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Burns Boy
About the Book
FROM THE CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED AUTHOR OF WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT HER, A RASHOMON-ESQUE ENQUIRY INTO AN AFTERNOON THAT CRITICALLY ALTERED THE LIVES OF A MOTHER AND HER TWO CHILDREN.
'You wanted to hurt me. You always have.'
'Would I burn my own children alive? Would I really? You think?' She began to cry again.
'I heard you tell Appa that the day Aparna was born, you wanted me dead. Did you or did you not?'
A fifteen-year-old in a burns ward is tormented by the events that led him to the hospital. His mother and sister have their own versions of what happened, causing the reader to reconsider the truth of what the boy says, but also seeing it anew. All of them are right, and yet, they are all guilty in a way. The question which of them is more guilty?
Through the fraught relationships between mothers and sons and mothers and daughters, critically acclaimed writer Krupa Ge peels back the layers of familial truths-the secrets that hide in plain sight, and the pain we endure to keep up appearances. Told through the voices of its three protagonists, Burns Boy is a tender story about family, love and happiness, and the lies we tell ourselves to sustain them.
About the Author
Krupa Ge is a writer based in Chennai. She was awarded the Toto-Sangam Residency Fellowship for the year 2016, and was shortlisted for a Toto Prize in Creative Writing the same year. Rivers Remember, her debut book, was published in 2019 by Context. What We Know About Her (Context, 2021), her first novel, was longlisted for the JCB Prize for Literature and shortlisted for the inaugural Women Writer's Prize.
FROM THE CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED AUTHOR OF WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT HER, A RASHOMON-ESQUE ENQUIRY INTO AN AFTERNOON THAT CRITICALLY ALTERED THE LIVES OF A MOTHER AND HER TWO CHILDREN.
'You wanted to hurt me. You always have.'
'Would I burn my own children alive? Would I really? You think?' She began to cry again.
'I heard you tell Appa that the day Aparna was born, you wanted me dead. Did you or did you not?'
A fifteen-year-old in a burns ward is tormented by the events that led him to the hospital. His mother and sister have their own versions of what happened, causing the reader to reconsider the truth of what the boy says, but also seeing it anew. All of them are right, and yet, they are all guilty in a way. The question which of them is more guilty?
Through the fraught relationships between mothers and sons and mothers and daughters, critically acclaimed writer Krupa Ge peels back the layers of familial truths-the secrets that hide in plain sight, and the pain we endure to keep up appearances. Told through the voices of its three protagonists, Burns Boy is a tender story about family, love and happiness, and the lies we tell ourselves to sustain them.
About the Author
Krupa Ge is a writer based in Chennai. She was awarded the Toto-Sangam Residency Fellowship for the year 2016, and was shortlisted for a Toto Prize in Creative Writing the same year. Rivers Remember, her debut book, was published in 2019 by Context. What We Know About Her (Context, 2021), her first novel, was longlisted for the JCB Prize for Literature and shortlisted for the inaugural Women Writer's Prize.
119 pages, Kindle Edition
Published July 29, 2025
15 people want to read
About the author
Krupa Ge
10 books11 followersKrupa Ge is a writer from Madras. She is the author of a novel, What We Know About Her (Context, 2021) and a narrative non-fiction book, Rivers Remember (Context, 2019).
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August 17, 2025I tried to go back to a time in my life when I was not afraid. Not of anything or anyone. I thought of a monsoon from my childhood. Rains that felt like the end of the world, our home drenched in darkness. My baby sister crying nonstop, she was of course scared. She didn’t understand why our home was a jail we couldn’t escape, why thunder pierced our windows and rattled the glass.
My mother fumbled through the darkness to find a kerosene lantern. But we ran out of kerosene soon, and there was no sign of power coming back. A cyclone was lashing the city. Amma brought out a brass lamp from the prayer room. She lit all five of its wicks and placed the lamp in the middle of the room. She sat up all night, fanning the baby with a day-old newspaper. She was worried, I could tell. She missed my grandmother then, this too I could tell. . . I was unafraid of the present , or the future. I knew everything would work out for me. It had to.
— Burns Boy by Krupa Ge
Even when I am not actively reading Elena Ferrante’s novels, I am perpetually living in her books. I often think about Elena and Lila from The Neapolitan Quartet, or Olga from The Days of Abandonment, or the young Giovanna from The Lying Life of Adults. I love the female characters Ferrante conjures up, but loving them is an exercise in patience, imagination, and comprehension of our expansive humanity. Because they are not likable. They are not compassionate, fun friends from feel-good sitcoms. I don’t wish for them to leave the pages and step out to embrace me during my darkest times. I don’t expect them to dole out words of comfort when my heart is broken. They are livid, jealous, vengeful, impulsive, despondent, insidious, so undignified and rooted in their suffering, and always at war with life. Their ugliness is not nauseating, like the one that’s found in Ottessa Moshfegh’s novels, but it’s primal, it grates against the constructs humans beings have managed to build in the name of civilisation. Ferrante’s characters are everything that lies under layers of appearances; they are the atlas of the human condition. In the self-consuming hatred that Guru harbours towards his amma, in the cruelty adolescence imposes on Aparna, and in the realistic portrayal of their amma’s motherhood, Krupa Ge’s Burns Boy catches reflections of Ferrante’s deeply complex, flawed characters. They have all their side of the story about what lead up to the day when Guru was sent to the burns ward, and their stories answer an annoying, reductive question that impatient humans ask — who should be blamed for the wrong? And the answer is a question again — is that the right question?
