4 out of 5 stars
I've listened to a few interviews of people who lived through the siege of Sarajevo. I think this novel represents that reality exceedingly well. I also checked to see if there was a real cellist and there was. This author used that real-life situation as the basis for his fictional version.
The chapters that I found most compelling were those from Arrow's point of view. Arrow isn't her real name, it's her sniper name. She was part of a sharpshooting team before the siege and gets recruited by those who are attempting to defend those trapped in the city. Her mission is to keep the cellist alive, safe from opposition sniping. She has survived the siege by suppressing her emotions, but finds the cellist and his music are reaching through her defenses.
This is the power of art in all its forms. Music, literature, painting, architecture, you name it. The men in the hills who are trying to bring Sarajevo to its knees are destroying all these things methodically. The library was one of the first casualties. All the psychologically important buildings are pummeled. There is the minor musical rebellion of the unnamed cellist, who determines that he will play Albioni's adagio every day at 4 p.m. for 22 days in honour of the 22 people killed while waiting in a bread line outside his home. His defiance through art moves everyone in Sarajevo. Everyone on both sides understands the power of his performances, the power of art.
The three viewpoints (Dragan, Kenan, Arrow) seem to be about the necessities for hope and survival: food, water, and art. I am reminded of Viktor Frankel's Man's Search for Meaning, where he credits luck and having an unfinished task waiting for him for his survival. The daily worry about snipers is in some ways the working of luck in this situation. The task of rebuilding the city awaits those who survive, their unfinished business.
[Do yourself a favour: don't research this author until you have finished the novel, if ever. He didn't talk to the real cellist until after the book was published, claiming that a public figure performing in public is fair game for fiction. That may be true, but it was kind of a jerk move, especially when he admits in the afterword that he searched for the female sniper who inspired Arrow. Mind you, the cellist wanted cash, so there was some equal opportunity awfulness. Then the author went on to demolish his own life through more poor choices. This is a phenomenal book, written by an imperfect person (as we all are). His life-wreck and unfulfilled talent are a crying shame, even if it is a self-inflicted wound].
Despite my reservations, this novel proves that wonderful art can be created by us less than wonderful people.
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