It is a world both foreign and familiar, in which her primary place is as the heiress to a great tribe. In Iran, Rose will find family she never dreamed of, her own people, and a man who loves her as passionately as he does the rare black roses of his garden. She will return to the United States carrying a new secret and torn between two men: the one she loves helplessly, and the one who loves her unconditionally.
Woven throughout with Persian poetry ancient and modern, On Loving is the story of one woman's lifetime of love and loss, of societal change in a nomadic people, and of overcoming personal challenges, including mental and physical health, to find true contentment. Above all, it is a story of love: its physiology, psychology and philosophy; the many forms it takes; its myths and truths; its challenges, its joys and its gifts.
On Loving takes place starting on March 20, which is also the time of Nowruz, or the Persian (Iranian) New Year (well, March 19th this year; the date of the vernal equinox).
Lili shared this fact with me, and I wasn't familiar (at all) with it, so, with her guidance, I've gathered the info below.
Take a look at these Fun Facts about the holiday!
- Pronounced “no-rooz,” means “new day”
- Celebrates spring, or a new beginning/new life
- Foundation myths tell of how an ancient king saved his kingdom from the killer winter
- Preparations literally involve “spring cleaning,” or a deep cleaning/decluttering of homes
- Easily dates back 3,000+ years
- Some typical inclusions are colored eggs symbolizing fertility, live fish symbolizing new life, bonfires and something akin to Trick or Treating (sans costumes)
- Observance lasts for 13 days
- Sources and WAY more info: Click Here and Click Here
“It was almost nine when I got back. Kim had fed Layla and put her to sleep. I sent Kim home for the night, kissed Layla’s face good night and went to my room to change for bed.
Siyavash’s letter was still on the floor. I bent down and picked it up.
Inhaling the scent of the dried black rose, I wandered to the window and stared at the thin, even white carpet of snow on the street. Where do I want to be? I asked myself. Somewhere beautiful, calming. Somewhere full of life, with a boundless, vaulted sky above my head, perhaps!
I then closed my eyes and let myself being taken to Siyavash’s majestic rose garden in Isfahan. I could feel the breeze in my hair, could feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I remembered how Siyavash had looked at me with love and admiration there. I was blind not to see it then. I couldn’t recall Dean looking at me like that …
I opened my eyes and read Siyavash’s letter again, raking my fingers through my hair. Then, nervously rubbing my neck, I went to the phone next to my bed.
“Good evening,” I said when the other end of the line picked up.
“Rose! Is that … Is that you?” It was Siyavash.
“Yes, it’s me!” I paused and swallowed the lump that had risen in my throat. “Come back home! Just come back to me!”
I quickly hung up and rushed to the window, as if for air. Snowflakes were still dancing their way down to the ground.
My chest felt so constricted that I could hardly breathe.
Am I questioning Dean’s love for me? I wondered. Am I comparing it to Siyavash’s? But that was impossible! I shook my head. I’m just giving Siyavash a chance to redeem himself, a proper second chance. But the reminder to myself was pointless: the truth was something else, and I knew it!
I was at fault here. I was the guilty — guilty of blocking not only my ears but also my soul from hearing Siyavash’s voice, so ignorant indeed that my heart was finally reproaching me for my bigotry and cruelty.
I folded the letter and tucked it away in the drawer next to my bed.
I’ll know soon how I need to deal with him, I told myself. Or I’ll just have to find a way around it!”
Siyavash’s letter was still on the floor. I bent down and picked it up.
Inhaling the scent of the dried black rose, I wandered to the window and stared at the thin, even white carpet of snow on the street. Where do I want to be? I asked myself. Somewhere beautiful, calming. Somewhere full of life, with a boundless, vaulted sky above my head, perhaps!
I then closed my eyes and let myself being taken to Siyavash’s majestic rose garden in Isfahan. I could feel the breeze in my hair, could feel the warmth of the sun on my face. I remembered how Siyavash had looked at me with love and admiration there. I was blind not to see it then. I couldn’t recall Dean looking at me like that …
I opened my eyes and read Siyavash’s letter again, raking my fingers through my hair. Then, nervously rubbing my neck, I went to the phone next to my bed.
