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376 pages, Hardcover
First published April 29, 2013
… melodious voice … It lifted and cuddled its consonants and aired its vowels…
It is far easier to be everything and nothing than it is to conceal love.
He felt burdened by the weight of all his learning, which, he knew, came with the corresponding responsibility to seize any opportunity to correct …
It was the sort of trouble that would soon overflow its banks and flood the nation, turning the small ponds of concern and occasional tears of Sal Mal Lane into their own tributaries of discontent.
I'm not nearly as picky about buying books by women of color as I am about nearly every other demographic. Indeed, I believe I paid full bookstore price for this particular copy, purchased alongside The Moor's Account that may have also not even been on my TBR before it found its way onto my physical shelves. It's not as if I've never been disappointed by such whimsical, WOC oriented purchases, but that my past reading is still so woefully lacking in such voices that they deserve all the chances that they can get, period. It's what lead to this work, not on any of my GR friend's shelves, not on any famous lists or name drops, crossing my path and discovered to be lovely, lovely enough that I wouldn't mind a sequel, or a trilogy, or more time spent in the maturation of a neighborhood in a country I had never, to this point, read a book credibly set within. I likely won't be paying full price for another work of Freeman's unless the book buying itch becomes exceedingly bad, but I will be keeping an eye out for others. The ending was a tad too drenched in pathos to make the reading of the work necessary, but it's close enough for me to wish more would take it on for a casual stroll.
For what was the worth of being a genius if choice was denied to him? After all, fools were always told what they should do and they were foolish because they obeyed.The call of an unknown literary place setting, plus the author's credibility in rendering said setting, plus (admittedly) the pleasing cover art, all worked towards my choosing for purchase this book for the full jacket price. Freeman is an author oft given to soft touches of omniscient foreshadowing, which made for a beautifully haunting opening of overarching grace but admittedly was laid on a little too thick at times, especially during the penultimate forty or so pages. Despite this, there is real beauty and real rendering of the complicate politics of identity and economics, and the kindness of characters just makes their ingrained stigmatization of one another all the harder to bear as the stereotypes burgeon and the hatreds foment. Long as this book is, it wasn't long enough to carry all of the cast's dramas from a satisfying beginning to a satisfying end, especially in the case of the murder suicide that occurs just before the pages begin and that of all the children left behind to become adults once the pages are done. As I stated earlier, I would be happy to read a sequel, but other works by Freeman are more than welcome to cross my path. The tone she evokes of coming together and, more importantly, doing the painful work of coming together that is necessary in these blighted times of ours, and while the omniscient point of view isn't as vital, it's pleasing to see someone harken back to a style of Mary Ann Evans, one that isn't afraid to step into the mind of various others and lay bare, with sympathy as well as truth, all that lays within.
He was no longer the good boy who did what was expected, he was the boy who knew the power of promise and whom he could hold hostage by the mere threat of refusing to live up to it.I have to find more books like this one in the future, if for nothing more than to credibly fill in the blanks of my literary landscape. I often criticize the overuse of pathos, but it is a sin only when it dehumanizes for the sake of its constructed tragedy or bliss, and OSML does nothing of the sort, or does so little that I'd need a history on Tamil & Sinhalese & Sri Lanka to find it. I would be a task that I would willingly undertake, as the current landscape of cynicism and copied emotional displays makes it near impossible to cultivate a generation with critical values that knows the difference between the murder and the murdered and when it spirals out into a revenge tragedy that will either end in compassion or the void. I don't know what awaits the coming years, for the end of 2016 marked a reign of stagnation on the edge of a cliff that persists to this day, and the molasses of distraction threatens to succeed in luring me away to attend to trivialities while we all finally tumble off. Dark thoughts to associate with such a triumph of contemporary literature, but one cannot appreciate the wholesome without having experienced something of the banality of evil.
And in those moments he would feel that he was neither full of war nor full of peace, he was simply lost.