One of my mottos is: always judge a book by its blurb and then take a look at the cover and see if you’d like it. This has always treated me well and I’ve enjoyed the majority of books read. I read the blurb, thought the Bosnian war sounded interesting then stopped, looked at the cover and though: eh, a bit too much life of pi and set it up for failure. But how foolish I am. If you’re after the screeching hatred of war to be explored through fragmented memory during perpetual flux and by a poet; then this is the book for you my friend. Sehic entwines emotion with the sensory input of childhood (sights, smells, sounds) and examines the effects when this is torn apart by war. Memory plays an important role as events are forgotten, misconstrued and then reemerge. Demons are confronted, then eviscerated in phantasmagoric scenes involving masses of fish. The prose is absolutely sublime; reading the book is a visceral meditative experience. The Una stands steadfast but the water has not lost its impetus.