THE FEAR OF LARGE AND SMALL NATIONS
by Nancy Agabian
A bisexual Armenian American writer in the midst of an identity crisis visits her homeland in this explorative novel.
“I’m about to journey to Armenia, to live for a year among people who I resemble,” writes Natalee, a feminist author based in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Following the fall of the Soviet Union, some of Na’s friends and family had journeyed to “the closest thing we had to a homeland” and returned remarking on the “emotional power” of the experience. In 2006, curious to do the same, Na boards a plane for Yerevan, wondering what the country will think of her. She is met with the troubles experienced by many travelers, such as not being able to figure out the code to call the United States. But she is disheartened to discover that she finds it difficult to assimilate to local life, struggles with the language, and begins to feel forlorn as an outsider. She is also aware that despite a new human rights bill protecting LGBTQ+ people, it is dangerous to be openly gay in Armenia. She discovers that “queer women were invisible.” Wrestling with loneliness, Na meets Seyran, a young, rebellious bisexual leader of a punk band, who shows her around Yerevan. They connect based on the fact that they appear to accept each other’s marginal identities, and Na agrees to marry Seyran so that he can avoid conscription. They return to New York City together, where Seyran’s attitude toward Na rapidly changes and she finds herself caught in an abusive relationship.
Written imaginatively as a series of fragmented narratives, journal entries, blog posts, and meta passages, Agabian’s novel describes Na’s journey from shifting perspectives. First-person accounts reveal Na’s intimate inner monologues as she wrestles with the importance of identity: “Part of the reason I’m here is to find what was lost in me. It’s upsetting to see that the West is already here…with its destructive, homogenizing effects of globalization.” Deeply thoughtful segments of meta-writing will stop readers in their tracks by boldly challenging preconceptions of identity and sexuality using penetrating questions: “How do you explain a gay man who loves his wife and has created a life around a family?” The narrative also comes with a provocative twist, as Seyran shifts from being the oppressed to the oppressor: “The assumption was that the immigrant was the one who was weak, dependent on others. The one vulnerable to beating and rape.” In a passage focusing on Na, the author eloquently and believably captures the thought processes of an abuse victim: “I’d already said no a couple of times, and he didn’t listen to me, he never stopped…chipping away at my resolve where he found my female indoctrination, my hesitancy to say no still ingrained at this late date.” Unfortunately, Agabian does not look often enough toward the Armenian landscape to describe it in great detail—but this matters little, as her attention is elsewhere. This is a courageously fragmented approach to storytelling that depicts a valiant search for self-understanding while challenging traditional gender roles, discrimination, and homophobia.Beautifully textured writing in a compelling tale that ponders identity and belonging.