I can’t figure out why I decided to read A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali. It’s an oldish book, I don’t think there’s any new buzz around it – but somehow it appeared on our library cart and I was pretty sure I’m the one who decided to read it. For awhile, I thought Zandria had read it last year and that’s what pushed me to take the plunge. But no, it wasn’t Zan. So why? Why, why, why would I put myself through that.
Painful.
Not the writing. The horrible, horrible situation in Ruwanda. Genocide is never pretty.
I’m surprised I didn’t have nightmares – the end just about killed me.
*sniff*