John Hart has written about brothers, about families, before. He’s never shied away from the hard stuff, the strong stuff, the deep and troubling emotions and the fear. Or from the love. He does not do so here.
I still refer to and quote from the first lines of Down River, his second book but the first I read, as being among the best opening paragraphs in literature - classical or modern. Like that one, the early chapters here whet the appetite fiercely, telling enough to set the scene and begging to be untangled further, its story as multifaceted and manifold as anything Hart’s attempted in the past.
Setting what’s sure to be a torturous tale in such a tumultuous time in our history is masterful, as well. That tension is always hanging in the background, a live wire snaking back and forth, waiting to bite, to pinch the reader and remind us that even the most seemingly innocuous encounters have teeth.
I cannot wait to read the rest of this fascinating, tragic, universal story.
I still refer to and quote from the first lines of Down River, his second book but the first I read, as being among the best opening paragraphs in literature - classical or modern. Like that one, the early chapters here whet the appetite fiercely, telling enough to set the scene and begging to be untangled further, its story as multifaceted and manifold as anything Hart’s attempted in the past.
Setting what’s sure to be a torturous tale in such a tumultuous time in our history is masterful, as well. That tension is always hanging in the background, a live wire snaking back and forth, waiting to bite, to pinch the reader and remind us that even the most seemingly innocuous encounters have teeth.
I cannot wait to read the rest of this fascinating, tragic, universal story.