What an excellent memoir. Majid Parsa - not his real name - was born in Sheffield but grew up in Iran when his parents returned them when he was a baby. His parents had become very religious following the Revolution, and Majid grew up in a very religious household and society where being gay is not only frowned upon but illegal and punished by death.
Majid Parsa writes beautifully about his own shame when he starts developing feelings for boys at school, his family pretending not to know but sending him to a therapist to talk it out, and his own attempt at "curing" his "mental disorder" with another therapist who promises to keep his secret but assigns him homework to "make him straight". Meeting other gay men, often online, and finding a community in Tehran leads him to acceptance but he still lives in secrecy and is constantly reminded of the dangers that his sexuality brings.
It was an interesting and moving book, at times funny and touching, really informative and important. He depicts not just a society ruled by the Morality Police but also a gay scene in which people try to organise and live a little, if only in secret.
I really enjoyed it and it should definitely have more reviews!

This powerful, raw memoir focuses on a rarely addressed topic: what it's like to be gay in a fanatically religious country. As the author writes towards the end of his book,

“Gay men in Iran live in a vacuum, a black hole, where their existence is denied and their stories go untold. Although the fear of death is a real one, they still live, party, and exist. I was part of that scene. The Ayatollah’s Gaze is a shout out to all of them. A voice that has been kept silent for too long”.

Although the structure is a bit chaotic, like a stream of consciousness on a psychoanalyst's couch, it is well written. I am glad the author shared his experience and broke this wall of silence.

Thanks to the publisher, Unbound/Neem Tree Press, and NetGalley for an advanced copy of this book

'The Ayatollah's gaze' is a memoir depiciting a homosexual man in Tehran where homosexuality is a death sentence. In this memoir we experience the journey of a man risking it all to be able to be himself. I found the novel englihtening and enjoyed the reading experience. the writing was super captivating and Parsa grabbed me with his stylistic prose. I wish the novel had a bit more background but it was a memoir so this isn't to be massively expected.

I would recommend this to anyone especially during this month (pride).

Thanks to netgalley for this e-arc of #theayatollagsgaze

In The Ayatollah’s Gaze, Majid Parsa delivers a quiet and intimate memoir of growing up as a privileged gay man in post-revolution Iran, under the reproachful eyes of the Ayatollahs Khomeini and Khamenei, where religion, patriarchy, and repression are woven into everyday life, and where self-expression becomes an act of defiance. This is a coming-of-age story shaped by the crushing pressure of a regime that sees queer identity as sin, love as transgression, and desire as punishable by law.

The book opens in the still hours of dawn, anticipating the azaan, the Islamic morning prayer, when the reader is introduced to Majid (a pseudonym for the author) and his familial routines. Jumping to 2018, we find Majid in London, disclosing his positive STI status to his friend. The lack of sexual education becomes quickly evident, followed by a sense of shameful relief at having been lucky during his earlier sex life, a recurrent theme through the memoir, often implied rather than explicitly narrated. He introduces his father as a successful judge and lawyer who retired before the 1979 Islamic revolution. His mother, born to conservative Shia Muslim parents in Turkey, moved to Iran for a few years after marriage, then to the UK, where Majid and his older brother were born. It is the return to post-revolution Iran, however, where the book takes flight.

Parsa’s narrative is simple and effective, with occasional footnotes and explanations of Arabic and religious terms, making the memoir accessible. His mother is described as deeply religious and secretive about her past, while his father and brother exist as shadowy masculine figures. In the family’s living room, Khomeini’s portrait looms, his gaze described as piercing. Controversially, some of the remembered details felt exaggerated, especially those attributed to his early childhood, when the richness of details in recollections from a four-year-old felt unreliable. Many cultural practices were unfamiliar to me—for example, blessing the Imam’s name aloud every time it was said, which was not only expected but considered mandatory, even punishable if omitted. There are harrowing scenes, though concentrated at the beginning and end of the book, and mostly concerning events external to the author—notably, the description of Khomeini’s chaotic funeral.

