1. In the opening pages of Scent of Butterflies, Soraya recalls that her father once told her that deciding to call herself an artist marked the moment she “lost touch with the reality of our culture.” (page 1) What is it about her artistry that disconnects her from her culture?

Dora: It is unfortunate that in the Iranian community, being an artist—a photographer, painter, musician, singer, etc.—is considered a low-level profession and artists are rarely given the respect they deserve. This is especially true for women, whose rightful place is supposed to be at home, taking care of their husband and raising their children. But Soraya is different. She refuses to conform to the acceptable, albeit unfair, mores of her society. Consequently, her father believes that calling herself an artist is an indication of Soraya’s disconnect with her culture.

2. There is much discussion in the novel about the restrictive rules and social mores regarding women’s clothing. Would you speak to this issue as you feel it affects modern Iranian life?

Dora: I’ve been repeatedly surprised by the disparate views Iranian women have about the hijab, or modest clothing. Some women see this forced veiling for what it is—repressive and a type of misogyny. Others have embraced the hijab as a way of declaring their individuality. After the 1979 Islamic Revolution, Iranian women found themselves at the mercy of the Komiteh, or the Morality Police, a bunch of thugs with nothing better to do than harass women for refusing to adhere to the strict demands of the Islamic Regime’s code of dressing. But history has proven that it is difficult to break the feisty will of an Iranian woman and a good majority of women today, especially the younger generation, have no qualms about wearing makeup and using the long overcoat and head cover as an accessory, rather than a means of concealing themselves.

3. Through Soraya’s eyes, we experience the underbelly to Iran’s professed piety, represented by the Mullah she meets on the plane and with whom she nearly has sex later. Do you feel this is a kind of corruption, as Soraya seems to, or is it merely a creative application of the law, as the Mullah might have explained? How common is this practice of taking on “temporary wives?”

Dora: It is important to remember that Soraya’s point of view is tainted by the devastating betrayal she has experienced. As such, she has a tendency to paint most men in a negative light and the mullah, of course, is at the top of her list of corrupt men. Having said that, there’s no doubt that the religious authorities, under the pretense of piety, continue to take all types of liberties that are nothing short of corruption, including the practice of taking temporary wives, or sigheh. This practice was considered backward and discouraged during the reign of the two Pahlavi Shahs, but after the 1979 Islamic revolution temporary unions were not only endorsed by the mullahs, but encouraged as sexual release. Many women, especially after the Iran Iraq War, were forced to seek temporary marriages for financial support. Today, a large percentage of progressive Iranian women shun the practice of sigheh as nothing more than prostitution or being forced to share their husband with another woman. And a number of young women, who are not allowed to travel or share a hotel room with a boyfriend, have become creative and solve the problem by engaging in a sigheh with their boyfriend, which legalizes their union in the eyes of the authorities and gives them freedom to date and be seen together in public.

4. Through her story, Soraya details how women have suffered oppression by men in Iran, but also how oppressive love can be. What about this theme of oppression interested you?

Dora: It is remarkable how deeply I’ve been affected by my childhood experiences and my first impressions of Iran, a country so different from Israel, where I spent the first nine years of my life. The image of the first chador-clad woman I witnessed in the streets of Tehran will remain with me forever. To my child’s eyes that black-sheathed woman symbolized negativity, backwardness, and oppression. I also remember how unusual, and unacceptable, it was for my mother to get her driver’s license at the time and how she was harassed in the streets of Tehran. That, too, seemed a form of cruel punishment. And among many other incidents that remain with me, I witnessed the heart wrenching pain of a close relative who, unable to bear children, was forced to share her husband with a second wife. So the theme of oppression, the many shapes it can take, sometimes blatantly overt and often under the pretext of love or religion is reflected in each of my books, especially Scent of Butterflies, where Soraya appears to free herself from the barriers of her culture, but remains a prisoner to her own obsessive love.

5. Though this story is not, ultimately, a political one, the 1979 revolution and subsequent fall of the Mohammad Reza Shah’s dynasty clearly influence the characters of the novel. Could you talk a bit about what “Westoxication” means to you and how you used this story to explore the concept?

Dora: I started Scent of Butterflies after I finished my first novel, Harem, at a time when the tumultuous events of the 1979 Islamic Revolution that forced me and my family to leave Iran were painfully fresh. So it is inevitable that the pain and confusion I struggled with at the time would be reflected in my characters. I have a scene in my book, where Baba attempts to explain the reasons for the revolution and the fall of Mohammad Reza Shah. One crucial reason for the downfall of the Pahlavi Dynasty was the speed with which the Shah wanted to secularize and westernize the Iranian culture. But Iran had a powerful contingency of religious fundamentalists that throughout history have fought the dangerous influence of the “Imperialistic West,” that they consider toxic, hence “Westoxication.” Even today, thirty-four-years after the Islamic Revolution, the term, “Westoxication” is used in a negative way to refer to an Iranian/American woman who in the eyes of the older generation has become too outspoken and independent and as such disconnected from her Iranian roots.

