A Thousand Splendid Suns full version.

This book is dedicated

Haris and Farah,

the lights of my eyes,

and to all the women of Afghanistan

Part one

1

Mariam was five years old when she first heard the word harami.

Apparently, this happened on Thursday. She felt very uneasy, she simply couldn’t find a place for herself. After all, Jalil came to them on Thursdays. To pass the time (he was about to appear, wave his hand from afar, come up, knee-deep in the tall grass), Mariam climbed onto a chair and took from the shelf her mother’s Chinese tea set, the only memory after her grandmother, mother’s mother, who died when Mariam was two years old. Nana, Mariam’s mother, couldn’t get enough of the blue and white porcelain cups decorated with birds and chrysanthemums, the teapot with a nobly curved spout, the sugar bowl with the dragon designed to ward off the forces of evil.

It was the sugar bowl that slipped out of Mariam’s hands. She fell on the wooden floor and broke.

When Nana saw the fragments, her face turned purple, her upper lip trembled, and her eyes, usually languid and kind, glared at Mariam. The girl was scared that her mother had been possessed again genie. But no, it worked out. Nana just grabbed her daughter’s hands, pulled hard and hissed through clenched teeth:

A clumsy fool. This is my reward for everything I endured. This little one has everything harami falls out of your hands. like this valuable thing broke it.

Then Mariam did not understand. Word harami- bastard - was unfamiliar to her. Due to her young age, she could not appreciate the injustice of the vile curse - after all, the fault probably lay with those who brought her into the world, and not with herself. Mariam only guessed that this was very bad word and it means something nasty, like the cockroaches that Nana scolded and swept out the threshold.

As she grew older, Mariam understood. There was such disgust in the mother's tone that it became clear: harami(that is, Mariam herself) is an unwanted creature, not needed by anyone, who, unlike other people, does not have any rights. Love, family, home - all this is not for her.

Jalil never called Mariam that name. Jalil affectionately addressed her as “my little flower.” He sat her on his lap, told her about Herat - the city in which Mariam was born in 1959, the cradle of Persian culture, native home for writers, artists and Sufis.

“You can’t take a step here without accidentally kicking some poet in the ass,” he laughed.

Jalil told her about Queen Gohar-Shad, who, as a sign of love for Herat, erected magnificent minarets in the fifteenth century. He told Mariam about the wheat fields of Herat, orchards, lush vineyards, crowded markets.

Just imagine, a pistachio tree is growing, - Jalil once said, - and under it, Mariam-jo, not just anyone is buried, but himself great poet Jami. “Jalil leaned closer to the girl and whispered: “I’ll show you this tree someday.” Jami lived more than five hundred years ago. So long ago that you don't even remember. You're still little.

Mariam really didn’t remember. And although she lived the first fifteen years of her life near Herat itself - just a stone's throw away - she never had a chance to see the promised tree. And she did not stand next to the minarets, did not pick fruits in the famous gardens, did not walk along the wheat fields. But she listened to Jalil’s stories as if enchanted, and admired the depth and breadth of his knowledge, and was proud of her father to the point of sweet trembling.

What a fable! - Nana grumbled when Jalil left. - The rich man has a good tongue. He won't show you any tree. And don't listen to his honeyed speeches. He betrayed us, your beloved daddy. Threw him out. He threw us out of his big luxurious house as if we were strangers to him. And he didn’t blink an eye.

Mariam silently and obediently listened to her mother, although she could not tolerate bad words about Jalil. After all, next to him she was no longer harami. One or two hours a week on Thursdays, when he came to her, often with gifts, scattering smiles and affection, she rightfully enjoyed all the beauty and abundance of life. And for this Mariam adored Jalil.

And it didn’t matter that he had to share his father with others.

Jalil had three wives and nine children, legitimate children. Mariam never saw any of them. Jalil, one of the richest people in Herat, owned his own cinema, which Mariam had never been to in her life. True, Jalil, at the insistence of his daughter, described it in detail. She knew that the outside of the building was tiled with blue and brown tiles, and that the hall had a secluded balcony with chairs that Jalil could use at his discretion. She knew that the lobby, decorated with bright posters Indian films, there are double doors that open in both directions, and on Tuesdays the buffet gives out free ice cream to children.

