A powerful read.

A sad, beautifully written short story about an older man making a journey to his son to tell him their entire family and most of their village has been destroyed in an attack by Soviet troops. The narrators voice was interesting - it was someone inside Dastaguirs head, but still different from his persona. Commenting his thoughts, telling him to do things. Couple of times this was confusing, because I didn't know if it was the narrator in Dastaguirs head or some other character in the book telling something aloud to Dastaguir.

Un livre d’une tristesse infinie dont le récit prend place au moment d’un conflit trop complexe, de tueries sans logique. C’est le vide, totalement. Le vide du désert, le vide des absences, le vide devant soi. L’enfant du récit a autant d’avenir que son grand-père. Les ravages de la guerre causent plus de dommages dans l’après que dans le moment où elle prend place tragiquement. Une écriture sèche à l’image des rocailles souvent mentionnées, mais efficace, touchante dans sa précision à décrire l’horreur vécue par ceux qui restent.