Interview
Tension Over Seven-Thousand Miles: AN INTERVIEW WITH Suzi Ehtesham-Zadeh
BY Ethan Gross, Sophia Nigro, & Rachel Yuro
October 2025
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Western media’s portrayal of Iran has always been complicated, to say the least. There are a pile of stereotypes and misunderstandings that still run rampant in our culture. Writer Suzi Ehtesham-Zadeh breaks down these notions in a series of touching and grounded stories in her award-winning, debut short story collection Zan. As an Iranian-American, she reflects on the complications that arise when the cultures you stem from are “different in every conceivable way.”
In this interview, Ehtesham-Zadeh explores the complexities and difficulties of her dual heritage, along with what she hopes readers take away from her stories. |
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Glassworks Magazine (GM): In your short story collection Zan, there are many references to the numerous differences in the cultures between America and Iran. How does your dual heritage influence the way you talk about both countries? Does the tension between them and/or your feelings about the conflict bleed into your work?
Suzi Ehtesham-Zadeh (SEZ): I’m a firm believer in the human family, and I do believe there is more that unites us than divides us. That said, “numerous differences” is a bit of an understatement when describing the cultures of America and Iran. It’s hard to imagine two cultures that are more unlike one another. They are different in every conceivable way, from the obvious (language, government, food, religion, clothing, customs) to the not-so-obvious (philosophical and ethical framework, attitudes toward individualism, humane orientation, gender definition, ontological perspectives). Americans and Iranians might be part of the same human family, but they are like estranged third cousins twice removed.
I hover somewhere in between the two cultures, which is not always a comfortable place to be. Someone once said that those of us who have dual heritage find ourselves sitting between two chairs, and this analogy describes me perfectly. As soon as I begin to grow comfortable in one of the two chairs, the other one beckons to me. It doesn’t help matters that Iran and the United States are quite literally on opposite sides of the globe.
The tension between my two cultures does more than just “bleed into” my work—it is the very meat of my work. The external conflict between Iran and the U.S. turns into a kind of civil war that rages inside of me. I’m a seasoned culture-straddler, and that condition informs everything I write. Although it can be bewildering at times, culture-straddling is not a curse. On the contrary, I regard it as one of the greatest gifts I have received as a writer, and one that continues to open deep wells of inspiration for me.
GM: We noticed a theme in the stories “The Daughters” and “Dying in America” of losing part of one’s identity, specifically in terms of becoming more American and less Iranian. Have you felt a disconnect between yourself and Iran because you live in America, or is this something you’ve seen in many Iranian-Americans?
SEZ: There is most definitely a disconnect between me and Iran, but I’ve grown used to it over time, as have many Iranian-Americans. I’m guessing all hyphenated Americans feel a similar disconnect. We are divided selves in some ways, but we navigate that by learning to live comfortably inside the gulf. It’s its own thing—a whole new kind of identity—and it has its own set of challenges and rewards.
Suzi Ehtesham-Zadeh (SEZ): I’m a firm believer in the human family, and I do believe there is more that unites us than divides us. That said, “numerous differences” is a bit of an understatement when describing the cultures of America and Iran. It’s hard to imagine two cultures that are more unlike one another. They are different in every conceivable way, from the obvious (language, government, food, religion, clothing, customs) to the not-so-obvious (philosophical and ethical framework, attitudes toward individualism, humane orientation, gender definition, ontological perspectives). Americans and Iranians might be part of the same human family, but they are like estranged third cousins twice removed.
I hover somewhere in between the two cultures, which is not always a comfortable place to be. Someone once said that those of us who have dual heritage find ourselves sitting between two chairs, and this analogy describes me perfectly. As soon as I begin to grow comfortable in one of the two chairs, the other one beckons to me. It doesn’t help matters that Iran and the United States are quite literally on opposite sides of the globe.
The tension between my two cultures does more than just “bleed into” my work—it is the very meat of my work. The external conflict between Iran and the U.S. turns into a kind of civil war that rages inside of me. I’m a seasoned culture-straddler, and that condition informs everything I write. Although it can be bewildering at times, culture-straddling is not a curse. On the contrary, I regard it as one of the greatest gifts I have received as a writer, and one that continues to open deep wells of inspiration for me.
