Author(s): Mario Brassard

Children's & YA Graphic | Senior Fiction | Historical

A powerful and visually arresting fictional memoir of trauma, memory and hope in the aftermath of war, for readers 12 and up. For fans of Maus.

Even though Mila is no longer a child, she is overcome by memories - memories of a childhood halfway between reality and dreaming, and not knowing which is which. In her dreams, Mila and her family leave their bombed village to stand in line for weeks on end, suitcases in hand, hoping to move on to better lives. But the memories of her uncle's disappearance, and the approach of looming clouds, keep blurring the lines between past and present, real and unreal. How can Mila move forward? Perhaps if the clouds can remind her of where she's from, they can also show her where to go . . .

Winner of a Governor General's Award, Canada's most prestigious literary prize, and the Bologna Ragazzi Award, this stunningly evocative book about experience, trauma and healing will stay with readers from beginning to end.

STELLA'S REVIEW:
Beautifully told and drawn, this story of wartime trauma is delicate and honest. Told through the eyes of Mila as she looks back at her nine-year-old self, it places memory at the centre of the story — both its necessity and its burden. A girl whose life is shattered by war; who has walked a road to escape, who has witnessed things that she couldn’t understand at the time, nor fully assimilate in her adult life, Mila is a thirty-four-year-old woman living in the country her family escaped to, being like any other young woman, but always there is a part of herself that is different. Trauma plays with memory, and memory is unreliable. As she considers the road to the new country, she realises that each member of her small family will have their own telling — their own witness. A reminder to us all, as we witness countless people on the move right now (from our distant remove), seemingly a common story in fact is no more common than our very own existence which we hold dear as our very own. For Mila sees and doesn’t see — she is a witness (and victim of) to the stark tragedy and misery of war, but also protected by her own family and more interestingly by her own psyche. She sleeps and sleeps — an endeavour to keep reality at bay. Told as memory, some elements are removed and others elevated. Objects, in this case the clouds, are used as a tool to articulate this pain, and also as hope for better or more hopeful times. White clouds are to strive towards, away from the black smoke bomb clouds of memory. Cats are to stroke and resurrect gentleness. And perhaps, also innocence. But a new life, even years on, cannot still Mila’s fear of queues or black clouds, but the memory of a brave act can make her smile and look beyond the pain she carries with her. Mario Brassard’s lyrical words and Gerard Dubois's stunning limited palette drawings are an evocative combination.