May 13, 2024
Review of A Naked Woman in the Snow by Dariush Beritan
A Naked Woman in the Snow is a short-story collection by Dariush Beritan. Indeed, it’s a… short short-story collection, at about 80 pages and containing five stories. In other words, although (as you will see in this review) it’s not a collection for everyone, it also doesn’t require much of your time. That makes it a marvelous opportunity to try something you’re unfamiliar with.
Familiarity with the subject matter – or lack thereof – will be the key concept in this review, because at the same time it’s what assigns the collection much of its expressive power yet also what keeps it from being fully relatable. But this isn’t as much of a problem as you might think. Indeed, I’d even say it’s a literary device – it’s not a bug, it’s a feature!
Review of A Naked Woman in the Snow: Genre, Plot, Narrative
The collection flirts with literary fiction. That is another way of saying, there are some aspects that don’t feel quite recognizable as literary-fiction-like, though in its entirety the collection would probably fall under that category.
One reason might be the short-story format, which precludes a sustained, in-depth exploration. For a similar case, see my review of Interpreter of Maladies. But a more possible (and at the same time intriguing) reason might actually be the partial placement of A Naked Woman in the Snow outside the Anglophone context.
Escaping the Confines of the Western Canon
The context of the first two of the stories (so basically half the collection) is explicitly offered: “Kurdistan 1930-1940”. For a Western audience, this is difficult to relate to, as many readers wouldn’t even be able to place Kurdistan on a map.
As a result, the average reader will probably have a bit of trouble relating and emotionally engaging with the story. Nonetheless, the overall quality of the text does help, and with a bit of effort – truly, a Litmus test; if a reader can’t get through the first two stories, they don’t deserve the rest – engagement will come.
In a sense, the overall vibe and experience reminded me of some stories by Shahriar Mandanipour, such as his Seasons of Purgatory collection. Or, even better, as it combines East and West, Hassan Blassim’s short stories. That is to say, that elements of the collection feel difficult to relate to or outside the Western experience is the very reason the collection is interesting and worth your time.
Review of A Naked Woman in the Snow: Characters
As I said earlier, short stories generally don’t allow for a sustained exploration of characters. Inevitably then – and especially considering the relatability aspects – the reader will probably not quite manage an in-depth dive into the psyches of the various characters.
This is rarely a problem in short stories, however, as the whole point is to get into the affective aspect of the story. In a way, it’s not about the characters but about what they symbolize.
The high-quality prose of the collection also succeeds in providing chunks of experience – mnemonic anchors – that do wonders in their simplicity. Here are a couple of examples that made an impression on me:
The sky was grey, and the blue eyes of Delbar were turning dark. Finally, she slid off her horse. No, it is not beautiful when a beauty falls.
The sound of an ice cream vendor’s bell could be heard repeatedly in the distance as though in warning.
“Hurry up! The ice cream is running out!”
There are plenty of examples like these, where the text manages (even effortlessly) to create a lasting impression with a relatively simple construction.
Review of A Naked Woman in the Snow: General Impression
Let’s be clear about one thing: A Naked Woman in the Snow is certainly far above your average prose out there. In a literary world full of sameness and mediocrity (the word “literary” should be taken with a pinch of salt here), it’s refreshing to see such collections, offering something out of the ordinary.
At the same time, the way the five stories march together is a little peculiar. From Kurdistan in times agone to Malta and from (almost) present-day Christmas to letters from the Korean war as well as the Ukraine-Russia war, it isn’t fully clear how the stories fit together. Peculiarly, perhaps, that too can be a literary device.
Ultimately, I’ll repeat my suggestion from the introduction: No, this isn’t a collection for everyone. But its short length and high-quality prose are certainly worth your time.