The Sandcastle Girls

Having known absolutely nothing about the Armenian genocide in 1915, this book shocked me. It reveals a story of inconceivable cruelty and dehumanization of an ethnic group, grounded in meticulous research of the author's own family. The author switches from several narrators experiencing the genocide firsthand, as well as the viewpoint of a family member in 2012, writing the previously unknown history of her Armenian grandparents.

Although many of the events are graphic and disturbing, I wasn't repelled by the book. The characters are so well-drawn and compelling that I wanted to keep reading and learn what happens to each one. My understanding of the Ottoman Empire, World War 1, and the whole Eurasian area under dispute then and now, has been widened by this story, and I'm adding some nonfiction accounts to my reading to satisfy my need to know more.

It took me a long time to read this novel, and not just because of the brutality portrayed. (The book is about the Armenian Genocide.) Part of the reason I went slowly, I think, is that I was interested in structure: The book is a faux-memoir by a woman novelist who is intrigued by the history of her grandmother and her Armenian grandfather who met in Aleppo in 1915. The contemporary frame story is about this writer discovering things about her grandparents as she delves into the story and eventually finds their correspondence in a small museum. In the course of her research, she uncovers a secret that is revealed near the end of the book. But the bulk of the narrative is about the writer's grandmother, then a young woman on an aid mission. The narrative consists of a story the writer has pieced together–the woman's experience, the thoughts and experiences of the grandfather, and also the thoughts of other characters who play smaller roles. I've read a number of blended historical and contemporary stories, but this structure seems unique.

The second reason it was a slow read for me is that I found the distance from the brutality puzzling. Maybe this writer could do it no other way, but despite some brutal passages, the reader isn't really asked to inhabit the world of the brutality. The faux-memoirist herself is distant and the narrative is always filtered through her. And her story is primarily about a witness rather than the victims.

So my experience with the book is mixed, although I'm very glad I read it.