Even in a world filled with unrest and devastation, the practice of translation proves to be an unyielding light of hope and endurance. As missiles impacted Tehran on June 13th 2025, Tehranese city streets became a scene of absolute terror. In all of this tumult, writers went to work, utilizing words to make sense of a historical moment and define our future. One author has translated the works of storied authors such as James Thurber and Jhumpa Lahiri. All the while, everything around him fell to pieces.
James Thurber’s child’s fable, “Many Moons,” was a well of comfort to the author amidst these frightening hours. So, a week after the attacks started, he translated this story. In the process, he considered Thurber’s advice about looking for serenity in the storm. “Even if he were to be executed, he would spend the night before calmly studying Chinese,” Thurber once remarked, a sentiment that resonated with many who sought refuge in literature during the bombardment.
Alongside this, Jhumpa Lahiri’s reflections on the importance of translation illuminated the practice and its meaning even further. As Lahiri drives home in her book Translating Myself and Others, “every translation is a political act.” This view of the artistic process further highlights language’s power as a vehicle for protest and expression—perhaps even more so during eras of violence and war.
The author drew inspiration from historical figures like Antonio Gramsci, who insisted that language study become his “predominant activity” during his imprisonment. Gramsci’s wish for additional lexicons was a small expression of his broader aspiration to know and wield language as an instrument of liberation. For Gramsci, translation represented “a reality, aspiration, discipline, anchor, and metaphor” all at once—a notion that became increasingly relevant in the author’s own life amidst the chaos.
As the bombardment progressed, bookstores throughout Tehran shuttered one after another, depriving thousands of readers access to literature. Even in the midst of that destruction, pieces of books began appearing. While there, she uncovered a half-buried copy of “Many Moons,” translated from English into Persian. This extraordinary discovery witnesses to the ongoing potency of stories. Haruki Murakami’s “Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage” was found among the rubble, serving as a poignant reminder of the lives and tales that once thrived within the city.
The effects of war go beyond buildings and towns and cities, homes, and we often forget the effects on individuals and on families. The author’s partner was put in a difficult position. They made the decision to depart with her parents to find more peaceful towns. This division meant the experience of suffering of war became immeasurable, and the desire to reconnect through shared stories was stronger than ever.
Social media shared footage of Parnia Abbasi, a 23-year-old poet who lost her life when a missile struck her vehicle. Her loss was felt profoundly, including by those of us who know that with every life cut short is a story, a promise left unfulfilled. Those moments of sadness remind us how thin this life is and the need to capture these voices in ink.