Women Characters in Kricorian’s Prose

Nancy Kricorian

New York-based novelist Nancy Kricorian is well-known in American-Armenian Diaspora literature. She started her career writing poems as a student at Columbia University, studying fine arts. Later, she turned to writing prose and deepened her roots in the genre. 

Her first novel Zabelle was published in 1997. The events in the novel take place in Watertown, Massachusetts, where Kricorian’s late grandmother settled after the Armenian Genocide in 1915. Kricorian neatly presents her grandmother’s fictionalized story, where she diligently documents the Armenian community’s traditions and customs and her own family memories. 

In Kricorian’s second and third novels, Dreams of Bread and Fire (2003) and All the Light There Was (2013), most of the events occur in France. The characters live in the mid (40s) or late (80s) part of the 20th century, but the events often refer to both of the 20th century’s world wars. 

Kricorian’s stories revolve around Armenian women. She presents their lives, often from childhood to adulthood. Family traditions and other cultural elements, distinctive among Armenians, play major roles in both novels. The Armenian heritage, passed on through customs, often is so strong that it pulls the characters back to their roots, even with the generations that have never seen the “old world.” They understand what the mysterious place was like only through what they have been told by the survivors. Survivors of the Genocide shape the communities so strongly that, even 100 years later, the culture survives. 

The opening scene in Kricorian’s second novel, Dreams of Bread and Fire, presents the main character Ani Silver’s life in Watertown, Massachusetts, with the Armenian side of her family (the Kersamians). Very quickly in the novel the author introduces Ani’s grandmother’s cousin’s grandson, Van Ardavanian, who later becomes an important figure as Ani’s boyfriend. In the beginning of the novel, Ani travels overseas in the early 80s. She has a man from New England named Asa Willard who was irreplaceable for her during that period. She met Asa in the library three years earlier, while working in a financial aid office.

In Paris, Ani resides in an exclusive apartment, overlooking the Palais-Royal Garden, where she was hired to work as an au pair for the wealthy Barton family. During this time, she was missing Asa, “like the deep ache in [her] bones [she had] with a fever” (Dreams, p. 17) as she explained in her letter to him. She didn’t mail it because Asa told her that he didn’t like her being clingy and dependent. Asa was sleeping around with different women when they both were home in Massachusetts; Ani didn’t want any details about the affairs and asked to be spared. “From the beginning his feelings for her were like a pendulum on a grandfather clock” (p. 25). “It was a hopeless wrangle” (Ibid.).

Ani enrolled at the Jussieu campus of Sorbonne University to study literature. She was lonely in Paris, but “she liked the way this other language made her feel strange and new” (p. 106). Her experiences in the heart of Paris made her want the lifestyle that the Bartons had, with posh vacations and a wealthy upkeeping. She envied them and secretly wished she was upper class, too.

At Christmastime, Ani’s countryman Van visited the Bartons’ apartment in Paris. During his conversation with Ani, she discovered that Van’s girlfriend Maro was shot to death at her parents’ apartment. When Van told Ani about his girlfriend’s murder, she immediately associated it with her own father, who was killed by a speeding car.

Her father’s death story always haunted Ani. She was determined to learn about the Silvers (the Jewish side), who were estranged because of her parents’ diverse backgrounds. As devout Jews, the family rejected her mother. As a much different religion, Judaism antagonized the protagonist, “Were there different sections in heaven for Jews and Christians? Did Jews go to heaven” (p. 85)? 

Ani often talked about her paternal relatives and relentlessly tried to connect with them. Her mother was not supportive of the urge. She ultimately connects with her aunt and takes some photos of her late father from her aunt’s collection without permission. The novel ends there with obtaining mementos of her father as the culmination of the work—connecting with something that was lost, absent from her life, that didn’t allow her to have peace. 

