“It sometimes seems to Zora that, with all the teaching and curating and meetings and paperwork and caring and cooking and cleaning and errands, she is floundering at the midpoint of her life.”
Never have I opened a book and related so immediately with the protagonist.
And yet, very little of what comes next is anything I could ever relate to.
I think that is the point…
In Black Butterflies, Priscilla Morris tells the story of Zora, an ordinary middle-aged woman living an ordinary life, when the political unrest which has been stirring in Sarajevo breaks into full blown conflict, leaving her isolated and scared in the city she is proud to call home.
Black Butterflies tells the story of this conflict from the inside, with compassion, clarity and an insight I have never seen before.
When Zora’s husband decides to take her elderly mother to stay with their daughter in England, Zora is determined to stay behind and protect their home. This decision comes to define the next year of her life, and it is interesting to see this often-untold perspective of the desperation to stay at home, even when all the signs tell you to run.
The horrors inflicted on those left trapped in the city are juxtaposed with such an appreciation for the importance of art and human connection, that this novel is endlessly and heart-breakingly beautiful.
The title is aptly taken from a description of the remnants of burned books and artworks, flying through the air after the city has been shelled, falling like ‘black butterflies’ through the sky. This moment encapsulates perfectly how well Morris weaves together the concurrent beauty and cruelty of humanity throughout the narrative.
Emotive and thought provoking, yet surprisingly easy to read, this Women’s Prize for Fiction shortlisted novel is definitely worth your time.
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