Girl At War

“The war in Zagreb began over a pack of cigarettes”….


I don’t want to say too much, so I will give you only this: Girl at War is a powerfully honest depiction of the Yugoslavian civil war told through the through the tender eyes of ten-year-old, Ana Jurić, who is desperately trying to understand the crumbling world around her.  The novel carries Ana from the horrific events that upturned her peaceful childhood, to her modern day struggle to make peace with a haunting past. She will leave you full of both heartache and optimism with her magnificent prose.

Sara: you are witty and brilliant and light up any room…and now you have written this book and I am truly in awe.

“Outstanding . . . Girl at War performs the miracle of making the stories of broken lives in a distant country feel as large and universal as myth.”The New York Times Book Review (Editor’s Choice)

“Gripping . . . Nović, in tender and eloquent prose, explores the challenge of how to live even after one has survived.”—O: The Oprah Magazine

“Shattering . . . The book begins with what deserves to become one of contemporary literature’s more memorable opening lines. The sentences that follow are equally as lyrical as a folk lament and as taut as metal wire wrapped through an electrified fence.”USA Today

Girl At War_1

Their musings about how and why people stayed in a country under such terrible conditions were what I hated most. I knew it was ignorance, not insight that prompted these questions. They asked because they hadn’t smelled the air raid smoke or the scent of singed flesh on their own balconies; they couldn’t fathom that such a dangerous place could still harbor all the feelings of home.

Girl at War_2

By the end of the week we’d absorbed the sandbags into our playscape. War quickly became our favorite game and soon we had given up the park altogether.

Girl At War_4

As jarring as the guns were to the pale crowd before me, for many of us they were synonymous with youth, coated in the same lacquer of nostalgia that glosses anyone’s childhood.

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…when they got to the photos of the mass graves, I slipped out a side door and vomited in a potted plant. I didn’t come back for the rest of the presentation, not wanting to see someone I recognized.

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“I’d studied English since the first grade but considered it a murky language, one whose grammar seemed to have been made up on the fly”

Ps. My  beautiful Willow girl is making her debut in the above. She was basking and I didn’t have the heart to move her.

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