Most of the events in the novel revolve around Van. He is a mysterious character who is a member of a secret organization that tried to seek justice for the Armenians after the Armenian Genocide. ASALA’s 1981 siege of the Turkish Consulate in Paris, which Ani learned from the news, was addressed to those who deny the truth. They claimed justice for those “hundreds of thousands who somehow survived with horrors etched in their heads and who dispersed themselves over the globe like the seeds of a rare plant slated for extinction” (p. 180). Ani didn’t know about Van’s involvement in such secret activities. She was always curious, which made her sad. Here is how the author described Ani’s sadness: “The moon sat in the satin sky like a crooked bowl. God ladled sadness into the bowl until it spilled from the heavens like bitter milk. Ani caught the milk in her cup and drank it down” (p. 210). 

The mystery tied with Van made Ani feel “[a] certain level of mystery and uncertainty was sexy, but it had been pushed to the point where alienation had taken over for her” (p. 165). Earlier in the novel, the author explained Ani’s and Van’s relationship: “love was a dandelion growing from a crack in the pavement, with fierce green leaves and an improbable sunshine of a flower. More likely, though, Van would vanish wraithlike into the mysterious world of Armenian refugees, bullet-pocked landscapes, and false passports” (p. 161).

The stories of Armenian survival came to life throughout the book with revelations of witness accounts of the Armenian Genocide. It appears to the reader that the author is trying to justify Armenian anger toward the perpetrators because their intent was to tear words “… from mouths and not passed to the next generation and the one after” (p. 181); therefore, she provides ample evidence to support the Armenian view and to document the history. The pictures created by the author become increasingly tragic as they unroll: “People ate anything they could put their hands on: a dog, a cat, any poor bird you might get with a slingshot…They were driven out into the desert where there wasn’t so much as a crumb. They died like flies” (p. 183). 

When one studies the prose created by Armenian Diaspora authors, one can find that most of the stories present tales of different Armenian communities, but very often they are more localized. In Kricorian’s prose, she takes the joy of presenting different locations with almost the same amount of descriptions for each. These details require deep study of the locations’ geography. For example, in her descriptions of Paris, “she loved that the streets were named for writers and that the mail came twice a day” (p. 106). The reader can see that the author is comparing the protagonist’s current location with the location where she is from (viz., the US). Otherwise, a local wouldn’t even think that naming the streets after famous writers is uncommon. Her presentations of Paris’ narrow, cobbled streets; the Tuileries Garden; the Palais-Royal Garden; Rue de Rivoli; or the Cathedral Notre Dame with its façade contain intricate details, from dining at a restaurant on Palais-Royal, where once Napoleon and Josephine dined, to walking on the streets near Notre Dame, where the Jazz Age writers once lived and created their most famous works. In other examples, the author refers to such locations in the United States as Dexter Avenue (the location of Van’s house), Mount Auburn Street and Boylston Street. They all are crafted carefully so that the reader feels that these are real places where people live, walk and bike. 

In All the Light There Was, the “playground” for the author is France again. The events begin with the Nazi occupation of Paris, where the main characters reside: “As the first tank rolled down the hill, none of us breathed. The tanks were followed by armored trucks, and behind the trucks came tall German soldiers in black uniforms, their boot heels hammering the cobblestones in cadence” (All, p. 5). A hammering sound announces that the ‘Angels of Death’ (p. 5) entered the city, and “that’s the sound you will never forget” (p. 6). 

The characters need to embrace the changes that were thrown in front of them because food scarcity, long lines and empty shelves in grocery stores became common during the occupation. People used ration cards. A gasoline shortage caused the metro fare prices to increase. The city walls were marked up in chalk with the letter “V” for victory. 

Kricorian blends the story of the Armenian Genocide with the events of WWII. The Pegorian family, who survived the Armenian Genocide during WWI, is now facing new challenges. But they already know how to fight and survive. They are trained to endure such hardships. 

Kricorian sets the scene in Chapter 3 with the first long stretch of winter during the occupation. She uses a foreshadowing device, speaking about a photograph she can picture long after the events: “With a black pen, someone has drawn circles around the faces of those whom we were soon to lose” (p. 26), preparing the reader for the upcoming tragedy. 

