In form, Oblivion is like a detective story. This investigation turns frighteningly political, however, when it leads him to Russia’s northern Tundra region, which once housed Stalin’s gulags.
Jergović roots his stories firmly in local Bosnian, Croatian, and Serbian turf. History is back.
The reader is left with the question: in the case of an unhappy marriage, would it be better to follow the advice of Tolstoy or Ben Jelloun?
The narrative threads that weave through the last ten years tell a tale in themselves.
What I’m pointing out here is a typical media phenomenon born of social conditioning.
Lots of stranges aren't here legally.
This number is your identity.
It parachuted down.
Fifteen years later, I was the one who left.
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