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3.84 AVERAGE
3.84 AVERAGE
An extremely painful but beautiful account of a loss that cannot be fathomed.
A beautifully written but horribly sad book. I should not have read it before bed, as I could not sleep and felt nauseous after reading it.
A haunting tale of grief and loss, this book will not leave me for a long time I'm guessing.
A haunting tale of grief and loss, this book will not leave me for a long time I'm guessing.
I’m not sure why I loved this little memoir so much. The writing about the actual moments of the wave is gripping, but her descriptions of the various moments of her grief were stunning to me. The jumbled mess of some of the paragraphs mimicked what she was feeling. Also, for some reason, when this tsunami happened I was weirdly enthralled by the news reports. Maybe because of my fear of water? Not sure... So I’m sure this book filled in some spaces for me in wondering about this event from across the world.
may be the saddest book I've ever read. what a tribute to her beloved family. I need to believe that every reading of her beautifully written memoir eases her pain an iota.
emotional
hopeful
reflective
medium-paced
A brutally honest account of one woman's tragedy as her family is killed in a Tsunami while she survives. You can feel the author's grief, despair and her anger. In the first part of the book she is not likeable, she does not behave humbly or gracefully. She condemns the "fat" boy who survived, condemning his buoyancy, telling herself that there's no way her boys will survive. And there is an undeniable privilege to her life that allows her the space and time for her grief.
Sonali is more critical of herself than we as the reader ever could. She lays bare her guilt and shame. Not searching for her children, not being able to physically hold on to them. Not taking the time to knock on her parents door when they started to run. The pain of surviving when your world is gone and you are reminded of what's missing every day.
Sonali is more critical of herself than we as the reader ever could. She lays bare her guilt and shame. Not searching for her children, not being able to physically hold on to them. Not taking the time to knock on her parents door when they started to run. The pain of surviving when your world is gone and you are reminded of what's missing every day.
dark
emotional
slow-paced
challenging
In 2004, Deraniyagala's two young sons, husband, and parents were killed by the tsunami that swept the coast of Sri Lanka. This memoir details her grief, anger, guilt, and depression in the aftermath and remembers her life before the wave.
This is easily one of the best books I've read this year, if not the best. Deraniyagala's prose is beautiful. It's not poetic or flowing. At times, her sentences were choppy and stark, but I thought those sentences served to capture her emotional state.
I felt like a masochistic voyeur while reading this book. She is candid about her suicide attempts, her hatred for her family and friends who kept her alive, and her feelings for other people who, like her, survived the tsunami.
I noticed that Deraniyagala's unflinching candor was not appreciated by other Goodreads readers, who found her unlikeable. But that's the thing about memoirs: they're written by people about themselves. People can be likeable and unlikeable. Real people are not characters in a book. I, for one, could understand that Deraniyagala would be selfish to the plight of other survivors when she didn't know if her sons were alive or dead, when she strongly felt that they were dead and she could not find them in the black mud that covered Yala.
Though painful, I found Deraniyagala's memories of motherhood and married life to be poignant and sweet. She gives her sons and husband a second life through her words. For that reason, alone, this memoir is worth reading.
This is easily one of the best books I've read this year, if not the best. Deraniyagala's prose is beautiful. It's not poetic or flowing. At times, her sentences were choppy and stark, but I thought those sentences served to capture her emotional state.
I felt like a masochistic voyeur while reading this book. She is candid about her suicide attempts, her hatred for her family and friends who kept her alive, and her feelings for other people who, like her, survived the tsunami.
I noticed that Deraniyagala's unflinching candor was not appreciated by other Goodreads readers, who found her unlikeable. But that's the thing about memoirs: they're written by people about themselves. People can be likeable and unlikeable. Real people are not characters in a book. I, for one, could understand that Deraniyagala would be selfish to the plight of other survivors when she didn't know if her sons were alive or dead, when she strongly felt that they were dead and she could not find them in the black mud that covered Yala.
Though painful, I found Deraniyagala's memories of motherhood and married life to be poignant and sweet. She gives her sons and husband a second life through her words. For that reason, alone, this memoir is worth reading.