I am an unapologetic, though recovering, completionist. As one who has stumbled across my blog might gather, it is rather a sense of pride that I have written about absolutely every book iI have read (and some movies I have watched) for roughly fifteen years. Even though it scarcely qualifies as a book ( being rather the transcription of a speech), reading, and writing about, this item is definitely a sacrifice at the altar of completionism--twice so, insofar as it is also a notch on the list of "Nobel Prize winners".
How frustrating, therefore, that it has done rather the opposite of what I intended. I had hoped to cross Alexievich off the list, add her to the collection, and set her upon the shelf to be admired. I was, instead, smitten by her perspective, brutally realistic and deeply philosophical. Raw and clear, and most importantly unafraid of the implications of what she sees. I have read rather a few books in my time, quite a few that are brutal observations of reality, and slightly fewer that are bold and clear attempts to answer unanswerable questions. If this brief glimpse is to be trusted, Alexievich is of that rare flavor that dares to do both.
Accordingly, as much as I want to put her on the shelf and mark her "done," I simply cannot. I am intrigued and smitten, and must dive further into her mind before I can let her go.
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