I still remember the first time I’d read Marjane Satrapi’s memoir graphic novel, Persepolis. I was studying science at the University of Melbourne, a degree that I truly hated studying for, and that I never finished. I spent hours at one of the campus libraries, slowly making my way through their poetry, philosophy and comic book collections (funny how now I study philosophy). That’s how I found Persepolis. I think I remembered hearing about it somewhere, but I didn’t know anything about it.
The book was unassuming. Satrapi’s art style is simply and clear, the book is in black and white. The art gets out of the way to tell the story. It almost feels as though it would take away from the story if it were any different. Yet, it tells the story by itself.
Persepolis is a memoir of Satrapi’s youth, growing up in Tehran. Her parents…
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