A beautiful book of darkness and light, a book of how war marks a child and the rest of his life is spent coming to some kind of grips with the trauma and loss. Not in big bursts and frenzies most common in literature, but an acceptance through a quiet progression of incidents, a subdued awakening of memory, numbered tears and new life and threads that almost all come together but not quite. I knew I would love it when I read this:
Occasionally in the late twilight when his mother forgot to call him in, a fragrant stillness would rise and fill him with expectations -- of what he didn't know. Something to do with later, when he'd be grown up--things that would happen then. Something to do with the motionless earth, the leaves, two sparrows that suddenly twittered and scratched about. Life someday would be like those evenings when he had been forgotten, mysterious and endless.