👶👶👶👶👶 From Sand and Ash, by Amy Harmon

From Sand and Ash is a magnificently rendered novel. I am astonished by Amy Harmon’s talent with words. I could quote so much of this eloquent novel, but will attempt to share just a taste of her brilliance:

“They can humiliate and dehumanize us, but they cannot take our thoughts, they cannot take our talents, they cannot take our knowledge, or our memories, or our minds. In music, there is no bondage. Music is a door, and the soul escapes through the melody, even if it's only for a few minutes. Everyone who listens is freed. Everyone who listens is elevated.”

“And time kept its schedule without a thought for the man whose time had just run out… tick tock, tick tock. Right. On. Time… Then she made herself move, one step in front of the other, the cadence of her feet joining the metronome of time, marching on and on and on, without relief.”

This lyricism continues throughout the novel, and the reader is left breathless until the very end.

I have read countless novels about the holocaust: from endless points of view, from the perspective of so many different nationalities, both fiction and non-fiction, but it is only a select few that manage to reach into my soul, and this is one such novel. Not only was the language poetic, but the story itself was exceptional. The gamut of emotions the characters endure is palpable; the fear, guilt, disdain, pity, and even fleeting moments of joy, often led me to tears:

“Fear is strange. It settles on chests and seeps through skin, through layers of tissue, and muscle, and bone, and collects in a soul-sized black hole, sucking the joy out of life, the pleasure, the beauty, but not the hope. Somehow, the hope is the only thing resistant to the fear. And it is that hope that makes the next breath possible, the next step, the next tiny act of rebellion, even if that rebellion is simply staying alive.”

Angelo and Eva were characters that became like family to me, and I felt deeply invested in their lives and in their well-being. The supporting characters were just as endearing as they withstood the chaos and terror that was inescapable, even in Italy, during Hitler’s takeover. Not only were the characters perfectly depicted, but their actions and way of life were so tangible. I could almost hear Eva playing her music: “she played, exultant and brilliant, powerful in her vulnerability, a conquering army of one.” And felt as though I was kneeling with her as she prayed, “Does it matter what we call Him? Does it matter how we pray if our devotion is pure, if our love for Him leads us to love and serve and forgive and be better? I guess it does… sadly, it does… because my prayers could get me killed.”

Of special note is Cassandra Campbell who is unparalleled as a narrator. It is unbelievable how many dialects and accents she mastered exquisitely for this novel. If you’re an Audible fan, I highly recommend listening to this one.

Sometimes I ask myself why I continue to read about such tragedy and devastation. And it is through novels such as these that I am reminded of the importance of remembering this horrific history, so as to never allow it to repeat again. Angelo says, toward the end, “Maybe people had no choice, but I wonder sometimes: what would have happened if everyone without a choice had made a choice anyway? If we all chose not to participate, not to be bullied, not to pick up arms, not to persecute? What would have happened then?” Especially in times such as ours, I find it so important to keep the past alive in our minds, because as Eva said, “We do it as a sign of remembrance... something that elevates the mundane, to the divine.”

Read 9/5/18