Darius the Great is Not Okay, by Adib Khorram

First off—style. I loved the quick, short lines, which allowed the book to read so quickly, for the parts I read and didn't listen to.

Some themes and thoughts as I was reading/listening:

Persian culture
Trip to Iran
I never realized the linguistic connections between Farsi and French
Not having same religion because Zorastrian is patriarchal
Struggling with not fitting in due to being half-Persian, half-American

Depression, mental health issues, cultural
disapproval of medication for depression
Weight gain due to meds, fat shaming from uncle (and unspoken messages over his health from his father)

It's emotionally hard for him to explain why he has depression to others, like his Persian grandfather or the Persian kid he met in the neighborhood of his grandparents with whom he made friends.

Feeling guilt over feeling bad over his struggles when his friend has something he feels is a worse trial (a father imprisoned unjustly for passing through a crowd of protesters on his way to work, and then for being of a religion that is frowned on in their country).

We should never compare our trials. That gets us nowhere and we just end up feeling worse. Everyone has difficult and different trials, and all are valid.

Bullying
Possible LGBTQ hints, but it's never outright said

After receiving a greeting from a friend's mom in Bahai, he doesn't know what to say back because he's not Bahai and doesn't believe in God.

Not great relationship with father
Distant and misunderstood relationships with distant relatives, jealous of a neighbor's relationship with his grandmother versus his own lack of a relationship (at first)
Sick (dying) grandfather, mixed feelings about it because of not having a strong connection since hadn't met him until the trip

Darius has so much more in common with his father than he thinks. He doesn't realize this for much of the novel, and his thoughts categorize his father as separate or "other" from himself, even referring to his father by his father's full name instead of dad (which is sometimes used) throughout much of the book, distancing himself from his dad even further. Darius's dad, being American, sometimes has a hard time fitting in with his wife's Persian relatives on their trip, as does Darius. They both struggle with depression and have to take meds. The one thing I liked about their relationship was that the dad made time to bond with Darius over watching episodes of Star Trek together, and that Darius felt safe enough telling his dad about instances when he was bullied, even though he downplayed them some. Darius stood his ground about not getting a haircut, and his dad didn't force him even though he disapproved of Darius's choice. All of these are signs of hope to me that their relationship can and will improve.

He believes that his dad doesn't like him and wants him to change. Instead of his dad telling him that the bullies are wrong, he tells his son that he wouldn't get picked on if he'd try to change. He feels like his dad doesn't love him because he is so distant from him now. This will later change as Darius grows to feel acceptance the way he is.

He feels loved and appreciated by his grandmother because her kind words and actions show this, such as when she graciously accepts a requested act of service: a cup of a tea he brought as a gift, which she asked him to make for her.

*Some minor swearing, less than you'd expect from a typical teenager. A mention of genitals being different (uncircumcised vs circumcised) when a group of boys are showering after a soccer/football game.

Favorite/important quotes and thoughts on them below:

***

"No one can see him. Not even the other prisoners."

"Solitary confinement?"

"Yes."

"Oh," I said.

Sohrab sighed.

I wanted to make it better, but I didn't know how.

Sohrab had Father Issues.

I suppose I had Father Issues too, though they paled in comparison.

Maybe all Persian boys have Father Issues. (p. 243)

***

Even Fractional Persians like me and Laleh dream sweet, exqui site dreams of chelo kabob.

Back home, we only had it on special occasions: birthdays and holidays and report card days, so long as I made a B average.

Stephen Kellner was surprisingly cool about that. He said he wanted me to try my hardest. He didn't want me to be afraid of getting a bad grade, as long as I was learning.

That was good, because I pretty much always got a C in math, but I got A's in history and English, so that kept my GPA in good enough shape to maintain a regular supply of chelo kabob. When we made chelo kabob at home, Mom was in charge of the chelo—she knows the secret to perfect tah dig—and Dad was in charge of the kabob. (p. 255-256)

***

"He was going to move to Kerman," Sohrab said. “But his father lost his job and they had to stay here."