GM: We noticed a theme in the stories “The Daughters” and “Dying in America” of losing part of one’s identity, specifically in terms of becoming more American and less Iranian. Have you felt a disconnect between yourself and Iran because you live in America, or is this something you’ve seen in many Iranian-Americans?
SEZ: There is most definitely a disconnect between me and Iran, but I’ve grown used to it over time, as have many Iranian-Americans. I’m guessing all hyphenated Americans feel a similar disconnect. We are divided selves in some ways, but we navigate that by learning to live comfortably inside the gulf. It’s its own thing—a whole new kind of identity—and it has its own set of challenges and rewards.
"I hover somewhere in between the two cultures, which is not always a comfortable place to be. Someone once said that those of us who have dual heritage find ourselves sitting between two chairs, and this analogy describes me perfectly."
GM: There’s a lot of traveling in between America and Iran in your stories. Do you think it’s important for people with dual heritage to have this type of physical connection with both countries they stem from? Do you think someone can still have a strong connection with that part of themselves if they can’t/don’t travel to the country often?
SEZ: It goes without saying that people with dual heritage should spend as much time as they can in each of their countries. There is no substitute for the total rousing of the senses that only physical presence can supply. In my story “The Daughters,” the senses are shocked when the daughters return to Iran after a long absence. When that happens, something has been irreparably lost.
Unfortunately, travel between Iran and the United States is not easy. The two countries are more than seven thousand miles apart, and tickets are extremely expensive, which is an obstacle for many Iranian-Americans. An even bigger obstacle is fear. There are hundreds of horror stories about dual nationals being interrogated, incarcerated, and even abducted and summarily executed upon arrival in Iran. Although they are far less horrific, there are also stories of Iranian-Americans being held for hours by U. S. border control agents and subjected to intense questioning when they return to America after being in Iran. Even when they are not detained, they are regarded with suspicion upon re-entry, and they can feel it.
As for the ability to remain connected to Iran without physically traveling there, I suppose it is possible, and Iranian-Americans have devised many creative ways of keeping their culture alive in America. Because I now reside permanently in the U. S., I dedicate a lot of energy to nourishing my Iranian roots so that they won’t die. One of the driving forces behind Zan is the desire to remain connected to Iran. The book is both a product of this desire and an expression of it.
SEZ: It goes without saying that people with dual heritage should spend as much time as they can in each of their countries. There is no substitute for the total rousing of the senses that only physical presence can supply. In my story “The Daughters,” the senses are shocked when the daughters return to Iran after a long absence. When that happens, something has been irreparably lost.
Unfortunately, travel between Iran and the United States is not easy. The two countries are more than seven thousand miles apart, and tickets are extremely expensive, which is an obstacle for many Iranian-Americans. An even bigger obstacle is fear. There are hundreds of horror stories about dual nationals being interrogated, incarcerated, and even abducted and summarily executed upon arrival in Iran. Although they are far less horrific, there are also stories of Iranian-Americans being held for hours by U. S. border control agents and subjected to intense questioning when they return to America after being in Iran. Even when they are not detained, they are regarded with suspicion upon re-entry, and they can feel it.
As for the ability to remain connected to Iran without physically traveling there, I suppose it is possible, and Iranian-Americans have devised many creative ways of keeping their culture alive in America. Because I now reside permanently in the U. S., I dedicate a lot of energy to nourishing my Iranian roots so that they won’t die. One of the driving forces behind Zan is the desire to remain connected to Iran. The book is both a product of this desire and an expression of it.
GM: In a lot of your stories, you strike a balance between seeing the good and the bad in Iran. However, in “Pride and Broom” you fully condemn Iran for its ideals regarding same-sex marriage. What drove that decision to focus on this specific experience for this story, and how did you feel as you wrote it?
SEZ: It’s good to know that some positive features of Iran shine through in my stories. On balance, I believe there is more good than bad in Iran, even under the current regime. I’m defining good here not in political or practical terms, but in humanistic ones.