When Jalil talked about the free treat, Nana just smiled meekly. But when he left, she laughed bitterly:

Other people's children eat ice cream. What does he treat you with, Mariam? Fables?

In addition to the cinema, Jalil owned plots of land in Karaha and Farah, three carpet stores, one ready-made clothing store and a 1956 Buick car. And he had connections. Among his friends were the mayor of Herat and the governor of the province. Of course, Jalil had servants, a cook and a driver. And three whole maids.

Nana was one of his maids.

Until her belly became round.

According to Nana, when this happened, Jalil’s entire family was swollen with indignation. They sucked in all the air in the city. It became almost impossible to breathe in Herat. It almost came to bloodshed. The wives demanded that the worthless woman be driven away. Her own father, a stone carver from the village of Gul-Daman, renounced Nana, collected his belongings, boarded a bus and drove off to Iran. And I haven’t heard a word about him since then, not a ghost.

A thousand shining suns Khaled Hosseini

(estimates: 1 , average: 5,00 out of 5)

Title: A Thousand Splendid Suns

About the book “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini

A Thousand Splendid Suns is a novel by the world's best-selling Afghan author Khaled Hosseini. The writer tells cruelly and truthfully about what is happening in his distant homeland. He unashamedly reveals even the darkest and terrible sins eastern world. Here is a novel about love and friendship, about mutual assistance and devotion to those who are faithful to you, about cruelty and deceit, and most importantly - about war.

The prose writer began his creative path back in 2003: then from his pen came the highly popular novel “The Kite Runner,” which was filmed two years later. The author’s success is not surprising, because Khaled Hosseini writes in the genre of realism, striking readers with his straightforwardness and truthfulness. Moreover, many of the horrors of war described by the writer are familiar to him firsthand. He often encounters similar things in his job: the author is a UN representative for refugees and is actively involved in charity work.

Critics note that his works are distinguished by the liveliness of the heroes, whose characters are worked out with special care, and interesting stories, touching on themes of home, honor and conscience. And readers are more concerned about the emotional side of the works - it’s difficult to finish reading Khaled Hosseini’s books with dry eyes.

So, the work “A Thousand Splendid Suns” tells amazing story about two women and their destinies, which merged into one: fortune loves strange turns. Mariam is the illegitimate daughter of a wealthy harami father who grew up in a squalid shack, while Leila is a romantic, sophisticated girl who had and happy childhood, and loving parents. They were proud of their daughter and wanted her to graduate from university, bringing glory to the family.

However, fate decided differently. War has broken out in Afghanistan. Kabul is destroyed, it is buried in corpses and rubble. By chance, these terrifying events bring the two heroines of the novel “A Thousand Splendid Suns” together - they become women of one man. Not rivals, just enemies. They have no one to share, they both do not love their spouse. But the heroines do not have warm feelings for each other either. Forced to live under the same roof, Mariam and Leila somehow learned to tame their impulses, suppress their anger, and even share the responsibilities of housewives. When you have nowhere to go, and there is war and devastation on the street, you will come to terms with something else...

Women's destinies during any war always amaze with sadness and pain. It will happen here too. A woman does not perceive the world, and especially war, in the same way as a man. She has other responsibilities, other tasks. When you read the work “A Thousand Splendid Suns”, it becomes scary. It’s truly scary that there are still wars in the world, and that people’s destinies are ruined in an instant just because someone once didn’t share something.

On our website about books you can download the site for free or read online book“A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini in epub, fb2, txt, rtf formats. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find last news from literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

Download free book “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini

(Fragment)

Khaled Hosseini

A thousand shining suns

This book is dedicated

Haris and Farah,

the lights of my eyes,

and to all the women of Afghanistan

Part one

Mariam was five years old when she first heard the word harami.

Apparently, this happened on Thursday. She felt very uneasy, she simply couldn’t find a place for herself. After all, Jalil came to them on Thursdays. To pass the time (he was about to appear, wave his hand from afar, come up, knee-deep in the tall grass), Mariam climbed onto a chair and took from the shelf her mother’s Chinese tea set, the only memory after her grandmother, mother’s mother, who died when Mariam was two years old. Nana, Mariam’s mother, couldn’t get enough of the blue and white porcelain cups decorated with birds and chrysanthemums, the teapot with a nobly curved spout, the sugar bowl with the dragon designed to ward off the forces of evil.