The main character, Maral Pegorian, grows up in Paris. Maral is 14 years old when the war begins. She is an excellent student, but her unusual last name marked her “as a child of foreigners, the stateless Armenians” (p. 28). The teen knows since childhood that she must choose someone as a future husband from her closed community, a man with an Armenian background. This is the Armenian tradition. Maral admits, “When I was a little girl playing … Zaven was always my imaginary husband” (p. 49). She continues, “But at fifteen, infused with images of romantic love from movies and books, and with the war heightening the drama of daily life, I no longer saw it as a game. Now when his eyes rested on me for a few seconds longer than they had in the past, a thrill raced under my skin” (Ibid.). 

In Dreams of Bread and Fire, “Ani’s Van was a kaleidoscope of memories and images, starting with their first meeting when they were small children. His smile burned like a candle’s flame in a dark chapel. His touch melted her as though the scaffolding inside her body were made of wax. She had refused to allow the gesture of a gun to her temple be a part of how she understood him. But now she found herself resifting his words, especially the ones she had pushed aside” (Dreams, p. 155). Ani wanted to “own” her relationship with Van. The author describes Ani’s feelings as follows, “She wished she had pierced [Van’s] nose with a golden ring and threaded a silken cord through it. She could lead him around like a prized calf” (p. 210). In contrast to Maral, from Kricorian’s third novel, Ani’s views are considerably different, reflecting the changes that occurred in Armenian customs and ways of thinking by the 1980s. The 80s generation was bolder. Ani says about herself: “…I have no shame. I’m American” (Dreams, p. 67). They both were students at the Sorbonne. They shared a similar understanding of “abiding the tradition.” Even though Ani lists many relationships, it appears that she had a more serious relationship with Van. 

In Ani’s case, she was trying to understand why the Jewish community didn’t accept her father’s marriage to the Armenian woman—her mother. Was it a rejection of other cultures? Or was the rejection just addressed to her mother without considering her background? These are the types of questions that most characters in Diaspora novels ask at some point. However, in Maral’s case (All the Light There Was), she was so devoted to her culture and upbringing that it was a little extreme to a non-Armenian reader. When Maral’s boyfriend Zaven didn’t return, she chose his brother as her husband. This is almost unimaginable devotion from a very young protagonist, who was only a teenager. Yet Kricorian carefully builds this scenario, so it makes sense to the reader.  

According to the author, Maral deeply missed Zaven while he was at war: “Sometimes missing Zavig would hit [her] like an illness for which there was no medicine” (All, p. 180). He didn’t return. Zaven died of typhus, so she married his brother Barkev as a “duty.” She explains, “I realized you could love more than one person at the same time, and that marriage was not just about love. It was also about duty” (All, p. 210). She even admits after the marriage took place, “Once for a second, when Barkev’s back was to me, I mistook him for his brother, but then I remembered” (p. 216). She reminds herself that she is a married woman—Maral Kacherian. However, Zaven never “left her alone” in her thoughts. She often thought that Zaven was more handsome than her husband. Barkev knew it. She says that she is married to him out of pity and because he was the one who outlived his brother.

When Maral’s engagement was announced, an “alternative” suitor named Andon appeared and asked her to reconsider. He was honest about how he felt over her choice: “I was disappointed to learn you substituted the brother without giving me at least an opportunity” (p. 210). In this scene, the writer uses a well-known device, the triangle, which elaborates further on her feelings toward the men in her life. “I stared out the window into the hurtling darkness, seeing Andon’s face and then Barkev’s, and then Zaven’s. They flew by faster and faster, until the three faces blended into me” (Ibid.). 

Ultimately, the Kacherian brothers prevailed over Andon. Maral chose to stay with her “responsibility” to make the Kacherian family happy. Having a boy was the family’s pride and future. At the birth of her son, Maral’s father was assured about the gender of the child: “A boy to carry on the family name” (p. 243). When it was time to choose a name for the boy, Maral’s mother suggested that Maral use Zaven’s name. Maral thought that the name was “too big” for the small child in her arms and named him Pierre instead. 

