Nadine Takvorian’s debut autobiographical graphic novel Armaveni: A Graphic Novel of the Armenian Genocide (Levine Querido, 2026) is a brilliant exploration of what it means to be an Armenian adolescent growing up in America, thousands of miles away from where her grandmother, the eponymous Armaveni, was born. While the book uncovers a family history of deportations and massacres — a history the adults around the teenager refuse to tell — Armaveni is not just another story about the genocide. Takvorian’s tale unearths something that transforms the unspeakable experiences of fear and violence into a world where creating a home is still possible. “I am home,” exclaims the ecstatic Nadine as she hugs Mom and Dad at the airport on her return from her “epic trip” to Hayastan, her homeland, and to Bolis (presently, Istanbul) where she still has extended family.
Takvorian’s is a nuanced probe into what it means to be an Armenian in a dispersed diaspora. The panels in the memoir alternate between the fictional granddaughter, Nadine, growing up in the city of San Francisco in the United States in the early 2000’s, and her grandmother Armaveni who, as a 17-year-old adolescent in Marsovan (Merzifan in present-day Turkey) was, in 1915, pushed into marrying Baron Hagop — later Hagop dedeh — the miller of Marsovan, to avoid the fate of hundreds of thousands of Armenians being driven into the desert to starve or to be killed at destination. Baron Hagop was “spared” because “Orders are to keep essential ones. This one is the miller! We need him for flour. Or no bread!”
Takvorian recognizes the historical realities. The facts are all there: “My great-grandfather, who was only 7 years old, was sent to march into Der El Zor. When they reached the Euphrates, the Turks shot the women and children and threw their bodies into the river. They gathered all the boys, including my great-grandfather, and stabbed them all with their bayonets.” The perennial questions of a people forcibly removed from their ancestral lands are also there. “Why is it bad to be Bolsahye?” wonders Nadine. Are Bolsahyes worthy Armenians who “are keeping our faith and culture in that land. Under extreme circumstances” or are they Turkified Armenians? Will Ararat “always be our mountain. No matter where the borders are?” “Home is somewhere in there. Deep on the other side,” Nadine tells her friend Ani casually, pointing to “the ancient city of Ani, Capital of the Armenian Bagratid Dynasty, 10th century,” from the Armenian side of the border between Turkey and Armenia during her trip to Hayastan. Turkey “wasn’t always Turkey.”
History mingles with everyday life in Armaveni to further enhance the story’s credibility. Nadine’s relatives want to move to America because there is “no future, no promotions” for Armenians in Bolis. Having friends from Beirut and Egypt, ordering a falafel sandwich or a toasted cheese bourek, all introduced seamlessly into the story, highlight the various geographies where displaced Armenians have made a “home.” Taking the leftover dolmas to school for lunch, on the other hand, albeit with a “Sigh,” underlines traditional Armenian values.
Takvorian has no illusions. The memory and the pain will always be there. The plaintive song of the bird has set the tone. Groong (The Crane) by Komitas will forever be grandma’s — and Nadine’s — “favorite song” even if her question to the bird, “Groong, hast thou not news from our homeland?” remains unanswered.
Armaveni offers no “recipes” for healing. There are no “prescriptions” here, no “coping mechanisms” to deal with the trauma and the pain. Just a story that magically heals and brings awareness to the need to create a more compassionate world for humanity. Takvorian understands that there is no running away from the past. “The past does not stay in the past,” she writes in her Author’s Note. Yet, her story restores faith in a millennia-old culture and an ancient history. Nadine returns “home” to San Francisco, to “just family.” Her final words, “I exist,” reiterate the timeless truth about her people: We are too old to die.