Ali-Reza had been a complete jerk to me- -the epitome of a Soulless Minion of Orthodoxy-but I still felt bad for him.

It turned out Ali-Reza had Father Issues too. (p. 263)

***

"Darioush," Parviz said. His voice was rich and creamy, like smooth peanut butter. He barely had an accent: It only came through in the sharpness of his vowels and the lilt in his sen tences, as if there was the shade of a question in everything he said. "How come you never told us you play football?"

"Oh. Um."

"Sohrab said you are very good at it."

I tried really hard not to smile. "He is. You should see him."

"I'm not that good."... (continued below, omitted a section)

Sohrab gave Parviz and Navid a complete play-by-play of our latest game. He made me sound way better than I really was, glossing over the passes I missed and exaggerating all the saves I pulled off.

It became a lot harder not to smile.

I felt like I was ten feet tall.

“After the game, Ali-Reza wouldn't stop complaining. Asghar

told me. Ali-Reza said, "They don't even play football in America." Sohrab threw his arm over my shoulder. He had showered before coming over, and still smelled soapy and fresh, like rose mary. My back warmed where his arm rested.

"But it doesn't matter. Darioush is Persian too."

I was a warp core on full power.

I was glowing with pride. (p. 263-264)

***

"Don't cry, Darius." Dad tried to wrap his arm around me, but I leaned away.

"I can't help it, okay?"

Dr. Howell likes to say that depression is anger turned inward.

I had so much anger turned inward, I could have powered a warp core. But without the proper magnetic field strength, it exploded outward instead.

I couldn't sit down anymore, even though my foot hurt when I put weight on it.

"Sometimes I can't help crying. Okay? Sometimes bad **** happens. Sometimes people are mean to me and I cry. Sorry for being such a target. Sorry for disappointing you. Again."

"I'm not disappointed—"

I snorted.

"I just want to make sure you're healthy. Your illness can run away with you before you even know it."

"No, you just want me to be like you. You want me to ignore it when people are mean to me. When Trent bullies me. When Sohrab. . . "

I swallowed.

"You don't want me to feel anything at all. You just want me to be normal. Like you."

I picked up a jagged piece of roof and hurled it off into the empty park. My chest was about to explode, hurling matter and antimatter out until they annihilated everything nearby.

"You won't even watch Star Trek with me anymore," I whis pered. "I'll never be good enough for you."

All my anger had fled, imploding back into my chest, slipping down the event horizon of the churning supermassive black hole inside me.

Slingshot Maneuver.

Dad's face had turned red and blotchy. "Darius." He sighed and uncrossed his long legs to stand up. "You've always been good enough for me. I loved you from the first moment I saw your little hands on the ultrasound. And felt your little feet kicking in your mom's belly. I loved you the first time I got to hold you and look into your beautiful brown eyes and know you felt safe in my arms."

Dad's hands twitched like he wished I was still a baby he could hold. "And I've loved you more every day. Watching you grow up. Watching you grow into yourself. Watching you learn to cope with a world I can't always protect you from. But I wish I could."

He cleared his throat.

"Being your dad is my first, best destiny."

It wasn't true.

How could he say that?

"Remember those stories you used to tell me?"

I sniffled.

"Remember? When I was little?"

"Of course." He closed his eyes and smiled. "I loved putting you to bed."

"Then why did you stop, if you loved it so much?"

Dad bit his lip. "You remember that?"

"I remember."

Dad sighed and folded himself back down to sit on the ledge of the roof. He glanced up at me but didn't hold my eyes—just patted the spot beside him.

I sat down, but farther away from him.