It was the sugar bowl that slipped out of Mariam’s hands. She fell on the wooden floor and broke.

When Nana saw the fragments, her face turned purple, her upper lip trembled, and her eyes, usually languid and kind, glared at Mariam. The girl was scared that her mother had been possessed again genie. But no, it worked out. Nana just grabbed her daughter’s hands, pulled hard and hissed through clenched teeth:

A clumsy fool. This is my reward for everything I endured. This little one has everything harami falls out of your hands. Such a valuable thing was broken.

Then Mariam did not understand. Word harami- bastard - was unfamiliar to her. Due to her young age, she could not appreciate the injustice of the vile curse - after all, the fault probably lay with those who brought her into the world, and not with herself. Mariam only guessed that this was a very bad word and that it meant something nasty, like the cockroaches that Nana scolded and swept out the threshold.

As she grew older, Mariam understood. There was such disgust in the mother's tone that it became clear: harami(that is, Mariam herself) is an unwanted creature, not needed by anyone, who, unlike other people, does not have any rights. Love, family, home - all this is not for her.

Jalil never called Mariam that name. Jalil affectionately addressed her as “my little flower.” He sat her on his lap and told her about Herat - the city in which Mariam was born in 1959, the cradle of Persian culture, the home of writers, artists and Sufis.

“You can’t take a step here without accidentally kicking some poet in the ass,” he laughed.

Jalil told her about Queen Gohar-Shad, who, as a sign of love for Herat, erected magnificent minarets in the fifteenth century. He told Mariam about the wheat fields of Herat, orchards, lush vineyards, and crowded bazaars.

Just imagine, a pistachio tree grows,” Jalil once said, “and under it, Mariam-jo, is buried not just anyone, but the great poet Jami himself.” “Jalil leaned closer to the girl and whispered: “I’ll show you this tree someday.” Jami lived more than five hundred years ago. So long ago that you don't even remember. You're still little.

Mariam really didn’t remember. And although she lived the first fifteen years of her life near Herat itself - just a stone's throw away - she never had a chance to see the promised tree. And she did not stand next to the minarets, did not pick fruits in the famous gardens, did not walk along the wheat fields. But she listened to Jalil’s stories as if enchanted, and admired the depth and breadth of his knowledge, and was proud of her father to the point of sweet trembling.

What a fable! - Nana grumbled when Jalil left. - The rich man has a good tongue. He won't show you any tree. And don't listen to his honeyed speeches. He betrayed us, your beloved daddy. Threw him out. He threw us out of his big luxurious house as if we were strangers to him. And he didn’t blink an eye.

Mariam silently and obediently listened to her mother, although she could not tolerate bad words about Jalil. After all, next to him she was no longer harami. One or two hours a week on Thursdays, when he came to her, often with gifts, scattering smiles and affection, she rightfully enjoyed all the beauty and abundance of life. And for this Mariam adored Jalil.

And it didn’t matter that he had to share his father with others.

Jalil had three wives and nine children, legitimate children. Mariam never saw any of them. Jalil, one of the richest people in Herat, owned his own cinema, which Mariam had never been to in her life. True, Jalil, at the insistence of his daughter, described it in detail. She knew that the outside of the building was tiled with blue and brown tiles, and that the hall had a secluded balcony with chairs that Jalil could use at his discretion. She knew that the lobby, decorated with colorful Indian movie posters, had double doors that opened in both directions, and that on Tuesdays the cafeteria gave out free ice cream to children.

When Jalil talked about the free treat, Nana just smiled meekly. But when he left, she laughed bitterly:

Other people's children eat ice cream. What does he treat you with, Mariam? Fables?

In addition to the cinema, Jalil owned plots of land in Karaha and Farah, three carpet stores, one ready-made clothing store and a 1956 Buick car. And he had connections. Among his friends were the mayor of Herat and the governor of the province. Of course, Jalil had servants, a cook and a driver. And three whole maids.

Nana was one of his maids.

Until her belly became round.

According to Nana, when this happened, Jalil’s entire family was swollen with indignation. They sucked in all the air in the city. It became almost impossible to breathe in Herat. It almost came to bloodshed. The wives demanded that the worthless woman be driven away. Her own father, a stone carver from the village of Gul-Daman, renounced Nana, collected his belongings, boarded a bus and drove off to Iran. And I haven’t heard a word about him since then, not a ghost.

