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This autobiographical note, based on diary entries, is just so unique
and genuine- it’s a glimpse into the author’s life which is both warm, full of
colour, events, and pathos. It’s almost a stream of consciousness in the
tradition of Joyce. It’s about thoughts of youth, getting old, recollections of
parents, family, places known from childhood. It’s touching and innocent, with
simple everyday experiences from the past so well described. I thoroughly enjoyed
reading this, and did so more than once. There’s something totally personal about this:
time and events have passed, but there’s not a hint of regret about the passing of time.
The author must come back with more; he has a rich seam to mine.