Maybe because I’d recently visited the Holocaust museum in Washington DC, I was totally ready for this book set around a rare Jewish book – the Sarajevo Haggadah.
The novel travels space and time. We travel the world as Hanna Heath uncovers the secrets of this ancient text and uncovers some unexplored areas of her own heart.
I love Geraldine Brooks’s other works – March and Year of Wonders – but what charmed me so much with this one was her Australian heroine. She is SO Australian!
Here’s a passage describing how to get hold of cow gut (don’t ask) to prove my point:
Ever since they moved the abattoir out of Homebush and started to spruce the place up for the 2000 Olympics, you have to drive, basically, to woop woop, and then when you finally get there, there’s so much security in place because of the animal libbers you can barely get in the gate
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In Australia only prats flaunt their PhDs.
I just love it. And I love the story. It’s a love story – boy v girl – girl v career – man v God – girl v parent… okay love/hate. A pleasure to read. Easy to read in fact (took me about 6 hours – around 400 pp) but you still feel you learned something.
And Geraldine Brooks is coming to Perth.
I loved Year of Wonders. Might have to take a look at this and March.
I read a long article about this book in a Good Weekend before Christmas and have been waiting impatiently for it to come out. I’ve got it sitting her beside me, on my table, ready… it’s waiting patiently for me while I finish blogging.
I have a fairly long list of book titles that I’ve written down from various blogs I’ve read but none of my local libraries ever seem to have them. I’ll have to be content with what I randomly pull off the shelves………
“Only prats flaunt their PhDs …” spoken like someone who doesn’t have one! After spending four to six years working on a thesis, most of us feel somewhat justified in adding a Dr. in front of our name. (And relating to the context of the quote: no PhD worth their salt would fail to book a flight as anything other than “Dr.” — being upgraded to business class is the secret dream we all subscribe to …)
I’ve loved Geraldine Brooks’ writing in the past. But that little sentence jarred, as did the fake-ocker style in the book (“you see it on the bus at Bondi all the time” … yikes!) I have to say it: Ms. Brooks ought to get herself a PhD first, rather than copping-out with a Masters, before she can so happily dismiss the degree as prat-worthy.