Sometimes it seems to me,” Nana said one morning, giving food to the chickens, “that it would be better if my father sharpened his knife properly and did what honor dictates.” Would have spared me the pain. “She threw another handful of grain to the birds, paused and looked at Mariam: “And you too.” What is it like for you, illegitimate. But he was a coward, my father. He didn't have the courage.

Jalil also didn’t have the courage. He did not go against his relatives, against his wives, and did not take on a heavy burden. Everything was done in secret, behind closed doors. Get ready, darling, and clear the place.

Do you know what he told his wives in his defense? That it's all my fault. I seduced him. Can you imagine? What is it like for a woman in the earthly vale!

Nana put the cup of grain on the ground and grabbed Mariam’s chin:

Look at me. Mariam reluctantly raised her eyes.

Remember well, daughter, it’s always the woman’s fault when it comes to men. In everything. Never forget this.

Khaled Hosseini

A thousand shining suns

This book is dedicated

Haris and Farah,

the lights of my eyes,

and to all the women of Afghanistan

Part one

Mariam was five years old when she first heard the word harami.

Apparently, this happened on Thursday. She felt very uneasy, she simply couldn’t find a place for herself. After all, Jalil came to them on Thursdays. To pass the time (he was about to appear, wave his hand from afar, come up, knee-deep in the tall grass), Mariam climbed onto a chair and took from the shelf her mother’s Chinese tea set, the only memory after her grandmother, mother’s mother, who died when Mariam was two years old. Nana, Mariam’s mother, couldn’t get enough of the blue and white porcelain cups decorated with birds and chrysanthemums, the teapot with a nobly curved spout, the sugar bowl with the dragon designed to ward off the forces of evil.

It was the sugar bowl that slipped out of Mariam’s hands. She fell on the wooden floor and broke.

When Nana saw the fragments, her face turned purple, her upper lip trembled, and her eyes, usually languid and kind, glared at Mariam. The girl was scared that her mother had been possessed again genie. But no, it worked out. Nana just grabbed her daughter’s hands, pulled hard and hissed through clenched teeth:

A clumsy fool. This is my reward for everything I endured. This little one has everything harami falls out of your hands. Such a valuable thing was broken.

Then Mariam did not understand. Word harami- bastard - was unfamiliar to her. Due to her young age, she could not appreciate the injustice of the vile curse - after all, the fault probably lay with those who brought her into the world, and not with herself. Mariam only guessed that this was a very bad word and that it meant something nasty, like the cockroaches that Nana scolded and swept out the threshold.

As she grew older, Mariam understood. There was such disgust in the mother's tone that it became clear: harami(that is, Mariam herself) is an unwanted creature, not needed by anyone, who, unlike other people, does not have any rights. Love, family, home - all this is not for her.

Jalil never called Mariam that name. Jalil affectionately addressed her as “my little flower.” He sat her on his lap and told her about Herat - the city in which Mariam was born in 1959, the cradle of Persian culture, the home of writers, artists and Sufis.

“You can’t take a step here without accidentally kicking some poet in the ass,” he laughed.

Jalil told her about Queen Gohar-Shad, who, as a sign of love for Herat, erected magnificent minarets in the fifteenth century. He told Mariam about the wheat fields of Herat, orchards, lush vineyards, and crowded bazaars.

Just imagine, a pistachio tree grows, - Jalil once said, - and under it, Mariam-jo, not just anyone is buried, but the great poet Jami himself. “Jalil leaned closer to the girl and whispered: “I’ll show you this tree someday.” Jami lived more than five hundred years ago. So long ago that you don't even remember. You're still little.

Mariam really didn’t remember. And although she lived the first fifteen years of her life near Herat itself - just a stone's throw away - she never had a chance to see the promised tree. And she did not stand next to the minarets, did not pick fruits in the famous gardens, did not walk along the wheat fields. But she listened to Jalil’s stories as if enchanted, and admired the depth and breadth of his knowledge, and was proud of her father to the point of sweet trembling.

What a fable! - Nana grumbled when Jalil left. - The rich man has a good tongue. He won't show you any tree. And don't listen to his honeyed speeches. He betrayed us, your beloved daddy. Threw him out. He threw us out of his big luxurious house as if we were strangers to him. And he didn’t blink an eye.