Dad looked up, like he was going to speak, but then looked at his hands and swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed down, up and down. up and

"You're wrong. I want you to feel things, Darius. But I'm scared for you. You have no idea how scared. I take my eyes off you one moment and if it's the wrong moment, you could be drowning in depression, bad enough to. . . to do something. And I can't protect you from that. No matter how hard I try."

"I'm not going to hurt myself, Dad."

"I nearly did."

All the atmosphere on the rooftop fled, blown away by Dad's explosive admission.

"You. . . what?"

"When you were seven. My meds weren't doing their job. And I got to thinking about how you and your mother would be better off without me."

"Oh."

"I got so bad, I was thinking about it. All the time. Dr. Howell put me on a pretty strong tranquilizer."

"Um."

"It made me into a zombie. That's why I couldn't tell you stories. I could barely tell the time of day."

I didn't know.

"I lost myself for a long time, Darius. I didn't like who I became on those pills, but they saved my life. They kept me here. For you. And your mom. And by the time I was doing better and Dr. Howell tapered me off, your sister was born and I just. . . things were different. She was a baby, and she needed me. And I didn't know if you even wanted stories anymore. If you were ever going to forgive me."

"Dad. . ."

"Suicide isn't the only way you can lose someone to depression."

Dad looked up at me again. There were no walls between us.

"And it kills me that I gave it to you, Darius. It kills me."

There were tears in his eyes. Actual human tears.

I had never seen my father cry before.

And due to some harmonic resonance, I started crying again too.

Dad scooted closer to me. And when I didn't scoot away, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me down to rest his chin on top of: my head.

When had I gotten taller than Stephen Kellner?

"I'm so sorry, son. I love you so much."

I let Dad hold me, like that tiny potato-sack version of myself, sleeping on his chest when I was a baby.

"You're okay," he murmured.

"No. I'm not."

"I know." He rubbed my back up and down. "It's okay not to be okay."

(p. 283-286)

The world needs more parents who understand like this. I feel for the teens who reject well-meaning parents who don't always parent perfectly. I'm glad Darius comes around.

***

Dad let me talk about Sohrab, and what he had said. He let me be sad.

"You really love Sohrab. Huh?"

"He's the best friend I ever had."

Dad looked at me for a long moment. Like he knew there was more.

But he didn't ask.

Instead, he pushed the hair off my forehead, kissed me there, and rested his chin on top of my head again.

Maybe he knew, without me saying it out loud, that I wasn't ready to talk about more.

Maybe he did. (p. 287)

This is the part where I think the book suggests that Darius is gay, although there are hints earlier. I think Darius is still figuring it out. And the good thing here is that he feels his dad would accept and love him as he is, which shows he would feel comfortable telling him when he is ready. Again, the world needs more parents like this. Parents who don't reject or push away their children for having struggles which make them different. I'm really glad his dad is supportive, even if Darius doesn't realize it at first.

***

I sat in the kitchen, drinking tea with Babou and Laleh and reading The Lord of the Rings. I had finished the book but there were still the appendices.

I always read the appendices. (p. 292)

***

I couldn't stand how sorry I was.

I wanted to reach out for him, to put my hand on his shoulder, to let him excrete stress hormones or scream or do whatever he needed to do.

But the walls weren't just inside him.

They were between us. I didn't know how to breach them.

"It's not your fault," Sohrab said. "I'm sorry for what I said to you."

"Don't be."

"No." He shook his head. "I was hurting. And you were there. And I knew how to make you hurt as bad as me."

He still wouldn't look at me.

"I'm so ashamed," he said. "Friends don't do what I did."

"Friends forgive," I said.

"I didn't mean it, Darioush. What I said. I want you to know." He finally met my eyes. "I'm glad you came. You are my best friend. And I never should have treated you that way."

He chewed on his lip for a moment.

"Can you come out? For a little while?"

I glanced back at Dad, sitting on the couch watching soap operas with Laleh. He nodded at me.

"Sure." (p. 294)

The world needs more friends like Darius and Sohrab. Friends who apologize after doing something hurtful, and friends who forgive.