“Pride and Broom” is not supposed to be an angry story, but rather a sad one. The same goes for the other story that features a same-sex couple, “Coming Out, Going Under.” These two stories are loosely based on the experiences of my older sister, who came out to our parents when she was around twenty and got married to a woman when she was in her forties. Both stories are greatly fictionalized, but I believe—or hope—that they accurately represent some of the struggles queer Iranians face. It goes without saying that there are as many queer Iranians as are there are queer people in any other population in the world.
I want to believe that both stories, while sad, offer a ray of hope. In “Pride and Broom,” the upshot of the story is that Parveen has found love, and no one and nothing will stop her from going for it. In “Coming Out, Going Under,” Leila experiences a powerful epiphany when she suddenly remembers who she is, realizes she is not alone, and sees a viable path forward. Although her devotion to her father is so deep as to be nearly crippling, she will not allow herself to remain his prisoner.
I won’t deny, however, that there is some anger in both stories. Both are meant to condemn the Islamic Republic’s strictures regarding same-sex relationships and its unjust and inhumane targeting of same-sex couples. On top of governmental repression, Iranian lesbians also face deeply ingrained, age-old taboos against homosexuality that persist today, especially among older Iranians. I’m also trying to express in these stories that there are millions of queer Iranians who are bravely working, in both subtle and overt ways, to change these attitudes—and that at the end of the day, love conquers all.
SEZ: It’s good to know that some positive features of Iran shine through in my stories. On balance, I believe there is more good than bad in Iran, even under the current regime. I’m defining good here not in political or practical terms, but in humanistic ones.
“Pride and Broom” is not supposed to be an angry story, but rather a sad one. The same goes for the other story that features a same-sex couple, “Coming Out, Going Under.” These two stories are loosely based on the experiences of my older sister, who came out to our parents when she was around twenty and got married to a woman when she was in her forties. Both stories are greatly fictionalized, but I believe—or hope—that they accurately represent some of the struggles queer Iranians face. It goes without saying that there are as many queer Iranians as are there are queer people in any other population in the world.
I want to believe that both stories, while sad, offer a ray of hope. In “Pride and Broom,” the upshot of the story is that Parveen has found love, and no one and nothing will stop her from going for it. In “Coming Out, Going Under,” Leila experiences a powerful epiphany when she suddenly remembers who she is, realizes she is not alone, and sees a viable path forward. Although her devotion to her father is so deep as to be nearly crippling, she will not allow herself to remain his prisoner.
I won’t deny, however, that there is some anger in both stories. Both are meant to condemn the Islamic Republic’s strictures regarding same-sex relationships and its unjust and inhumane targeting of same-sex couples. On top of governmental repression, Iranian lesbians also face deeply ingrained, age-old taboos against homosexuality that persist today, especially among older Iranians. I’m also trying to express in these stories that there are millions of queer Iranians who are bravely working, in both subtle and overt ways, to change these attitudes—and that at the end of the day, love conquers all.
"Like all women, Iranian women laugh, dance, fear, think, and love. They are not stereotypes—they are just people. This is perhaps the most important message I hope my readers will take away from the collection." |
GM: When reading “The Baboon,” it almost felt as if we were hearing an actual story about your grandfather. Through the nuanced characterization and the very specific experiences portrayed, we began to question how much of this was fiction. How are your stories and characters influenced by your real-life experiences and the people you know?
SEZ: Whoever framed this question is a very astute reader—or perhaps I’m not as clever at sublimating and fictionalizing as I thought I was! |
The grandfather in “The Baboon” is indeed based on my real paternal grandfather, who we called Pedar-jaan and who had a bagh in the countryside about four hours from Tehran. He was a bit of a prankster, like the grandfather in the story. Most importantly—and this is a confession—he was, in fact, given a baboon by a worker returning from the Iran-Iraq War, and the baboon did run wild in his orchards for a time. I didn’t make that part up.
There are many stories in Zan that are purely made-up, but most of them have at least a basis in real people and real events. A few are nearly autofiction, but I won’t say which. I’ll leave that to the astute readers to decide.
GM: In the title story, you describe the relationship between the narrator and Iran as one of “mother and daughter.” Is this a common way Iranian women view their country, or is this how you personally view your relationship with Iran?
SEZ: I’ve never heard any of my compatriots refer to Iran as a mother, but I doubt any Iranian, regardless of their gender, would object to that appellation.