Shame plays a central role in this memoir. The intimate tone works best when portraying Majid’s innocent, playful, and often confusing or misplaced sexual desire—each followed by guilt, anxiety, and repeated trips to the bathroom. Religion doesn’t just surround him; it is engraved in his brain and carved as deeply as his queerness. As Majid grows older, his rebellion manifests through tighter T-shirts and trousers that compresses beyond comfort. His clean-shaven face symbolises rejection of religious masculine ideals. Rebellion eventually finds its way to dating sites, both straight and gay, to a night at Café Soosan with queer friends, to secret hook-ups and sips of alcohol.

Freedom is always partial, always shadowed by risk. The basijis, or morality police, hover in the background as vultures, ready to enforce sharia law. Interestingly, the majority of the basijis were underprivileged, religious men from southern Iran, a stark contrast to the more liberal, privileged circles of north Tehran where Majid’s family lived. This class divide generates tension and ultimately feeds corruption. This is a world where homosexuality is simultaneously criminal and non-existent—a perversity punishable by death, yet exploited as a legal loophole. This is also a world where trans women are encouraged to undergo full feminisation surgeries, not out of empowerment, but to avoid being “clockable.” What’s appaling is not only the repression, but the grotesque logic under which sharia law operates.

I expected this to be a darker memoir, dense with tragedy, activism, and resistance—but instead I found a lighter account of life as a privileged, middle-class gay man looking for identity and love. Irritatingly, one of the most tragic moments in the book doesn’t even derives from the author’s life—not that memoirs must always include personal tragedy, of course.

The Ayatollah’s Gaze isn’t just a memoir of repression and pain—it’s also a quiet story of self-discovery, of enduring repression, of navigating life under a regime incompatible with homosexuality, and freedom. It focuses more on personal drama than overt queer activism, and yet serves as a reminder that queer existence itself is a political act, especially under a repressive regime. Still, the book gave me a clearer picture of Iranian society under sharia law than I had before, and perhaps that’s enough. Ultimately, this is a compelling and necessary memoir to readers from all ages, background, and beliefs.

Rating: 3.25/5

This honest, open and candid account of growing up gay in Iran, where homosexuality is punishable by death, was quite a revelation to me. The author offers a rare glimpse into a usually hidden world, and tells of the surprisingly vibrant gay scene in Tehran, which, in spite of the ever-present threat from the morality police, continues to flourish. The author, writing under a pseudonym, tells of his early life and sexual awakening, his encounters with other gay men and the relationships he was able to forge. Eventually moving to London and becoming a doctor, he movingly explores some of the untold stories of living under a repressive and punitive regime, and shows how the gay community in Iran somehow manages to thrive in spite of severe persecution. The book unnecessarily jumps about too much in time and place, but overall is a truly compelling and remarkable read, from which I learnt a great deal.

Reading this, opened my eyes (pun fully intended) to the aspects of LGBTQ+ lives in places that had only really registered as negative or dangerous. A news story as opposed to the true lived experiences of those attempting to live as they're most authentic selves in such places where it isn't just fear of judgement that may affect them.
The writing felt wonderfully authentic as our narrator was by no means perfect, making the same 'selfish' mistakes we all do in our youth and providing a stark, realistic view on the place they lived.

For me, this book was yet another wonderful reminder that there is so much more that connects us than separates us.

this was a wonderfully written and eye-opening memoir and had that concept that I was looking for. I thought Majid Parsa wrote this perfectly and was engaged with the story being told from start to finish. It told the story and had that overall feel that I wanted and was glad I was able to get to the author from this book.

really cool! it was fascinating to get a peek into lgbtq+ lives in iran. i had read books about queer folks and the iranian diaspora (re: martyr!, the persians), but never about queer people actually living in iran. i thoroughly enjoyed this one!