Mariam silently and obediently listened to her mother, although she could not tolerate bad words about Jalil. After all, next to him she was no longer harami. One or two hours a week on Thursdays, when he came to her, often with gifts, scattering smiles and affection, she rightfully enjoyed all the beauty and abundance of life. And for this Mariam adored Jalil.

And it didn’t matter that he had to share his father with others.

Jalil had three wives and nine children, legitimate children. Mariam never saw any of them. Jalil, one of the richest people in Herat, owned his own cinema, which Mariam had never been to in her life. True, Jalil, at the insistence of his daughter, described it in detail. She knew that the outside of the building was tiled with blue and brown tiles, and that the hall had a secluded balcony with chairs that Jalil could use at his discretion. She knew that the lobby, decorated with colorful Indian movie posters, had double doors that opened in both directions, and that on Tuesdays the cafeteria gave out free ice cream to children.

When Jalil talked about the free treat, Nana just smiled meekly. But when he left, she laughed bitterly:

Other people's children eat ice cream. What does he treat you with, Mariam? Fables?

In addition to the cinema, Jalil owned plots of land in Karaha and Farah, three carpet stores, one ready-made clothing store and a 1956 Buick car. And he had connections. Among his friends were the mayor of Herat and the governor of the province. Of course, Jalil had servants, a cook and a driver. And three whole maids.

Nana was one of his maids.

Until her belly became round.

According to Nana, when this happened, Jalil’s entire family was swollen with indignation. They sucked in all the air in the city. It became almost impossible to breathe in Herat. It almost came to bloodshed. The wives demanded that the worthless woman be driven away. Her own father, a stone carver from the village of Gul-Daman, renounced Nana, collected his belongings, boarded a bus and drove off to Iran. And I haven’t heard a word about him since then, not a ghost.

Sometimes it seems to me,” Nana said one morning, giving food to the chickens, “that it would be better if my father sharpened his knife properly and did what honor dictates.” Would have spared me the pain. “She threw another handful of grain to the birds, paused and looked at Mariam: “And you too.” What is it like for you, illegitimate. But he was a coward, my father. He didn't have the courage.

Jalil also didn’t have the courage. He did not go against his relatives, against his wives, and did not take on a heavy burden. Everything was done in secret, behind closed doors. Get ready, darling, and clear the place.

Do you know what he told his wives in his defense? That it's all my fault. I seduced him. Can you imagine? What is it like for a woman in the earthly vale!

Nana put the cup of grain on the ground and grabbed Mariam’s chin:

Look at me.

Mariam reluctantly raised her eyes.

Remember well, daughter, it’s always the woman’s fault when it comes to men. In everything. Never forget this.

Jalil and his wives saw me as something of a thistle. Chernobyl weeds. And in you too. You haven’t even had time to be born, and you’ve already earned contempt.

What is thistle? - Mariam asked.

“Weed,” answered Nana. - It needs to be weeded. And get out of the field.

Mariam secretly frowned. So that Jalil treats her like a weed! Yes, this has never happened! But she considered it better to remain silent.

Another thing is that, after all, I need to be fed and watered. After all, I have you in my arms. Well, he and his family agreed on this.

According to Nana, she did not want to live in Herat.

For what? Watch him drive around town with his wives?

Nana also did not go to her father’s empty house in the village of Gul-Daman, on a steep mountain slope (two kilometers north of Herat). She wanted to move to some secluded, secluded place where the neighbors wouldn't stare at her belly, point, giggle, or, worse, pester her with feigned sympathy.

Believe me,” said Nana, “your father was impatient to throw me out of sight.

This is Mukhsin, Jalil’s eldest son from his first wife Khadija, found not far from Gul-Daman appropriate place- a considerable bald spot in the thickets. From the Herat highway, up the slope, between tall grass and flowers, a dirty path, driven by carts, crawled like a snake and led out onto the plateau. Here the poplars rustled, the poppies turned red, the rusty wings of the village windmill could be seen below on the left, and right hand there was a view of Herat. The path abutted a stormy stream, a river full of trout, flowing down from the Safedkokh mountains, which surrounded Gul-Daman on all sides. A couple of hundred meters upstream, in the middle of a grove of weeping willows, a clearing appeared.

Many people know that I am a big fan of reading. But few people know that I am a periodic author of a column with reviews of works that caught my attention on one popular online portal for moms. And while I have some free time, I’ll start posting my reviews here.