Most people have tangled feelings toward their mothers: a mixture of love, respect, gratitude, fear, anger, and more. A similar tangle of emotions can be felt toward one’s country. The word motherland dates back to the 16th century, and it was coined for a reason. The feelings toward both mother and country are especially tangled for contemporary Iranians. The mother figure has always been sacred in Iranian culture, and pride in Iran’s rich history has always been deeply embedded in the Iranian psyche. But thanks to the abuses Iranians have been subjected to over the past few decades, these traditional views have been shaken, and they haven’t been replaced with comfortable new ones. When the speaker in the title story refers to Iran as her mother, she then goes on to describe the many ways her mother has confused and disappointed her. This is an attempt to capture the changing and colliding concepts of both mother and country that Iranians are currently grappling with.
There is something else I hope to capture when I refer to Iran as a mother: a kind of reverence, not just for mothers, but for women in general, that is ingrained in Iranian culture. Women inspired Iran’s greatest classical poets, musicians, and thinkers, who saw them as symbols of perfection, courage, rationality, and wisdom. This reverence is still present in Iranian culture, despite the outward misogyny of the Islamic Republic.
There are many stories in Zan that are purely made-up, but most of them have at least a basis in real people and real events. A few are nearly autofiction, but I won’t say which. I’ll leave that to the astute readers to decide.
GM: In the title story, you describe the relationship between the narrator and Iran as one of “mother and daughter.” Is this a common way Iranian women view their country, or is this how you personally view your relationship with Iran?
SEZ: I’ve never heard any of my compatriots refer to Iran as a mother, but I doubt any Iranian, regardless of their gender, would object to that appellation.
Most people have tangled feelings toward their mothers: a mixture of love, respect, gratitude, fear, anger, and more. A similar tangle of emotions can be felt toward one’s country. The word motherland dates back to the 16th century, and it was coined for a reason. The feelings toward both mother and country are especially tangled for contemporary Iranians. The mother figure has always been sacred in Iranian culture, and pride in Iran’s rich history has always been deeply embedded in the Iranian psyche. But thanks to the abuses Iranians have been subjected to over the past few decades, these traditional views have been shaken, and they haven’t been replaced with comfortable new ones. When the speaker in the title story refers to Iran as her mother, she then goes on to describe the many ways her mother has confused and disappointed her. This is an attempt to capture the changing and colliding concepts of both mother and country that Iranians are currently grappling with.
There is something else I hope to capture when I refer to Iran as a mother: a kind of reverence, not just for mothers, but for women in general, that is ingrained in Iranian culture. Women inspired Iran’s greatest classical poets, musicians, and thinkers, who saw them as symbols of perfection, courage, rationality, and wisdom. This reverence is still present in Iranian culture, despite the outward misogyny of the Islamic Republic.
GM: In “Venus Furtiva,” we see the narrator perform a dance that’s meant to express her feelings regarding Iran and her body. However, she’s upset when no one seems to get what she was trying to express. Do you worry that people won’t fully understand the complex thoughts and feelings you’re trying to convey regarding Iran, much like the narrator of this story?
SEZ: This is a great question, but it’s a sensitive one. At the risk of offending my American friends, for whom I have the utmost respect, I have to say that not one of them, even the most highly educated or well-traveled, can fully understand my feelings about Iran. This is partly because Iranians have been portrayed in the media as angry people clad in dark, shapeless clothing who hate America but somehow still want to be American. Iran itself has been portrayed as the “bad guy”—the bogeyman of the region, and perhaps of the world.
Zohreh/Venus, the protagonist of “Venus Furtiva,” faces these misunderstandings, with the added layer of being an Iranian woman living in America and engaging in an art form that is misunderstood and scorned in both cultures. She designs a dance that she hopes will embody her complex feelings, but she realizes after she has performed it that it has backfired. She has delivered exactly the wrong message and has succeeded in confirming all the attitudes she was trying to erase.
I’m not a dancer, but I have often felt that I am similarly misunderstood. Yes, I worry that my book will confuse some readers and rub others the wrong way. I worry that it will be branded as anti-Muslim or anti-American when neither of those is my intention. To tell the truth, I worry that my responses to the questions in this interview will be misunderstood too.