As expected, the protagonist completes her “duty.” She brought a child to a family who lost their son to the war. Love was not mandatory. All that mattered was that people keep the family line alive to carry the Armenian culture forward.

Not long after Pierre was born, Barkev complained about his poor health, which affected his work. He didn’t fight to get better. He expressed honestly: “Now that my son can carry on the family name, my duty’s done” (p. 244). Barkev died in a car accident, leaving five-month-old Pierre fatherless and his twenty-year-old wife in deep sorrow. 

The tragedy is constantly present for the Kacherians. Maral thought that her mother-in-law hated her because both sons loved her, and both died when they were in a relationship with her. She blames herself. She thinks that bad luck revolves around her, and she is the misfortune that caused the brothers to lose their lives. 

Kricorian employs Genocide stories in this scene to make Maral’s story a little more bearable. Specifically, Maral’s mother shared details about what her ancestors had to endure through the forced marches in the desert, starvation and the loss of most of their family members. She comforts Maral and gives her hope.
Maral moves back to her parents’ house with her son. She was so attached to her past that she wore black clothing for a long time to show that she was in mourning. Maral and Andon met at church again. Andon suggested they continue dating after Sunday mass. 

 Andon was a member of the Dashnak party, which fought for the liberation of Armenia. After the Soviets took Armenia, the two most famous Dashnaks, General Dro and Hambardzum Terteryan, were admitted to the new government. The rest of the men from the Dashnak party were exiled to Siberia; Andon was able to escape to Poland. 

Andon eventually asked her to marry him. When the family found out about Andon’s intentions, Maral’s brother was displeased with Andon’s past. Maral explains, “…Andon wasn’t a Nazi. He was an Armenian prisoner of war who had a choice between dying and putting on a German uniform. He built a useless wall along the coast” (p. 274). Maral ends up marrying Andon.

A happy ending is a common way to end these types of novels, but Kricorian offers suspense. She keeps the suspense building throughout the novel until the last page. The reader often doesn’t “hope” for a positive outcome. It is almost impossible to turn things positive at times. However, Kricorian moves the story toward a more positive ending through an odd use of lucky numbers. Filling the empty space with something that symbolizes what has been taken away from the characters’ lives is what makes Kricorian’s writing captivating. The reader notices how the number three plays a role in relationships for the author. The protagonist was presented in a relationship with three men throughout the novel. At the end of the novel, Maral and Andon are near a tree. This is the tree by which she remembers herself as a little girl. This is also the place where her third relationship gets “sealed.” In the scene, she confirms that her “initials are carved with Zaven’s in the trunk of that tree over there” (p. 278); then she admits that she and Barkev celebrated their wedding party nearby. She ponders, “Here I was, having lost two husbands, making plans for taking a third. Was it my fault that I lost them?” (pp. 274-275) Using the same power of three in her second novel, Kricorian impels Ani’s mother Violet to tell Ani how she met her father, saying, “When he came back the next afternoon I knew it wasn’t coincidence. On the third day he said, ‘Excuse me, miss. I know this is forward, but I’d like to introduce myself.’ That was your dad” (Dreams, pp. 104-105).

In Kricorian’s novels, Armenian women are the focus. Regardless whether they are in the most modern city in Europe or in the US, they believe in being close to their culture, traditions and beliefs. Nothing prevents them from being close to their roots. These women are the community builders. They address the problems that life throws in front of them. 

Kricorian doesn’t just tell a story. She walks the reader through the streets and towns. The reader feels the passion that she had while creating her female characters. Her novels are not like any others in Armenian Diaspora literature. She blends the new with the old unnoticeably. This is what makes her prose unique.

Lusine Mueller, PhD

Lusine Mueller, PhD

Dr. Lusine Hambardzumyan Mueller is a native of Etchmiadzin, Armenia, who earned her Ph.D. in philology from Yerevan State University in 2008. She specializes in Armenian Diasporan literature and the literature of the Jazz Age. She teaches courses in rhetoric and composition at Pennsylvania State University's Brandywine campus.
Lusine Mueller, PhD

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