Parnaz Foroutan


Parnaz Foroutan was born in Iran and spent her early childhood there. She received PEN USA's Emerging Voices fellowship for her first novel, Girl From the Garden, which was inspired by her own family history.

She has been named to the Hedgebrook fellowship and residency, and received funding from the Elizabeth George Foundation, among other institutions.

She currently lives in Los Angeles with her husband and two daughters.

Average rating: 3.68 · 2,264 ratings · 393 reviews · 3 distinct worksSimilar authors
The Girl from the Garden

3.38 avg rating — 1,243 ratings — published 2015 — 14 editions
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Home Is a Stranger

3.81 avg rating — 27 ratings — published 2020 — 3 editions
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Radical Hope: Letters of Lo...

4.04 avg rating — 1,079 ratings — published 2017 — 9 editions
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“You carried your infant daughter in one arm, and walked with me, a child six years of age, tired, trudging beside you. You left that nightmare behind. And you left behind other things, too. The elm trees that lined your street. The familiar scent of autumn. The baker's smile when he handed you the fresh bread, the song of the peddlers in the street, the sound of strangers around you talking, haggling, buying, singing, speaking, fighting in a language you understood. Your friends. Your career. Your home. Your dreams. Your family. Your memories. Pots, pans, the fine silver spoons and forks. Photographs. Heirlooms. Your favorite dresses. Your father's grave. The colorful wares of the markets at the new year. Streets you knew by name. Cab drivers who recited poetry. The halls of your old university. You left whatever you couldn't fit into a single suitcase behind you and closed the door of your home for the last time, the dishes washed, the beds made, the curtains drawn, thinking, "Perhaps, perhaps we will come back," and you shut the door, and left, without knowing if you'd ever find home again.”
Parnaz Foroutan, Radical Hope: Letters of Love and Dissent in Dangerous Times

“Pay no heed to the darkness, the open mouth of greed, the hateful speech, the walls and the guns and the men who bare their teeth at her golden doors. America is yours. Your prayers conceived her, your dreams for your children brought her into being, and your children make her what she is meant to be. They build her. Fashion her bones, sturdy her structures, make her beautiful and strong. America belongs to you, to all mothers who dream of her. So light the small flame of your heart, cup your hands around it to protect it from the savage and the storm, and walk forth into the darkness, because I tell you, that flame, that bit of light you carry, that flickering hope, that has the power to illuminate even the blackest of nights. Hold steady, walk forth, and burn with truth, with love, with compassion, burn brightly because soon, the dawn will come. To my mother, on that highway, on that endless night, when she walked toward the glow of that torch, with lighting imprisoned in her heart. To all mothers who've walked toward this light, Welcome. Home.”
Parnaz Foroutan, Radical Hope: Letters of Love and Dissent in Dangerous Times

“August is an immeasurable distance from now, she thinks.”
Parnaz Foroutan, The Girl from the Garden

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