Khaled Hosseini was born in Afghanistan in 1965, but due to the outbreak of war, the Hosseini family was forced to leave their home country and their native Kabul, finding political asylum in the United States.
It was there, in the United States, that Hosseini became a worldwide famous writer. But main theme all the author's novels became life and events home country and native lands, which took place in different eras- both in the carefree pre-war times of Afghanistan with all the beauties and prospects of a happy future, and in the times of the unvarnished described horrors of an endless war...

Khaled Hosseini

The debut novel “The Kite Runner” (2005) raised the writer’s name to unprecedented heights. The book has been translated into more than fifty languages ​​of the world and printed in a total circulation of over 10 million copies!

Hosseini's second bestseller, A Thousand Splendid Suns, was published in 2007, and in advance became the "Most Anticipated Book of the Year" both in the United States and in most European countries. Needless to say, the expectations were more than met!

Third recipient global recognition Khaled Hosseini’s novel “And the Echo Flies through the Mountains” was published in 2013 in more than 80 countries with a sky-high total circulation.

Undoubtedly, each of these three books is more than worthy of being discussed separately. But today I want to tell you about only one of them - about the most powerful work I have ever read (I repeat - believe me, my arsenal as a person who loves to read includes many interesting copies).

"A Thousand Splendid Suns"

It was this book that evoked incredible emotions in me. The strongest book, the STRONGEST! This is such a powerful work that makes you think, believe, suffer, lament, love, admire, empathize, cry bitterly... About love, about true friendship, about the relationship of mothers, fathers and children, about fidelity, about nobility, about war, about cruelty, about betrayal, about hopelessness, about disappointments and again about faith and love... You just have to read this, you have to experience this story, let it pass through yourself, so that she will forever remain in the heart... It’s difficult to find words, but this rarely happens to me!

But let's take things in order. The main characters of the novel are Mariam and Leila. These girls with different destinies, with different stories, with their own dreams and plans for the future. They are from different worlds. In fact, they were even born with a big enough age difference to become friends in ordinary life. In prosperous pre-war Afghanistan, it’s unlikely, yes. But the war, which destroyed their lives and trampled their way of life, may well push anyone along its path. Mariam is the illegitimate daughter of a famous rich man, frankly unwanted and with unenviable fate; Leila, on the other hand, is a child adored by her parents with dreams of a bright future. But the war doesn’t care who dreamed about what and what they believed in, who they loved and who they valued...

You know, when you read page after page of A Thousand Splendid Suns, your head is filled with the heartbreaking horror of what is happening there in Afghanistan. Real shock and misunderstanding cover me when you look at the world around you and realize that this is happening now, in the 21st century... I don’t want to go into politics, this is not about that, I’m writing these lines now with only one thought - don’t let me God for us and our children to know This on myself.

A Thousand Splendid Suns is a readable book, but it is very heavy, and when you start reading it, you should be aware of what you are signing up for, so to speak. Without exaggeration, it is impossible to tear yourself away from it, but sometimes reading it is only possible through tears... There are several moments in the book that, in my opinion, are strictly not recommended for reading by faint-hearted women and pregnant women. I am a very impressionable person, and such scenes settle like a stone in my soul so much that they often result in difficult dreams and thoughts... Moreover, after reading “A Thousand Splendid Suns” I was not ready to immediately begin Hosseini’s other books, and indeed, To be honest, I didn’t want to read anything at all for several weeks, I was so emotionally devastated, or vice versa - I was too overwhelmed with emotions after reading it.
But this is the magic of books, each of us decides for ourselves what to read and what not, what story to let through, whose life to spy on, whose thoughts to eavesdrop on... Moreover, I cannot call the book negative, although it is definitely , not a romance with a happy ending!

On the other hand, and I always try to look at life from different angles in order to find the best perspective, so, from this very other side - after reading the book, you begin to feel LIFE so keenly, to be grateful for every day and what is above my head, with the head of my child and my family, peaceful sky! In these days of political battles, cold world wars and open inhuman acts, this book is probably a must-read for everyone. To look into the terrible chaos, to plunge at least on paper (no, not “at least”, but “thank God it’s on paper”!) into that genuine horror and brutal aspects of war... To become kinder and more tolerant of each other, at least A little!