6. The complicated relationship between Soraya and Parvaneh lies at the heart of this novel, giving shape to our protagonist’s relationships with the two primary male figures in her life—her father and her husband, Aziz. From what did you draw on to lend realism to the women’s history and friendship? Have you any friends remaining from your own childhood?

Dora: I often think that I would have become a therapist if I would not have discovered my passion as a writer. I am deeply interested in the psychology of all types of relationships, ones I witness first-hand and others I read about. I love biographies because they shed light on the lives of fascinating characters. I draw from the news, from books, movies, whispered gossip and, of course, real life events to portray my characters in the most realistic manner.

Thanks to facebook, a good number of my childhood friends have been able to get in touch with me, some who left years after the revolution and who continue to supply me with first-hand information about Iran after the Shah.

7. Soraya draws many comparisons between the butterflies of her garden and Parvaneh throughout the novel. What first inspired you to play with this metaphor, and how did you ultimately arrive at the novel’s title, Scent of Butterflies?

Dora: As the book evolved, and I paid attention to the signals Soraya sent me, I discovered the reason I named her Parvaneh, which means Butterfly in Farsi. It was then that the theme of butterflies found its way into the story. In addition, as Soraya is struggling to make sense of her loss and unraveling in the process, a type of transference is taking place, and she begins to imagine the butterflies in her garden as having the same qualities as her friend, Parvaneh, who she begins to call “Butterfly.” Sense of smell is important to Soraya and she differentiates the characteristics of butterflies by their scents. Here is a short excerpt from the novel, which takes place after Soraya traps a butterfly in her net: “Scarcely dead and still supple to my touch, she begins to give off the smell of public baths, humid and cloying and a bit dirty. And now, just this instant, limp and rendered harmless, she emits the bland odor of stale flowers.” Hence the title, Scent of Butterflies.

8. Soraya’s obsessions while in California revolve around not only butterflies, but also photography and plants, particularly the Corpse Plant she discovers in her new California gardens. Do you share any of these hobbies with your protagonist? If not, what prompted the decision to incorporate them into her character?

Dora: My hobbies, alas, are not as diverse as Soraya’s. My obsessions, at any point and time, revolve around an era, person, plant, animal, artistic medium, or subject matter I find fascinating to use as fodder for my stories. Years ago, I was introduced to the Amorphophallus Titanum in an article in the “Wall Street Journal.” I held on to the article, certain that the strange Corpse Flower will find its way into one of my novels. When the plant bloomed in the Huntington Gardens in 1999, it made international headlines. I had to see the magnificent Amorphophallus, which is native to the equatorial rain forests of Sumatra. I knew that the bloom is short-lived and lasts approximately twelve hours and that I had to get myself to the Huntington Gardens while it was still in bloom. I was among thousands of people who gathered around the Corpse Flower, witnessing the plant at the height of its fertility and emitting an odor that has been compared to many things, including rotting flesh. Right then and there, the Corpse Flower was assigned a major role in Scent of Butterflies.

I am not a photographer, but my sister, Laura Merage, is a well-known and accomplished one, and I’ve learned to appreciate photography through her special view, which Soraya has inherited.

9. Themes of death and decay appropriately underscore much of this sometimes dark story. Were these issues particularly on your mind while writing the novel, or would you say that in some sense, because they are part of Nature, death and decay are always with us and, thus, always influencing the way we engage with the world?

Dora: The literature of death and decay has been around forever. We live with the reality of death and as such it inevitably creeps into our stories.

The reality of death was especially close while I was writing this book, a time when revolutionary courts, in order to purge Iran of political dissidents and members of the old regime were, without the benefit of a fair trial, ordering hasty executions to eliminate the threat of a coup d’état.

For Soraya, who believes she is experiencing the death of her love, this theme has an added significance, influencing the way she engages with her world.

10. Revenge is another prominent theme in this novel: Soraya finds great delight in plotting hers. Is there a little bit of vicarious thrill going on there, or is this perhaps something you share with your protagonist? At this stage in your writing career, how much of yourself still ends up as fodder for your characters?