A witness from the frontlines
—
Being a migrant from one culture to another will always place you somewhere in the middle. In the pseudonymous Parsa’s visceral memoir, more than two cultures are at play, as he recounts his life as a second son, an Iranian, a Muslim, a migrant to Britain, a gay man. Like an album of Polaroids, Parsa presents his memories in thematic drifts, floating through time as he presents allusive connections between moments, memories, actions, the dance between his fears and his desires.

The narrative doesn’t follow a single timeline, making the reader work to keep tabs on which Parsa we are accompanying, but perhaps that’s what we’re supposed to be looking for, the presence between the absences, the truth between the communally agreed, that Parsa is the sum of his parts as well as the sum of the unspoken, the hidden, the intangible.

it’s hard to write about yourself; we do not know ourselves as well as we think we do. It’s literally impossible to step out of your own consciousness and look back on your own life and be objective. And Parsa doesn’t try, but instead lays out the many paths through his life, and in braiding his many selves together, he gives us a perspective on how one man navigates the (unfamiliar to us) worlds of Iran and on the way to creating his own.

Thank you to NetGalley for allowing me to read this book.
What an incredible and inspiring story.

Most of this book focuses on the crazy experiences this author had, but the ending pulls everything back down to Earth and makes you come to terms with the full reality of gay life in Iran.
If you're not too familiar with Iranian/Muslim culture, there is a lot to learn here too., not just about gay life.

I also liked the structure of describing memories at the start of most parts. While the time jumps might be a bit confusing if you're dipping in and out of this book, I do think it's easy enough to follow.

Everything about this book felt genuine and I cannot wait to have it on my shelves in physical form.

This was such an eye-opening account of what it means to be queer in a country where it is not accepted. I felt for each individual so deeply.

Thank you to NetGalley for an advance copy of this book.

Wow - what a journey. I really appreciate the author being willing to tell his story about growing up as a gay person in Iran. I felt that the switching timelines was confusing sometimes, but this was minor in comparison to the power of his story.

I would recommend this book.

Thank you to Netgalley, Neem Tree Press and Majid Parsa for this arc!

The Ayatollah’s Gaze is a raw and unflinching memoir that explores Majid Parsa’s coming-of-age in Tehran, a city where homosexuality is punishable by death. Parsa shares his journey from a childhood of war and religious obedience to his teenage sexual awakening, all while navigating the dangers of Tehran's vibrant but hidden gay scene.

What stands out about this book is its unapologetically honest portrayal of Parsa’s life. He doesn’t shy away from showing himself in a less-than-ideal light, and that vulnerability makes his story all the more powerful. The memoir offers an eye-opening perspective on life in Iran, free from the typical Western lens which was refreshing. I felt a deep connection to Majid’s friends and saw many parallels between his queer friendships and my own. Despite the harsh realities they faced, the strength, humor, and pride of queer people in Iran shine through, as well as their love for a good party!

That said, the book is not without its flaws. The back-and-forth between timelines can sometimes be disorienting, and the writing, though honest, can come across as a bit monotonous at times. However, the book’s content is so engaging and the rawness of the storytelling so compelling that these issues didn’t detract from my overall experience.

Ultimately, The Ayatollah’s Gaze is a beautiful, educational, and heartbreaking exploration of the resilience of queer people in Iran. It’s a powerful testament to the courage of those living in fear, and it serves as a poignant reminder of the real danger queer people in Iran face every day.

I requested and received an eARC of The Ayatollah's Gaze: A Memoir of the Forbidden and Fabulous by Majid Parsa via NetGalley. When browsing titles, this one instantly grabbed my attention because of the bold colors. Much like a gaze, it held me captive. In his memoir, Parsa recounts a childhood of war, prayer, and devotion that is upended by his own sexual awakening and eventual pride. In his book, Parsa explores the persecution experienced by the gay men of Iran, but also dives into the fierce and flamboyant gay scene at the heart of Iran, under the shadow of the grand Ayatollah and the morality police.