Three narrators take Burns Boy backward and forward: Guru, amma, and Aparna. As it goes with first-person narration, everyone is righteous and guilty and victimised, in no particular order, from their perspective. Guru’s narration has the quality of childhood memories. It’s slow in a way that time always seemed dilated during our childhood. And it’s also delightfully microscopic. It could be the time when Guru signed a letter as Sandalwood Smuggler Veerappan. The farewell card his neighbour left for him just to get at him. The leftover firecrackers from the previous Deepavali stashed in the loft. The comfort of lived-in homes and used kitchen utensils. The way parents’ threats truly appeared like the end of the world. They all reminded me of the Madras I grew up in, the middle-class family I was a part of. You would never go hungry in such a family but you would always be one crisis away from slipping into penury. Guru — he would hate me for saying this — wears his writer mother’s lens. It is apparent in the way he experiences this world. When he is in the burns ward, he reflects about the stench of the burn wounds. He appreciates the kindness of the nurses and strikes a moving friendship with another female patient. He intensely observes all the other patients who are brought to the ward, alive and dead. He relates it all with anguish, and with the inability of an observer who cannot remove himself from his story.
Amma’s narration, sandwiched between Guru and Aparna’s stories and even accusations, shows everything that lie’s beyond her Garden Vareli sarees, her equanimity that Guru loathed, and her feminism that Aparna found inconvenient. Amma is a government servant, lovelorn but clever, imaginative enough to right her wrongs through her stories, and human enough to be crushed under the weight of motherhood, and more so under the expectation of her children’s unblemished idea of a perfect, even seraphic mother. Amma’s chapter asks, ‘Does that mother exist?’
Aparna’s narration suggests of a distance and playfulness that’s refreshing. She speaks of a life she led by herself as Guru’s wound garnered all the attention, of the way she wanted to tame her body, and of a life that she built to be everything that is not her family. And most importantly of her guilt that no therapist is able to validate, to say that she was a monster to have done what she did.
In the chapters written from the perspectives of amma and Aparna, Krupa Ge brings intersectionality. The burden of guilt is heavier on amma and Aparna because they are women. Amma faces her male colleagues’ microaggression — the men hate that the pregnant women take up space, the men can’t stop looking at her breasts. Amma wishes ill upon her loved ones because postpartum makes her see a darkness that is singular. Aparna is led down by her paati who makes Guru feel special because he is a boy. And they all find short-lived solace in other women — the ones who ululate in Amman temples and act as the voice of those who cannot vocalise their pain, and the ones who come from war-torn places, seeking refuge and peace.
Burns Boy is more than an exploration of familial bonds, motherhood, guilt, and salvation. It also sits with some telescopic ideas. How do children learn morality? Aparna’s eyes say amma is a ‘whore’. Guru finds amma in a buoyant moment and thinks she is flirty. Do parents model a sort of morality that their children end up using to ensnare them? In Aparna’s narration, her anger and disappointment in her life becoming creative fodder for her amma. This made me think of Rachel Aviv’s sensitive, absorbing story about Alice Munro’s fiction being transformed by her daughter’s abuse. Burns Boy asks in a passing, transient manner, when a parent is a writer, storyteller, are they using their work as a medium to reach out to their children or are their children’s lives their writing material?
Seema, a female patient and Guru’s neighbour in the burns ward, and a non-judgemental doctor, who treats him, nudges him toward healing and salvation. They tell him that a superhero is the one who can undo the burning, and they remind him that we cannot see every scar. It is a powerful advice, the one especially about the invisible scars. It took me back to a moment when I was in a road accident, and when I made a few calls to get some help from those who should have rescued me, but refused to show up. It was a stranger who advocated for me on the road and helped me get back on my feet again. Twenty years before when it happened, it was just the deep, physical wound on my leg that I was worried about. A couple of decades later, with the advantage of distance, and hours and hours of my life spent in reading literature like Burns Boy, I now know that all my agony was never about the wound and the scar on the leg. And then I read Guru’s translation of amma’s prose poem titled Oru Thalai Kadhal. We are loving in our own ways and learning to love better.
January 15, 2026
I love that Krupa Ge's fiction refuses to be categorised neatly into genres. Her book, Burns Boy is defiantly itself.
This is a story about a boy called Guru whose, experiment with firecrackers goes horribly wrong. The story is told from his perspective, that of his mother who remains unnamed, and his sister, Aparna. Each of them has a point of view about the accident, that is not radically different as much as subtly imbued with their subjective truths. It's a relief to not have to take sides or regard Guru as protagonist although the book is about his accident.
This is a book about backdrafts, about how many Indian families deal with what cannot be socially named or categorised in the aftermath of an incident that pushes relationships to the edge. The closures for each of the key characters remain until the end, a work in progress, tempered by the passage of time.