Dora: It is safe, and often fun, to join your characters on a fictional journey you would never dare embark on in real life. I confess there are times I wish I possessed Soraya’s courage to extract revenge on certain individuals, better left “unnamed.” But I am not as brave as Soraya and perhaps more sensible sometimes. Who knows! What I do know is that for now, it is much safer to delegate to my characters certain thoughts and actions I’d never imagine undertaking.

It is difficult for a writer to identify what percentage of herself is instilled in her protagonist. From one side, I am nothing close to any of my characters—Rebekah in Harem, who sells her body to support her daughter, Madame Gabrielle in Courtesan, who is, well, a courtesan, the clairvoyant Darya in The Last Romanov, and Parvaneh or Butterfly in Scent of Butterflies, whose obsessive love drives her to acts I would never imagine. Yet! How could some subconscious characteristics of a writer not end up in her characters?

11. The Barking Owl, also called “the Screaming Woman,” has much significance as a symbol in the novel. What does the owl represent to you, and how did it find its way into this story?

Dora: Years ago, while writing Scent of Butterflies, I visited a hotel in New Port. One afternoon, a falconer arrived with four birds of prey—an eagle, a hawk, a falcon and an owl—for display in the hotel gardens. I was mesmerized by the owl, the way it completely rotated its head, but mostly by its piercing, yellow eyes that seemed to bore through me. I was writing the scene, where Soraya comes to Los Angeles, leaving Mamabozorg, her grandmother, behind in Iran. Mamabozorg is a compelling character and I didn’t want for her to be absent from the page. In addition, Soraya is close to Mamabozorg and in dire need of her advice. The solution came to me in the form of the owl, who represents Soraya’s grandmother.

12. What made California the perfect place for Soraya to retreat and set to weaving her web? Do the locations in the novel have a real-life meaning for you?

Dora: This is my only novel in which the locations have a real-life meaning to me. I have lived in all these places. This being my most contemporary novel, it made sense to set my characters in Iran and Los Angeles.

13. Superstition and religion influence the characters of this novel in many ways. Did you do any research to add this element to the story? Did you draw from your own experiences to create any aspects of the superstition or religious beliefs and practices coloring the novel?

Dora: The superstition and religious beliefs influencing my protagonists are inspired by the colorful characters of my extended family—grandmother, aunts, cousins—and by a culture rich in legend and superstition. My grandmother sometimes used blessings and curses comprised of a mixture of Hebrew, Farsi, and even French words that were completely incomprehensible to me as a child. As an example, she hated storms and cursed them as “Tifouneh Noar.” It took me years to realize that she combined the words “toufan,” storm in Farsi, the Biblical “Noah,” and “Noir”, black in French, to come up with “Noah’s black storm,” to curse a detested deluge of rain.

14. A unique aspect of the religious interplay in this novel is that you focus on the lives of Jews living in Iran. Describe for us what it was like working to tell a story through the lens of a Jewish-Persian people living under the laws of post-revolution Iranian Islam.

Dora: Although I was lucky enough to get out of Iran in time, I have been closely following the plight of the few remaining Iranian Jews, who were too old or poor to leave the country. It is unfortunate that during periods of political turmoil Jews become scapegoats, and the Islamic revolution was no exception. The remaining Jewish community, who had enjoyed a short period of relative reprieve during the reign of Mohammad Reza Shah, sensing the tide of change, realized that it was prudent to show their support to the incoming regime, no matter their personal sentiments.

I can’t think of a better example to demonstrate this forced show of solidarity than referring to a photograph in Esther’s Children: A Portrait of Iranian Jews, edited by Houman Sarshar. This is an important book I highly recommend. The caption below the photograph says: “Chief Rabbi Yedidia Shofet (far right) and his son Rab David Shofet (center) participating in the general demonstrations leading up to the Islamic Revolution in Iran. Tehran, 1979.” From my vantage as an IranianAmerican Jew, enjoying the freedoms America has afforded me, the sad, somber, and I’m certain fearful, expressions of the rabbi and his son in the photograph is both enraging and saddening.

15. The novel ends on a somewhat surprising note. What kind of endings are your favorite to write, and what led you to avoid a “neat” ending for this novel? Did you know early on in your writing process how the novel would end?

Dora: I never know the ending of my novels until I’ve gone through many drafts and have moved events and chapters around to fit the story. I’ve often come to the end, when I’d realize that the beginning of the novel is actually the ending. It is also very common for me to go back after I believe I have the ending and cut the last chapter because I’d arrived at the ending earlier than I realized. I don’t like “neat” endings because that robs the reader of the gift of imagination, where the reader is allowed to imagine how the lives of the characters will unfold after the last page, which to me is not the end, but another beginning.