The Stationery Shop of Tehran

by Marjan Kamali

Recommended Age: older YA readers (15+)

Content Warning(s): abortion, assault, attempted suicide, death, self harm, some graphic violence, war

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Book Summary

"Roya, a dreamy, idealistic teenager living amid the political upheaval of 1953 Tehran, finds a literary oasis in kindly Mr. Fakhri’s neighborhood stationery shop, stocked with books and pens and bottles of jewel-colored ink.

Then Mr. Fakhri, with a keen instinct for a budding romance, introduces Roya to his other favorite customer—handsome Bahman, who has a burning passion for justice and a love for Rumi’s poetry—and she loses her heart at once. Their romance blossoms, and the little stationery shop remains their favorite place in all of Tehran.

A few short months later, on the eve of their marriage, Roya agrees to meet Bahman at the town square when violence erupts—a result of the coup d’etat that forever changes their country’s future. In the chaos, Bahman never shows. For weeks, Roya tries desperately to contact him, but her efforts are fruitless. With a sorrowful heart, she moves on—to college in California, to another man, to a life in New England—until, more than sixty years later, an accident of fate leads her back to Bahman and offers her a chance to ask him the questions that have haunted her for more than half a century: Why did you leave? Where did you go? How is it that you were able to forget me?"

My Thoughts

I was at the checkout counter of the small, hole-in-the-wall bookshop I always visit in Delhi when I spotted this enchantingly bright orange cover. Out of the hundreds spread out on the table, it immediately caught my eye, and before I knew it, I had impulsively bought the book. Normally, I’d research the book, read reviews on Goodreads, and check its rating before deciding, but with this one, I skipped my usual process entirely. Perhaps it’s because the story has been something I’ve always wanted to know more about: Iran’s history. My curiosity about Iran began when I read Persepolis and A Very Large Expanse of Sea back-to-back in 7th grade, so I had high expectations.

The story captivated me from the first page, and it’s because of how immersive everything felt. The descriptions of Tehran and, specifically, Mr. Fakhri’s stationery shop, brought the city to life. I long to visit a place so timeless and only focused on books—the perfect combination!

Roya was an easy character to step into and connect with. Her inner monologue made it so you could understand her perspective deeply, while also gaining an insight into her family and friends’ motivations, too. Reading about her younger sister Zari’s blunt nature made me laugh—it felt like looking into the mirror and seeing the familiar honesty of a younger sibling reflected back! It was so nice to see her as both Roya’s fiercest advocate and the one person who would tell it like it is, whether you asked for it or not.

I also particularly enjoyed how the story moved between multiple time periods, giving just enough context without revealing everything all at once. As a reader, you can sense that certain details are crucial but don’t yet know why. Then, the story rewinds, going back in time to see why the emphasis was placed there. It’s a carefully thought-out structure that might seem complex and overwhelming on paper, but ends up improving the experience—if the story had been told chronologically, it would have built up to a point where you know that “this” leads to “that”, stripping the reading journey of any surprise.

Moreover, the political atmosphere obviously plays a significant role in shaping life in Tehran and setting the story. Still, I wasn’t aware that a coup had occurred in 1953 or that the unrest had been ongoing for so long. I had always thought this instability began with the 1979 revolution. Despite all this unrest, the story seamlessly shifted back and forth to Roya and Bahman’s blossoming relationship that was so sweet to read about. It was refreshing to see a book balance these two so extreme storylines, giving each one enough space so that neither overshadowed the other. 

Additionally, the book weaves in so many more themes that shed light on how people often go through private struggles that no one can suspect or even imagine. This might be a hot take once you read the story and understand what I'm referring to, but I understand some of the rationale behind one of the character's actions. I'm not saying their actions were justified—their choices genuinely disrupted people's plans and futures—but the story reminded me how easy it is to judge a person's actions without considering the perspective they were acting from or what felt rational to them in that moment. In that way, this book is more than just love or resistance, because it teaches you about perspective and giving grace to the private battles people fight.

I also appreciated the book’s clear link connecting the 1950s to the present day. I often forget that historical events are not just stories from a textbook, but actual events that happened and shaped lives in very real ways. A lot of historical fiction novels end at a point in history that is still distant and unimaginable for many of their readers, so it’s hard to form an emotional bond. This book doesn’t. Instead, it centers the story in history, but later offers a more modern lens to look at the events through, similar to how someone of my age would approach the story.

But what caught me off guard even more was this: the story reached such high highs, only to suddenly collapse like a house of cards, falling so low that you can’t imagine things ever turning around. I gasped audibly when the real reason for all the mess—the thing that shaped their lives for 60 years—was finally revealed. For me, a sign of a good book is unpredictability, because it makes you feel like the time and effort spent reading it was worthwhile because you learnt something. From this book, I didn't just learn about the 1953 coup or how enduring a love can be. It also shifted the way I perceive people's choices, reminding me that they often come from a place of fear, love, or past experiences we might not immediately see.