"Like most Easterners, I have a large family, with stories flowing in all directions. Unlike Westerners who have "family secrets," in the East, and in this case in Iran, we talk a lot, we tell everything, and we grow up in a family with all these characters from the past and these stories. So, I tried to transcribe this impression that I felt as a child living in the middle of a huge family—including ghosts!—but also the amazement of listening to stories told by the elders. I created some characters by drawing right and left from memory, others that I invented because they served the story, others that are a mix of people I knew. Finally, being imbued with this past helped me to compose a gallery of characters without my being overly concerned about whether the Western reader would recognize them." - Negar Djavadi
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

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