This was an amazing, captivating book that I wouldn’t normally have picked up. The story goes between 2018, told in poetry, and 1945, told in prose. A granddaughter learns of her grandfathers experiences in Hiroshima in the days after the bomb, what it was like and how he survived. As he tells his tale it is sparsely illustrated to emphasis key moments. The language used pulls you in and you feel the entire journey with him then his granddaughter tries to bring him closure in a sparse but wonderful poetry including what I’m sure must be traditional phrases (or they feel like that)
I was struck by how age and experience of grief have changed her grandfather from the man who taught her that ‘there’s magic in stories’ to the man who says she should not read a there is no magic in the world.
Can you fold a thousand paper cranes? I started with this one and who knows when I’ll finish.
I was struck by how age and experience of grief have changed her grandfather from the man who taught her that ‘there’s magic in stories’ to the man who says she should not read a there is no magic in the world.
Can you fold a thousand paper cranes? I started with this one and who knows when I’ll finish.