“So my April 1st was March 24th. How, you ask? We were to move homes on 1st April, but we were pushed to do so on March 24th, because of the Pandemic, whose noose hung over us, like a flickering bulb, that was on the verge of going on, rather than off.”
Mengestu’s writing is seductive, and haunting in parts. I was fascinated and was swept up by his narrative. The way he talks about his father, whom he despised and feared, as an old man he meets at a home, “He was half out of his mind, and probably had been for decades and no one knew it.” I’d say it’s true of many. Half the world is overrun by such folk.
Structures unpick, ignore chores,
downtime, me-time
making time, ’tis Friday!
Fresh from the press is this story of mine, that got published in an online journal called “Kamla’s Lamp”- it’s about the magic we can ourselves create, from within.
‘So, while the premise is simple enough- fraternal twins growing up with an outlandish mother, who appears to be narcissistic, totally self-obsessed and can’t hold on to any one relationship, it is not quite as simple as one might believe.’
Although the disaster of war is writ large in the pages, I am left with the sentiment that this is a novel about great faith and boundless courage, about love and loyalties.
