Niloufar-Lily (Lily) Soltani is the author of Zulaikha, a debut novel praised for its exploration of class, gender, and race. Lily is also a poet and poetry translator, and has been featured in various literary magazines. A graduate of Humber Creative, Lily lives in Vancouver, BC and works in the power and energy sector.
War and Literature
I hope you enjoyed watching my book trailer. The soundtrack is “Ahwak,” one of the theme songs in my novel Zulaikha. Originally performed by Abdul Halim Hafez in an Egyptian film from 1957, the version in the trailer is conducted by Muhammed Basdaq.
After the first chapter of Zulaikha, I delve into the backstory, spanning decades and years of Zulaikha’s past. One section is set during the Iran-Iraq war (September 1980 to August 1988), one of the longest yet least discussed wars in history. It has always puzzled me why some wars remain under-discussed. I have my theories, but I’m also aware of my lack of knowledge about many conflicts. Reading Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie reminded me of the Biafran Civil War, which I only vaguely remembered from childhood news reports about famine in Africa.
Whatever the reasons behind these forgotten wars, as writers, we bring them to light—not as historians, but as storytellers. When we set our tales in a particular time and place, we explore the past to recreate the atmosphere of how people lived, what music they listened to, how they loved, and more. War then becomes a vital element of both character and plot development, influencing character arcs and dialogue.
Is it speculation to say that war is a male-created dilemma?
I don’t know. Because women have always played a role too, from Cleopatra’s direct involvement in battle to Helen in Homer’s epics, often sparking conflict.
When the war hits in Zulaikha, my protagonist faces a new reality. Her previously miserable life pales compared to the horrors of war. This experience pushes her to take action—not just for herself, but for her child, her aging mother, and her friends. Giving her more agency felt inevitable from this point on.
Later in the story, years after the war ends, Zulaikha must confront the scars it left behind. When considering her future and the love of her life, she can’t ignore how war shaped their relationship. War leaves wounds on the soul—some may heal, but others remain unforgettable.
Can war be a premise for writing crime fiction or a plot?
Last year, I watched Foyle’s War, a British TV series by Anthony Horowitz, and it fascinated me how the focus on finding the best military tactics can undermine the imperative of exposing criminal acts in war times. In one episode, a murder victim was hidden in a bombed building, and it took time before anyone realized he wasn’t a casualty of war. He was murdered by someone he knew.
In Zulaikha, as Zulaikha and her brother Hassam flee to Tehran, while in transit, something happens that disrupts their journey. When they meet their old friend Abbas, Zulaikha senses unusual tension. Soon after, Abbas is murdered, and Hessam disappears.
War is a backdrop for countless stories of crime, conflict, and mystery.
What about morality? What happens to our sense of right and wrong during war?
Morality becomes fragile when survival is on the line. War turns us into more dangerous creatures, not only protecting ourselves but also our families, driving us to do things we wouldn’t normally do in peace. Zulaikha hears rumors about her brother, even that he committed a horrific crime. Could it be true? In war, anything seems possible. Morality gets lost when bombs explode nearby and survival confuses us between happiness and the guilt, and questions like why I survived but they didn’t.
Why is the impact of war on sexual behavior rarely discussed in the literature?
Writing intimate scenes, particularly in my cultural background, is a challenge. Discussions of intimacy, especially in literature, are often viewed as provocative or unnecessary. For Zulaikha, the experience of war intensifies these struggles, and I didn’t want to limit this suffering to my female protagonist. As the British Columbia Review mentioned, in Zulaikha, “male characters are complex figures whose struggles to survive under oppressive rule mirror those of the women.”
It’s not only the theological system in Iran that affects the characters’ lives; the war also creates an oppressive environment. They are constantly being watched and pressured, not just by the enemy’s threats but by their own people’s judgments, overwhelming expectations, or, conversely, indifferent neutrality.
Zulaikha, having endured prison, solitary confinement, and separation, struggles with her instinct for touch and intimacy. Even though she longs for love, she feels disconnected from her own desires. War alters her instincts, and this is reflected in her relationships and how she navigates romance.
What else emerges during wartime?
War often arises from racial, ethnic, or religious tensions, and Zulaikha’s birthplace, Khuzestan, is a breeding ground for these issues. Her deep attachment to the province—its unique music, food, and diversity—makes it even harder for her to leave. War literature often highlights the search for identity. People who were once friends are now divided, arguing over the very things that once united them: the songs they danced to, the clothes they wore, and how to adapt to this strange new world.
Will I continue writing war literature?
Although my other manuscripts are not as directly centered on war as Zulaikha, the Iran-Iraq war changed my life and affected many of my family members. Its influence finds its way into every one of my stories, whether subtly or directly.
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