The Memoirs of a Survivor - Doris Lessing

I'm not entirely sure I got all that. Which makes those five stars seem shaky. But there was this... brilliance, let's say. The glare allowed me to see around, divine shapes at the core, while everything else was almost beyond reach yet never quite.


It sure left me with a bunch of questions and my mind running speedy circles. "Were them one self looking back/forward in time?" "Was she projecting?" "Am I trying to understand something that it's a dream, a parable, magic realism?".


And the details. Or more like fragments. Pictures. Those bits (by God, the red dress) have such a power, insight (Jesus, that pack! I've met it's members! It is as terrifying as that).


Little pieces; they make something. Could be it was all about the threads of that tapestry; how they are constructed afterwards by adding your piece in, weaving it into the rest, all of them together making something that makes a pattern, maybe sense. The way history is made after terrible happenings. Another question. I like where that one heads.