![]() Michael, his little brother, is both a frustrating and pitiful narrator in one. With the idea that Francis’ death should have been avoided. It leaves the reader with the feeling that something is wrong - that this should not have happened.Īnd that is where Brother truly begins. The realisation is stark and painful, in high contrast to the sleepy, slow-moving progress of the book’s narrative, and only makes Francis’ death more jarring. A masterful, multilayered tale of mystery, Chariandy moves swiftly between temporal locations to keep the reader in the dark until the moment of truth: Francis’ death, through an act of minority violence at the hands of police. He loved a young man named Jelly.”īrother is an elegy from one brother to another, a political commentary, and an exploration of interfamilial sorrow all at once. He loved his family, and also his friends. “… e, my brother, understood the old music, that heritage of love, because he felt it himself. ![]() Regardless, there is a certain something that sings between the lines of this careful, masterfully plotted book something, that, during the free-spinning, reckless course of 2020-2021, has brought me back to the tale of Michael and Francis once more. Living in post-pandemic 2021 can be so chaotic and fast-paced that the slow, careful nuances of everyday life are simply forgotten. That is the central question which David Chariandy’s 2018 novel, Brother, addresses. “ Toronto” by VV Nincic on Creative Commons ![]()
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