that (as he says a moment earlier) Darius and Laleh aren’t Zoroastrian. The exchange is the first time Darius begins to grasp what is at the heart of his grandfather’s attempts to teach him about Persian culture: his fear that that culture is in danger of dying out with him.

“I had never been surrounded by my family before. Not really.

When Dayi Jamsheed started herding us together into a big group photo, my eyes started burning. I couldn’t help it.

I loved them.

I loved how their eyelashes were long and dark and distinct, just like mine. And how their noses curved around a little bump in the middle, just like mine. And how their hair cow-licked in three separate places, just like mine.” 

Being photographed alongside the rest of his mother’s family is a powerful and affirming experience for Darius, who has grown up not feeling he truly belonged anywhere; his ethnicity makes him a target at school, but (as his discussion of Javaneh clarifies) he also lacks some of the features stereotypically associated with Middle Eastern heritage. Coupled with his limited knowledge of Farsi, his discomfort with certain Persian holidays, etc., this leads Darius to feel insecure in his Iranian identity. As a result, it is reassuring for him to see so many people who look like him who are undeniably Persian.

“‘It’s genetic. Dad has it too.’

‘But you don’t talk to him about it? When you are sad, like now?’

‘No.’”

Sohrab teaches Darius to open up about how he’s feeling, including when he’s depressed. This has positive implications for Darius’s relationship with his father, because—as Darius admits here—he and his father don’t talk about their experiences of depression, even though it’s an obvious point of connection between them. In fact, it’s precisely because they have a common diagnosis that Darius’s father avoids the subject; he feels he has failed his son by passing his own condition on to him.

“I liked that Mom was friends with Mahvash, and now I was friends with her son.” 

Learning that his mother was childhood friends with Sohrab’s mother Mahvash helps Darius feel more grounded in his Iranian identity. Although he hasn’t grown up in Iran, his experiences there now are linked to his mother’s past experiences in a way that provides continuity extending backwards into history. 

“It was my job to teach you [Farsi]. To make sure you knew where you came from. And I really screwed up.” 

Shirin’s description of her "job” as a parent is similar to the novel’s own view. As she puts it, her role is not to ensure that Darius adopts any particular aspects of Iranian culture, but rather to present that culture to him and let him decide for himself. Because she was worried about Darius’s ability to fit into American society, this was something she struggled to do when he was younger. Nevertheless, she recognizes the limits of her influence as a parent in a way that other characters (including her husband) don’t; based on the trajectory of her own life, she knows that children don’t always grow up to be the people their parents expect.

“How did I not know my grandfather made sekanjabin?

How did I not know how delicious sekanjabin was?” 

One of the more obvious ways Persian culture and identity manifest throughout the novel is in the form of Persian cuisine. Although Darius is familiar with many Persian dishes, he has never heard of or tasted sekanjabin until visiting Sohrab the day after Nowruz. The fact that Darius’s own grandfather made this jar further underscores the link between cuisine and cultural identity; as Darius is trying new Persian foods, he is also learning more about his Iranian heritage (and Babou in particular). 

“Stephen Kellner didn’t like it when I got upset.

He didn’t like it when I had feelings.” 

Darius’s belief that his father doesn’t want him to have feelings is incorrect but understandable, given that Stephen often urges him not to be upset or angry. This stems from Stephen’s concern that Darius could end up “drowning in depression” (285) if he doesn’t nip negative emotions in the bud, but it’s counterproductive, as Stephen will eventually acknowledge and apologize for. In fact, the title of the novel is not just a description of Darius’s emotional state but also a way of normalizing that state as “okay.”

“It felt like a tourist thing, coming to see the Towers of Silence.

And it had felt like a tourist thing, going to visit the ruins of Persepolis. Even if they were part of our family history. Even if they were our heritage.

How could I be a tourist in my own past?” 

As Darius reaches the top of the Towers of Silence, he continues to struggle with how to think of himself in relation to his ancestry. His remark that he feels like a tourist suggests that traveling to Iran has not resolved his emotional disconnect from his past and culture, although there are moments when he does feel surrounded by that history (during family photographs, while listening to the azan, etc.). In fact, just a few moments after this, Darius responds with apparent awe to Babou’s explanation of how many generations of Bahramis have been buried on the Towers: “Our family was woven into the fabric of Yazd. Into the stones and the sky” (230).  