This was a terribly interesting read. I really enjoyed the way Parsa weaves his way through time in a nonlinear fashion. It feels more true to the act of remembrance, the way our thoughts form and the ways we make associations between events in our lives and history. Parsa is masterful at painting very vivid scenes, really enveloping the reader in the community and culture he writes about. I think what I really appreciated most about Parsa’s memoir is that this work very easily could have been a much darker thing, and while there are plenty of moments of devastation the author takes great care to balance this with joy, giving a fullness to his recollections.

There are so many captivating figures presented in this memoir. Farid, Leila, Roya all cast their own spells over me. This memoir is about much more than being gay, it’s a delightful, and often quite emotional, coming-of-age story that interrogates religion, culture, and tradition. Parsa is very upfront about the struggles that queer people face in Iran and this is a stark reminder of the international fight for queer rights and safety. He makes a concerted effort to highlight the active queer community in Iran who resist by forging their own happiness. Parsa’s story is also about finding community and contains many important lessons if one is only willing to learn.

3* Slightly disappointing, as it comes across as if the only person who had it hard/suffered a loss, was the side character Reza, who lost his lover, Farid.

My mum came from an ethnic background and country where a gay man was publicly stoned to death in the 60s, in front of new- adult her. That was shocking, not so much the contents of this book in which Majid, not his real name, took silly risks and risked his family's safety, although he's used a pseudonym to maybe protect them, if they're still in Iran.

Was I surprised at what he and his friends got up to? Yes, because they were exposing themselves publicly, and not many were discreet, or seemed to have a braincell or few. Their antics, their openness, the lack of what felt like actual danger, made this book less than it could've been. I'm not sure how I was meant to see Majid and the LGBTQIA community as oppressed and suppressed in Iran, because that's not how it came across. Despite what we're told about his father's and elder brother's embrace of Islam, neither interfered in his antics or seemed to question anything. Perhaps for fear of not liking the answers they'd get? Then again, daddy made his military service cushier, so maybe he'd have intervened with the morality police. Sadly, it felt like Majid had it easy, that lies came to him easily and that he used others, including a female who turned out not to be as liberal as they'd both thought, and who threatened suicide when he 'dumped' her. And he was not a good friend to Ali, in his pleasure seeking. Majid was selfish and not very likeable, which was sad, as I wanted to be rooting for him. Reza and Farid seemed to be the only ones to suffer - Reza, the loss of Farid and not knowing for a year about his tragic end, and to find decent could-have-been in-laws who tried to protect him in the period before the truth came out. THAT was tragic, and sad.

This book didn't feel sincere or believable, sadly.

ARC courtesy of NetGalley and Neem Tree Press for my reading pleasure.

This was a really impactful read. It was devastating, heartbreaking but also filled with determination and human courage. Reading it as a young queer person it reminds me that there is still so much work to be done to protect queer people and to share the stories of those around the world

The Ayatollah's Gaze is an intimate portrait of what it means to grow up and live as a gay man under the Iranian regime, with all the beauty of a vibrant community finding joy and resilience in each other, and all the fear that the criminalisation of homosexuality brings with it. This is a love letter to the community, the living and the dead, that does not shy away from the dark but is much more concerned with the light - Parsa offers a reflective look through his life and all the meaningful connections that shaped his experience of finding himself in Iran, the friendships, romances, and losses that defined him in spite of the looming threats of the regime.

Parsa (pseudonym) walks us through what it meant to live under an oppressive and hateful regime and its politicians, especially as a gay man.
Parsa’s voice is so authentic, funny and engaging that you see how he survived those circumstances with his resilience, wit and resourcefulness.
That is not to say that the absolutely horrifying aspects of Ayatollah’s gaze is not in this book. It is everywhere. Except for Parsa’s and the others’ free minds and their fight for their rights, freedom and liberty.