Status Updates From De zieners

They handed me to a refugee organisation as if I were a crumpled, dog-eared book that everyone had attempted to read before stopping midway through, having stumbled across difficult sentences, disturbing images, and then quitting and passing me on.

I remember those evenings when our garden was packed with adults and children who had come to read my father's books whenever there was a lull in the bombardment, when women who couldn't read or write would arrive with their bun sets and make coffee and popcorn in exchange for stories, when poets would read their unfinished work to gauge their audience's reaction, when, having read some of my father's books,...

I can’t seem to put this book down. I want to know more. Love being in the mind of this main character