"Many of these stories are old and I’ve told them to you before. Each telling a way to mend the gashes in memory, each telling a chance to colour the details that won’t hold. Each time, a new furnishing, a new nail to pin down the wings of a truth that flutters just out of reach."
"You know, Nani, how easily I fall for stories, no matter who or what has to bleed to tell them."
Jamshed's writing is luscious, dripping with imagery and emotion, conveying a beautiful maelstrom that is consuming her protagonist from the inside, even as rabid wildfires approach from the outside. Jahan has a lot going on: a recent bushfire, a relatively new marriage, and a deeply hidden grief following the death of her grandmother. All this barely covers a consuming, and guilt laden, set of emotions about what happened in Pakistan before she migrated to Australia.
And alongside Jahan's interior world, Jamshed gives us the fears she has inherited from her compelling grandmother, a world that creeps with threat and shadow, monsters lurking around every corner. The narrative skips around, revealing Pakistan and the events, alongside the current day. But while there is a reasonable amount of plot, this is not a plot-driven novel. Jamshed explores the nature of memory, the way fear - and through it trauma - resonates across generations, the ways we connect through obscured reality sometimes more than reality stripped bare. The whole cast of characters - seen largely through Jahan's eyes - spring alive from the page. At times it can be clumsy, or unintentionally confusing (also, often, intentionally confusing I think), but at it's strongest this is a breathtaking book, rich in linguistic flourish and emotionally ambitious, and somehow feeling very different to anything else I have read.