“I loved being Sohrab’s friend.

I loved who being Sohrab’s friend made me.” 

Because Darius feels such intense pressure to change who he is to please his father and grandfather, Sohrab’s easy acceptance is both a relief and a boost to his self-esteem. Importantly, this support and understanding sparks in Darius a desire to change—not to conform to someone else’s ideas about who he ought to be, but rather to be more like the person Sohrab already knows and appreciates. Part of the shift that takes place in Darius’s relationship with his father centers on this distinction; after clarifying that he does not want Darius to be more like him, Stephen works harder to support Darius in exploring his own interests and passions (e.g., encouraging him to pursue the internship at Rose City Teas). 

“I thought about Babou, waiting in the car. How many times had he come here to see the dancing flames?

How many times had his grandparents stared into the same fire?

And every other Bahrami. Going back generation after generation, through revolutions and regime changes, wars and invasions and pogroms. How many of them had stood where I was standing?

And how many would there be in years to come, if Babou was right and the Age of Bahramis was coming to an end?” 

Visiting the Atashkadeh is a bittersweet experience for Darius. He experiences a sense of connection to his heritage while gazing at the same fire his ancestors witnessed: “I felt the ghosts of my family all around me. Their soft presence raised the hair on my arms and tickled at my eyelashes” (271). However, this experience comes at the price of understanding and even sharing in his grandfather’s fear that that connectedness to the past is about to be broken, as Babou dies and Jamsheed (potentially) moves away. 

“You’ve always been good enough for me. I loved you from the first moment I saw your little hands on the ultrasound. And felt your little feet kicking in your mom’s belly. I loved you the first time I got to hold you and look into your beautiful brown eyes and know you felt safe in my arms. […] And I’ve loved you more every day. Watching you grow up. Watching you grow into yourself. Watching you learn to cope with a world I can’t always protect you from. But I wish I could.” 

For much of his life, Darius has believed that his father wants him to be more like him, and that his attempts to intervene in Darius’s life—monitoring his diet, telling him to cut his hair, etc.—are geared towards just that. With this speech, Stephen clarifies that that’s not the case; in fact, far from being disappointed in his son or wishing he was different, he has felt enormous pride in Darius as he has watched him “grow into himself”—that is, find his own unique identity. He acknowledges that it can be difficult for a parent to watch their child grow up and become more independent, particularly when they have reason to worry about their child’s well-being. As Stephen goes on to explain, it was this wish to protect Darius that led to his misguided nitpicking; he hoped that by forcing Darius to fit in more, he would be spared some stress, but this backfired, causing Darius to feel ostracized at school and at home.  

“That jersey had been my talisman—my Persian camouflage—but now I was going home. I didn’t need it anymore.

Maybe I had never needed it.

Maybe I never should have tried being something I wasn’t.” 

Because soccer is so popular in Iran (and because Darius has rediscovered his talent for it), the jersey that Sohrab gives to Darius becomes a symbol of Darius’s Iranian identity, and of his pride in it. However, in the aftermath of his fight with Sohrab, Darius once again feels as though he has no real claim to that identity, and that the broader transformation he has undergone as a result of Sohrab’s friendship was just pretense or “camouflage.” Consequently, he nearly leaves the jersey behind before deciding to pack it “[j]ust in case” (292)—a phrase that signals he hasn’t lost faith in the change he has experienced. 

“He didn’t slap my back like a Soulless Minion of Orthodoxy either.

He held me. And I held him.” 

Although Darius at one point implies he might have romantic feelings for Sohrab, the novel is more concerned with normalizing the idea of platonic connections between men, as well as outward expressions of those feelings. Because touch is so closely associated with sex in American culture, most teenage boys avoid touching one another, except in the consciously macho way Darius describes above. This is not the case in Iran, and the above passage demonstrates that touch can be a profound experience even in nonsexual contexts, reaffirming each person’s feelings for the other.