***

(After Sohrab gives Darius a birthday gift)

"Is it okay?"

"It's perfect," I said. "Thank you. You're always giving me things. I feel bad."

"Don't feel bad. I want to."

I wiped my eye—a minor containment breach. "I never had a friend like you."

"Me neither," Sohrab said. He squeezed my shoulder. "You don't care what anyone thinks. You know?"

My ears burned. "I care what everyone thinks, Sohrab."

"No you don't. Not really. You don't try to change yourself. You know who you are." He bumped shoulders with me. "I wish I was like that. I always try to be what my mom needs. What my amou needs. What you need. But you are the opposite. You are happy with who you are."

I shook my head. "I don't think that's really me. You've never seen what it's like back home. How everyone treats me."

"They don't know you, Darioush." Sohrab grabbed my shoulder. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

"I wish you could see yourself too." I swallowed. "You're the only person who never wanted me to change."

Sohrab blinked at me then, like he was fighting a containment breach himself. "I'm going to miss you, Darioush."

"I'm going to miss you, Sohrab."

"I wish. . ."

But I didn't find out what Sohrab wished.

The azan rang out, piercing the still night.

Sohrab turned and listened, his eyes fixed on the Jameh Mosque in the distance.

I turned and watched Sohrab. The way his eyes lost their focus. The way his jaw finally unclenched.

I put my arm over his shoulder, and he linked his over mine.

And we sat like that, together.

And the silence was okay again.

(p. 296-297)

***

The author's afterword was extremely important and I'm glad he included this.

AFTERWORD

In telling Darius's story, I wanted to show how depression can affect life without ruling it—both as someone who lives with it, and as someone who loves people living with it.

I was twelve years old when I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder, and I spent four years working with my psychiatrist to find a medication (or, as it turned out, a combination of medications and counseling) to manage my symptoms. I count myself very fortunate: Because my family has a history of depression, my parents knew to get me treatment, and provided the support structure I needed. I was fortunate too that my depression never led me toward self-harm.

Depression takes different shapes for different people: For me, it took the shape of comfort eating (a lot). It took the shape of avoiding school for a month because I couldn't drag myself out of bed and face the morning. It took the shape of not doing my homework because I couldn't see the point in anything.

Even now, it sometimes takes the shape of staying at home, playing mindless video games, when I don't feel up to engaging with the outside world.

Living with depression can mean getting stuck in cycles of misunderstood motives, of always imagining the worst in people, or thinking they are imagining the worst in you.

It can mean pushing people away because you don't think you're worth their time.

It can mean taking medication to stay alive—to combat self-harm or suicidal ideation—even if it dulls parts of yourself you don't realize are there. (It's absolutely worth it.)

It can mean imagining that the people who love you will never love you enough.

But depression can be just as hard to witness as it can be to live with. It's frustrating to love someone and be unable to help them.

It's frustrating to repeat the same cycle of misunderstandings over and over again.

It's frustrating to constantly tell yourself that, if you could just figure out the secret, you could make everything better—but you can't.

No matter what, though, depression doesn't have to rule your life.

If you're living with depression, there is help out there.

If someone you love is living with depression, there is hope for them.

It takes patience, and kindness, and forgiveness.

I'm still learning how to take care of myself, and learning how to take care of those I love.

If you're learning, too, there are resources available.

National Alliance on Mental Illness: nami.org

Anxiety and Depression Association of America: adaa.org

Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance: dbsalliance.org

Crisis Text Line: www.crisistextline.org or text HOME to 741741

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: suicidepreventionlifeline.org or call 1-800-273-8255

The Trevor Project (LGBTQ Lifeline): www.thetrevorproject.org or call 1-866-488-7386

Trans Lifeline: www.translifeline.org or call 1-877-565-8860

(p. 313-314)

Darius the Great Is Not Okay - Likewise Book Reviews

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