SEZ: This is a great question, but it’s a sensitive one. At the risk of offending my American friends, for whom I have the utmost respect, I have to say that not one of them, even the most highly educated or well-traveled, can fully understand my feelings about Iran. This is partly because Iranians have been portrayed in the media as angry people clad in dark, shapeless clothing who hate America but somehow still want to be American. Iran itself has been portrayed as the “bad guy”—the bogeyman of the region, and perhaps of the world.
Zohreh/Venus, the protagonist of “Venus Furtiva,” faces these misunderstandings, with the added layer of being an Iranian woman living in America and engaging in an art form that is misunderstood and scorned in both cultures. She designs a dance that she hopes will embody her complex feelings, but she realizes after she has performed it that it has backfired. She has delivered exactly the wrong message and has succeeded in confirming all the attitudes she was trying to erase.
I’m not a dancer, but I have often felt that I am similarly misunderstood. Yes, I worry that my book will confuse some readers and rub others the wrong way. I worry that it will be branded as anti-Muslim or anti-American when neither of those is my intention. To tell the truth, I worry that my responses to the questions in this interview will be misunderstood too.
"We are divided selves in some ways, but we navigate that by learning to live comfortably inside the gulf. It’s its own thing—a whole new kind of identity—and it has its own set of challenges and rewards."
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GM: Because Zan is a collection of short stories, you have a large number of characters representing many different backgrounds. Yet, each character is developed with their own set of ideals and struggles. Presumably, your readers come from a variety of backgrounds as well, and you’ve given readers many characters to potentially relate to. What are you hoping readers will take away from this book?
SEZ: I’m delighted to hear that my characters represent many different windows into what it means to be an Iranian or Iranian-American woman at this moment in history. Iranian women are too often seen through a very narrow lens, and this results in a skewed, incomplete, and inaccurate picture. One of my goals in writing the book was to widen this lens. Iranian women are usually regarded in one of two extreme ways: either as suffering beings in need of “saving” or as fearless fighters who do nothing else in their lives but stand up against their oppressors. While both depictions contain elements of truth, there is obviously more to the picture. Like all women, Iranian women laugh, dance, fear, think, and love. They are not stereotypes—they are just people. This is perhaps the most important message I hope my readers will take away from the collection. |
There are lots of hijabs in my book, but I hope readers will come away with the understanding that the rebellion Iranian women engage in is about far more than the hijab. The hijab is certainly a symbol of female repression, and the Iranian government certainly uses it as a weapon. But I hope I have managed to show that the hijab can also be a weapon in the hands of Iranian women themselves, as it so clearly was during the Zan, Zendegi, Azadi movement.
Good fiction should not be didactic, but I do confess that I hope my readers will learn something from my book. Many have told me that they found themselves pausing their reading to look things up, and this makes me happy. Even if my readers don’t come away with new information, I hope they will come away with new appreciation for a rich and layered culture that is so often misrepresented in literature from the Western world.
Finally, while I don’t want to glamorize, exoticize, or simplify Iranian women, it is my goal in the book to pay tribute to them. I had the privilege of growing up with many formidable Iranian women as my role models, and Iranian women continue to be a source of inspiration to me. I hope my readers will also feel inspired by them and will come away with a sense of our common humanity.
Ultimately, I hope Zan will expand my readers’ hearts as well as their minds.
Good fiction should not be didactic, but I do confess that I hope my readers will learn something from my book. Many have told me that they found themselves pausing their reading to look things up, and this makes me happy. Even if my readers don’t come away with new information, I hope they will come away with new appreciation for a rich and layered culture that is so often misrepresented in literature from the Western world.
Finally, while I don’t want to glamorize, exoticize, or simplify Iranian women, it is my goal in the book to pay tribute to them. I had the privilege of growing up with many formidable Iranian women as my role models, and Iranian women continue to be a source of inspiration to me. I hope my readers will also feel inspired by them and will come away with a sense of our common humanity.
Ultimately, I hope Zan will expand my readers’ hearts as well as their minds.
Follow Suzi on Facebook @susan.ehteshamzadeh
For more information, visit: https://www.suziehteshamzadeh.com
For more information, visit: https://www.suziehteshamzadeh.com