“Good evening,” I said when the other end of the line picked up.
“Rose! Is that … Is that you?” It was Siyavash.
“Yes, it’s me!” I paused and swallowed the lump that had risen in my throat. “Come back home! Just come back to me!”
I quickly hung up and rushed to the window, as if for air. Snowflakes were still dancing their way down to the ground.
My chest felt so constricted that I could hardly breathe.
Am I questioning Dean’s love for me? I wondered. Am I comparing it to Siyavash’s? But that was impossible! I shook my head. I’m just giving Siyavash a chance to redeem himself, a proper second chance. But the reminder to myself was pointless: the truth was something else, and I knew it!
I was at fault here. I was the guilty — guilty of blocking not only my ears but also my soul from hearing Siyavash’s voice, so ignorant indeed that my heart was finally reproaching me for my bigotry and cruelty.
I folded the letter and tucked it away in the drawer next to my bed.
I’ll know soon how I need to deal with him, I told myself. Or I’ll just have to find a way around it!”
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"I highly recommend anyone who needs an idea of how loving and being loved by the same person can truly change you for the better." - ★ BookWorm ★
"I love that the author fully captured my imagination and made the story intriguing for me. This is when I realized that ‘On Loving’ was a good read." - Aaron
"You can tell that the author truly felt the emotions of this story, she put her heart and soul into every word. I thought that the writing was perfect, she was able to tell the story and make me feel as if I was there." - Kerrie
"The author takes us back in time and makes us experience love in a new light." - Melina L.
"The way Naghdi writes about love like she is an artist painting on a canvas comes out not only in the words she chooses, but the smatterings of poetry that are found throughout the novel." - Sarah Jayne
"On Loving by Lili Naghdi has built a reputation for being one-of-a-kind and for introducing new concepts into the world of romance and into the world of, like the title suggests, love." - Sasha
"It’s like a real novel of real love, hence the title." - Molly
"I highly recommend this heartfelt piece of literature that was clearly a labor of love by this author." - Molly S.
"I love that the author fully captured my imagination and made the story intriguing for me. This is when I realized that ‘On Loving’ was a good read." - Aaron
"You can tell that the author truly felt the emotions of this story, she put her heart and soul into every word. I thought that the writing was perfect, she was able to tell the story and make me feel as if I was there." - Kerrie
"The author takes us back in time and makes us experience love in a new light." - Melina L.
"The way Naghdi writes about love like she is an artist painting on a canvas comes out not only in the words she chooses, but the smatterings of poetry that are found throughout the novel." - Sarah Jayne
"On Loving by Lili Naghdi has built a reputation for being one-of-a-kind and for introducing new concepts into the world of romance and into the world of, like the title suggests, love." - Sasha
"It’s like a real novel of real love, hence the title." - Molly
"I highly recommend this heartfelt piece of literature that was clearly a labor of love by this author." - Molly S.
Growing up in pre- and post-revolutionary Iran, Lili became fascinated by the magical realm of literature, poetry and history. She began collecting prized quotations at the young age of eight. Dr. Naghdi has written poetry and short stories in both Farsi and English, but she eventually followed William Wordsworth’s advice to “Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart,” and turned to fiction.
On Loving is her first novel. Inspired by both the ordinary people she has the honor to support and by the great literature of Persia and the world — from Hafez to Forugh Farrokhzad and from John Steinbeck to Margaret Mitchell — Dr. Naghdi passionately agrees with Boris Pasternak, whose Yuri Zhivago is a physician and patriotic poet, when he writes: “Literature is the art of discovering something extraordinary about ordinary people and saying with ordinary words something extraordinary.”
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Dont judge a book by its cover is my favorite saying because you cant judge someone from the way they look if you do then you will miss out on the opportunity to get to know the real them
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