The Lion Women of Tehran: A book review
What The Lion Women of Tehran Gets Right About Iranian Women’s Strength
I asked my friend, “Do you still wear hijab there?”
She said, “No, not anymore. But in some public places, they text us and ask us to follow the country’s rules and wear proper clothing. Other than that, we don’t cover our hair anymore.”
Hearing this after reading The Lion Women of Tehran brought a smile to my face. I thought of Homa—and all the real-life Homas in Iran—and felt that maybe, just maybe, their hard work has paid off. For now, at least. Even if it’s just a small step toward freedom.
The Lion Women of Tehran is the third book I’ve read by an Iranian-American author writing in English.
The first was Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar, a brilliant read. You can read my review of it here [Martyr! | Kaveh Akbar].
The second was The Persians by Sanam Mahloudji, which, despite its success and Women’s Prize nomination, was a bit disappointing for me.
The Lion Women of Tehran, on the other hand, is an authentic and powerful narration of two women’s lives—from the end of Pahlavi era, through the Islamic Revolution, and into the present day.
Plot Summary
Set in 1950s Tehran, The Lion Women of Tehran begins with seven-year-old Ellie, who moves with her mother from a life of comfort to a small, modest home after the sudden death of her father. Lonely and adjusting to a very different life, Ellie meets Homa—a brave, outspoken girl from a working-class background. The two girls form a strong bond and dream of one day becoming “lion women”—a symbol of strength, courage, and independence in a world that doesn’t expect much from girls.
But life changes quickly. Ellie’s mother remarries, and suddenly, they’re back in their former lifestyle. Ellie is pulled into a world of privilege and slowly drifts away from Homa. Years later, the two meet again at an elite girls’ school. Their friendship rekindles, but the paths they take into adulthood couldn’t be more different: Ellie chooses marriage and family, while Homa throws herself into activism, fighting for women’s rights in a country where that kind of work comes with real danger.
The story spans decades—through the Shah’s regime, the Islamic Revolution, and into modern-day Iran. We see the cost of silence and the power of resistance. Ellie eventually moves to the U.S., carrying with her a deep sense of guilt for a decision that shaped Homa’s fate. When they reunite later in life, the pain and love between them is still there—proving how some friendships never really die.
Themes
Female Friendship & Betrayal
At its heart, this is a story about friendship—its power, its fragility, and the pain of betrayal. The relationship between Ellie and Homa is so real. It reminded me of how even the deepest bonds can be shaken by time, choices, and the pressures around us. But also how love, once rooted deeply, doesn’t disappear.
Women’s Rights & Activism
Through Homa, we see the strength of Iranian women who don’t back down. Her journey—from student activism to prison, to building women’s communities under constant pressure—reflects the courage we’ve seen in real life, especially in recent years. Her dream of freedom never fades, and she becomes a voice for all the women who keep fighting.
Class & Social Divide
The contrast between Ellie’s and Homa’s lives says so much about class in Iran—how your background shapes your opportunities, your choices, even your dreams. And yet, despite that divide, the girls find each other again. That tension and connection felt very honest and familiar.
Politics & Personal Lives
Kamali doesn’t just write about politics—she shows how it seeps into every part of life, especially for women. From the Revolution to the Mahsa Amini protests, we see how historical events don’t stay outside the home—they enter it, change it, and shape who we become.
Immigration, Identity & Memory
Ellie’s move to the U.S. brings in another layer—what it means to leave your country, and how the past follows you. Her guilt, her longing, her attempt to make sense of it all—it’s something many of us who’ve left Iran can understand. That feeling of being torn between two places, two selves.
What I really appreciated about the book, was its honest observation. Kamali doesn’t romanticise the Shah’s regime or portray those who sought change as irrational—something we often see always. Instead, she gives us a nuanced view, told through the eyes of two women: one from an affluent family, and the other from downtown Tehran. She helps us understand the dissatisfaction that existed at the time, while also showing how the new regime became even more oppressive.
Unlike the radical narratives that paint the Shah’s era in black and white, Kamali takes a realistic approach, allowing us to see both the good and the bad.
At times, the novel reminded me of My Brilliant Friend by Elena Ferrante—an Iranian version of it. Like Ferrante’s story, it explores the complex friendship between two women from childhood. The love and jealousy, the rivalry and loyalty, and the invisible thread that ties them together—even after years of separation.
I appreciated Kamali’s realism and empathy. Her protagonists feel believable, touchable, and deeply human. One woman, despite her youthful dreams of changing the world, chooses marriage, spending her time in the beauty salons, and the role of a housewife—like many women in Iran at that time. The other, Homa, is a feminist with a dream: for Iranian women to be free. She never gives up. From her communist activism during the Shah’s rule, to her women’s empowerment work under the Islamic regime, to the Mahsa Amini movement—her mission remains the same. Equality. Freedom. Voice.
Even though Marjan Kamali hasn’t lived in Iran for most of her life, she understands Iranian women. As the title suggests, she sees them as they truly are: The Lion Women of Tehran. And Tehran, of course, symbolises Iran itself.
This novel is as much a tribute to the strength of Iranian women as it is a meditation on the quiet rebellions that shape our destinies. Kamali’s prose is filled with nostalgia and quiet urgency. The lion women—those who roar even when they’re expected to stay silent—are unforgettable.
P.S.
When I tell people here how much I miss driving, they look surprised and ask, “You could drive in Iran?” Or, when they find out I worked there, they respond with pity. And even though I share in the anger and sorrow over my country’s situation, I also feel sad about how distorted the image of Iran is.
We Iranian women go to university. We drive. We work—many of us in high-level positions. Most of us are free to choose how to live, how to shape our lives, how to be ourselves. We earn our freedom not by staying quiet, but by resisting. Our families often support us. Many of our educated men are our allies.
We love our beautiful country, whether we choose to stay or leave. No matter how difficult things are, we are lion women. And we roar—even when they expect us to stay silent.
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Shideh, thanks for these interesting book comments. By the way, I was wondering how old you were when you left Iran, or were you born in the UK?
Thank you, you’ve motivated me to read this. I think we have a responsibility to try to understand people from all cultures, every race, every gender preference, just the world in general. It’s how we find peace and comfort, from the realization that there’s so much in common good, decent people have everywhere.