According to Polina’s mom, there are three types of children you can get as a parent: the angels, the demons, and something in between she calls ‘donkeys’ for their stubbornness.

This book is written from the aspect of such a child donkey, and it offers a colourful kaleidoscope of stories from the author’s childhood spent in Grozny, the capital city of the Chechen Republic, which at the later part of the book was engulfed in war.

These stories describe things common for any childhood and, therefore, dear to the hearts of many – friendships formed in a day, belief in supernatural and magic, kindness of strangers, ability to see the world as something spectacular and full of promise. And then there are some aspects of that childhood that were unique to its circumstances. Of course, seeing the account of war from a little girl’s point of view is horrifying, and even more so how  she and people around her got used to that dreadful reality, and their lives in the midst of war accumulated practicalities, including tips on how to avoid becoming a street shooting casualty and best course of action during air raids.

Unbelievably so, but what’s even more grim is Polina’s personal struggle with her mom. A single mother who raised her child in trying times with no help whatsoever, she was bound to make many harsh judgements that hurt her daughter deeply.

So deeply in fact that she brings out those memories in awful detail – the physical abuse, the cruelty, and the parent perfectionism at its worst, at the same time acknowledging her mom as a publicly admired figure, who was just and kind to everyone, except for her own daughter.

I can imagine how heartbreaking it must have been for her mother to read this book, if she ever did, seeing herself in the harsh light of the pain she caused. However, it isn’t a story of a lifelong hatred and suppressed happiness, but rather a very poignant way of Polina saying: I forgive you.