“The past, the present and the future lost their contours and amalgamated into a confused narrative, too difficult to follow.” Although this sentence, which comes not far from the end of Nataliya Deleva’s Arrival, is about a specific moment in the narrative, and in the life of this novel’s protagonist, it totally encompasses the overall sense of the story. Told in a series of fragmentary chapters, building from memories, therapy sessions, stories and conversations, it is a form-distorting exploration of writing and re-writing memory to allow space for personal growth, changing perspectives, and the danger of the past. “Later, I thought about that need for narrating the trauma; like people hurting themselves, writing on their bodies, an appeal for help, a silent scream. I've been keeping this side of me tightly locked away.” The legacy of this trauma on the narrator’s life, and on her fraught relationship with her young child Ka, is palpable, and builds to a quiet but shattering revelation about her relationship. “How had I not seen my father in Milo, his desire to impose on me, to decide for me, and to do it with such confidence and arrogance that it would blind me? While I was happy that he wasn't an alcoholic, finding comfort in the reassurance that he would never physically hurt me, I failed to notice all the other ways he was abusing me: amputating my freedom, robbing me of my personal space, distorting my emotional state.” This moving, shocking novel exalts in possibility under awareness — how freedom, despite its great cost, is glorious and worth struggling for.