Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Ordinary Afghans face an uncertain future in these evocative snapshots of their war-torn country. In dispatches dating back to 2013, journalist Garcia (The Fruit of All My Grief) speaks with shopkeepers, translators, teachers, and orphans about the looming prospect of U.S. troop withdrawal and the legacy of Soviet occupation. A village shopkeeper shows Garcia the mud-brick house his family lived in for nearly 200 years before it was damaged in fighting between rival Afghan groups in the 1990s. At the Taj Begum restaurant in Kabul, proprietor Laila Haidari reflects on how her brother's drug addiction led her to establish a 30-day drug and alcohol recovery program. Though she intended to enroll women, the death threats she received from their husbands and fathers--who used the women as drug couriers--made it too dangerous. Elsewhere, a school director tells Garcia that his daughter's first word was "bomb," and an antique-weapons dealer shows off the Kalashnikov rifles he keeps locked away because "it's too soon" to sell them. Garcia also details how corruption and indifference undermined democratic reforms and poignantly reflects on his own inability to help the people he encountered. Lyrical yet understated prose and the centering of Afghans' own voices make this an indelible portrait of struggle and survival. (July)
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