Well-spent four hours.
The book is.. bitter-sweet in taste, grotesque in places, humorous and quite non-linear. By which i would like to say that there are moments when it is not clear whether the author has decided to use artistic licence, or just confused the timeline, as some of the things just could not happen when they happened in the book.
That aside, admirable narrative indeed. It has everything Latvian: graveyards, peculiar kinds of Christianity, songs, obscure quotes, living backwards, moments of communion with the nature, silences longer than lives, multitudes of nationalities that make up what Latvian is today, singing in and out of time, memories of war and Siberia, unhealthy nationalism, confusions, fatherless children, childrenless fathers, the jewish question, alcohol, extra-strong women, silent men, and dying in style. And did i mention mushrooms and fishing? The eels though somehow remind me of the Irish myths. Khm.
What this book told me, me personally being, well, a latvian... that maybe it is right that an alien tells the story from time to time: this way all the weight of memory becomes focussed and visible, and a little bit clearer. Yes, Latvians live in the forest and eat mushrooms, but they also embrace huge bits of history in small little lives, and carry it without knowing how heavy that is.
And the best bits were the bits about what the young man heard. Because sound is touch indeed.
Beautiful book. With hidden beauty.