I want to give this book 6 out of 5 stars. Or 7. Or a million. Or I want to name a star after it.
I do shed a tear with books when things get emotional. I didn't throughout this book, but when reading the last 5 lines I sobbed. And still did when I reread those lines this morning. I think it requires a lot of writing talent to build up such a reaction throughout 700 pages. And Amos Oz certainly has that talent.
Through the history of his family, Amos Oz tells a history of Jews in Eastern Europe and early Israel from the late 19th century to roughly the 1960s. We learn about their fate, their courage, their hopes, their disappointments. All throughout the book we know his mother died when Amos was only 12 years old, but it's not until last two pages Oz reveals what happened exactly. But the family history, the situation in Jerusalem in the 40s and early 50s, all the anecdotes - they build up to understanding why Fania fell into depression and eventually took her own life.
Amos Oz performs magic in the way he picks his vocabulary and constructs his sentences. I do love words. When the writing is beautiful, I don't care much what actually happens in a story. But a book turns to a gem to me when it combines best of both worlds - as this does.
He carefully chooses what anecdotes to tell, and some of those he mentions several times throughout the book, strengthening their relevance.
I will often think of Fania and little Amos when I hear a blackbird sing.