Most of all, it's about motherhood, away from the glorification and the romanticisation. The mother remains unnamed in this story despite being the primary parent in a family with an absentee father who is - no surprise here - named. The mother's own mother is part of the story, and this adds an interesting layer to ponder about motherhood from her perspective.
I also loved the subtle Chennaiisms in the book - chain-snatching being a key fear that we Chennaivaasis of a certain generation were weaned on.
This was a book I read effortlessly in two sessions, the first being interrupted by the kind of minor domestic chaos that swallows us whole but is too trivial in a world at war.
This is a story about a boy called Guru whose, experiment with firecrackers goes horribly wrong. The story is told from his perspective, that of his mother who remains unnamed, and his sister, Aparna. Each of them has a point of view about the accident, that is not radically different as much as subtly imbued with their subjective truths. It's a relief to not have to take sides or regard Guru as protagonist although the book is about his accident.
This is a book about backdrafts, about how many Indian families deal with what cannot be socially named or categorised in the aftermath of an incident that pushes relationships to the edge. The closures for each of the key characters remain until the end, a work in progress, tempered by the passage of time.
Most of all, it's about motherhood, away from the glorification and the romanticisation. The mother remains unnamed in this story despite being the primary parent in a family with an absentee father who is - no surprise here - named. The mother's own mother is part of the story, and this adds an interesting layer to ponder about motherhood from her perspective.
I also loved the subtle Chennaiisms in the book - chain-snatching being a key fear that we Chennaivaasis of a certain generation were weaned on.
This was a book I read effortlessly in two sessions, the first being interrupted by the kind of minor domestic chaos that swallows us whole but is too trivial in a world at war.
August 4, 2025
Somewhere between three and four stars 😁
October 22, 2025
-Like Life Knitted into a Story-
Review of 'Burns Boy'
Quote Alert
"𝐌𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐕 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 (𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬) 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫. 𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞. 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲."
The writing, in many passages and pages, flickers like a flame, words burning themselves upon my reader's palate while I try and not let my wings singe like a common moth.
Thick with drama of real emotions, the story imitates life.
The writing is so alive in many passages that I was wincing, imagining the pain of a burn upon my skin. Ge also uses the topic for social commentary. Have a look:
"I am the only boy here in a ward full of women with extremely serious burns. Gas cylinder burns, dowry burns, love failure burns, jilted-lover-pours-kerosene burns. The stuff you read about in the news. Since it's not Diwali now, not even close, there aren't any other kids who got adventurous and / or unlucky with firecrackers in this ward."
So what is it about? A fifteen-year-old in a burns ward is tormented by the events that led him to the hospital. His mother and sister have their own versions of what happened, causing the reader to reconsider the truth of what the boy says, but also seeing it anew. All of them are right, and yet, they are all guilty in a way. The question is: which of them is more guilty?
Through the fraught relationships between mothers and sons and mothers and daughters, Krupa Ge peels back the layers of familial truths-the secrets that hide in plain sight, and the pain we endure to keep up appearances. Told through the voices of its three protagonists, Burns Boy is a tender story about family, love and happiness, and the lies we tell ourselves to sustain them.
Pick it up this festive season.
Review of 'Burns Boy'
Quote Alert
"𝐌𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐕 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐟 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 (𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬) 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫. 𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞. 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐲."
The writing, in many passages and pages, flickers like a flame, words burning themselves upon my reader's palate while I try and not let my wings singe like a common moth.
Thick with drama of real emotions, the story imitates life.
The writing is so alive in many passages that I was wincing, imagining the pain of a burn upon my skin. Ge also uses the topic for social commentary. Have a look:
"I am the only boy here in a ward full of women with extremely serious burns. Gas cylinder burns, dowry burns, love failure burns, jilted-lover-pours-kerosene burns. The stuff you read about in the news. Since it's not Diwali now, not even close, there aren't any other kids who got adventurous and / or unlucky with firecrackers in this ward."
So what is it about? A fifteen-year-old in a burns ward is tormented by the events that led him to the hospital. His mother and sister have their own versions of what happened, causing the reader to reconsider the truth of what the boy says, but also seeing it anew. All of them are right, and yet, they are all guilty in a way. The question is: which of them is more guilty?
Through the fraught relationships between mothers and sons and mothers and daughters, Krupa Ge peels back the layers of familial truths-the secrets that hide in plain sight, and the pain we endure to keep up appearances. Told through the voices of its three protagonists, Burns Boy is a tender story about family, love and happiness, and the lies we tell ourselves to sustain them.
Pick it up this festive season.
August 25, 2025
Burns Boy traces a single incident from three different perspectives. The book is a short but powerful exploration of rage. It’s also probably one of the few books that offers an honest view into postpartum rage. Overall this is probably Krupa’s best book: yet!
January 10, 2026
I picked it up thinking it would be about the title- wounds from a burns injury and how it happened- but it turned to be so much more- about relationships with children, about female independence and about growing up. It packs quite a lot of depth in 126 pages. A totally enjoyable read.
August 1, 2025
3.5 stars
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