This is, without a doubt, the most achingly beautiful book I have ever read. I feel as though my life has been drifting in these richly imagined other lives, another time, another world, for these last few days when my mind has been unpressured by my own life's demands. I haven't been deterred by the knowledge that yes, this book will be sad and that 'sad' is certainly too small a word for what I feel having now finished it. Life-affirming in the most haunting way possible. I knew from the first chapters that this would be a story I'll carry inside me for years yet, and will never want to forget. This is such an important book. There's an ache inside me that feels too real and too deep inside me to be fictional, and really, it's not fictional. There are real people in the fabric of this story.
It doesn't shy from the brutal reality of the Romany Holocaust, or the treatment of people in psychiatric institutions in the earlier parts of the story. Despite the horrors, it's sensitively written, without judgment. It reminds us of the humanity of the victims and the survivors, as well as those committing awful acts, through those blessed other things that make up a life, other than it's horrors and the manner of it's ending. The novel weaves between three times, bringing each closer to the beginning of another, overlapping in places where memory blends past and present until everything is woven together at the end.
I could quote this whole book. Each sentence feels crafted, careful and rich, but understated. Pitch-perfect, enchanting description, the sometimes artful use of repetition, tentative characterisation which is starkly contrasted between speech and narrative. The characters all felt close but distant at the same time, and I have no idea how. There are only a few critiques I can think of: some unnatural dialogue, that some of the descriptions are overdone to the point of purpleness, and there were a lot of things (like Jakob's heritage) that didn't need to be repeated so often. Also, while I enjoyed Yavy's sense of voice, Jakob himself never sounded to me like a child. There's sentiment, of course -people are sentimental beings, we like to keep things and collect and remember well, and love - and this isn't a flaw as in other books, but something I think that gave this story so much more weight. What can something or someone mean to us without sentiment? I don't know how to describe how I feel upon finishing this book, but I don't ever want to forget it.