Who’s to say whether the events occurred the way they did, because to the memoirist, they absolutely did! So here we have Tara Westover’s version of her grasp of what it is to be educated; her trials and tribulations and what led her to an undeniable need to pen her memoir. I’m glad she arrived where she did and I rejoice with her, even as my heart hurt when I put the book down.
‘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.
A captivating read, written with deep compassion and in a style that holds your attention with its narrative simplicity and regional touches. Never did I feel that the author was simply berating those who inflicted immense suffering upon her people; at every juncture I felt her heart upon the pages, forgiving, loving and understanding of that which compels one to rage, followed by an understanding of what drives man to destroy- to want to own and crush in spite of oneself.
{PAGES 312 (APRIL, 2021) PUBLISHER – AMARYLLIS}
When someone dies and hasn’t quite left, it does make you wonder about the relationship shared with the living; how profound a tie was it that Kamla and Nihar shared? Why does she continue to sense him, see him and allow him to haunt her (were permission be sought) Her nightmares are vivid and seep into her waking hours.
Manral makes you believe it all, and as you near the close of the story, you discover the whys and wherefores of it all, as spiritual as it is. Bravo!
“People will always yearn for a simple solution to their complicated problems. It’s a lot easier to have faith in something you can’t see, can’t touch, can’t explain, and can’t change, rather than to have faith in something you actually can.”
And, “Physical suffering, he’d long ago learned, bonds people in a way that everyday life can’t.” Bang on.
The novel is wrought with violence, both internal and external and noise, that I heard, and shrunk from. Yet there are moments of pause, when I put the book down because I could take no more of the stark imageries that seem to streak the afterlife; dismembered limbs, blood-stained bandanas, eyes in various hues, skulls and ghouls and all that can make you tremble in your sleep. There is unsettling humour that lines the almost-400 page novel.