anjarama's reviews
385 reviews

It wouldn’t be possible to score less than a 5. These are the voices of some of the few survivors of the Great War. From school children in Britain and Fermany, to the soldiers of the UK, France, USA and Germany. An extraordinary curation that enables an understanding of the conditions people were under and in that I have not gained from other sources. 
I found the graphic descriptions of lice and filth hit me more than the death - on reflection I believe that the portrayal of war in films and other programmes desensitises us to the horrors. 
A tough book but it feels like we are able to honour those who had to fight, whatever one’s beliefs about war.

Language not flowing for me.

Clunky sentance construction stopped the flow.

With a little bit of grumbling about the womansplaining feminism that is central to the book, I became thoroughly invested. The characters are ‘full fat’ vivid and enjoyable. The plot perfect for a TV series, which I understand is in the making, with  perfect for the role Brie from Desperate Housewives.
What I particularly enjoyed was the feeling of connection to women that surges up near the end of the story. Which, for me personally, meant the author hit the mark. 

The joy of every few lines being deliciously humorous. A treat to romp through.

A little nose dive into the personal impact of lockdowns and covid on Smith. Plenty of philosophical thought and psychological understanding. I found it a fascinating perspective overall.

Jamran paints pictures, literally and in his diaries, figuratively. The delicacy of his chosen words is astounding, I have been transfixed in his perceptions of his world. 
Then there is the rich seam of botanical adulation and adoration underscoring his life. 

On our way back to Lancashire from France, we stopped at Dungeness, Derek long gone, Prospect Cotrage looking crumpled, the garden a fraction of its former self. We absorbed the poem in the wall, imagined how it would’ve looked with all the letters present, what may happen to the place. As we walked clumsily in the flint beach we were drawn to the chaotic hut covered in found flotsam and jetsom. Dolls heads, witches glass, rope in meaningful knots all wrestled in the space. The fisherman whose hit it was talked to us of Jarman, with warmth. Told us of the day Jarman was carried to the sea on a sedan chair with people dressed as nuns worshipping him. The fisherman grew up with his neighbour and clearly missed him.