picture in my mind

You know what's one of the joys in life? To pick a book off a shelf by gut feel, and have it turn out into an incredible read.

I've never really found out much about how or why my dad died. I didn't go to his funeral and Mum has never taken me to his grave, and she has no pictures of him in the house. I'm not to tell anyone about him, she said. Only his name, because it's also my name, Alex. When I think of whether Dad is happy to be out of Hell I have a memory of me and Dad and Mum having dinner. We were sitting at our table in the living room and Mum brought in some bread rolls on a plate. Dad took two of them out and stuck his fork through one and his knife through the other and started bouncing them up and down the table as if they were feet doing a little dance. I remember the way the sunlight was strong and lit up the side of his face and the lines at the corner of his eyes when he laughed. I remember Mum flicking him with a tea towel, laughing and telling him to stop. She used to laugh loads back then.

When I think of this it makes me sad, but more confused than sad. I'm confused because when I think of him making the bread rolls dance and then think of what I saw that day, of Dad shooting those policemen, it just doesn't make sense. Aren't evil people evil all the time? Aren't funny, kind people who bring toy cars for their son funny and kind all the time?

-  The Boy Who Could See Demons, Carolyn Jess-Cooke

It's such a beautiful story, and so well thought out, and it made me tear up so badly in the train (the times when I actually get time to read). I fell in love with Alex probably three pages in. He speaks about the traumas of his life with such innocence, it's impossible not to feel like you want to take him away from it all and adopt him. The backdrop is Northern Ireland after The Troubles, but the aftereffects of a war-torn area are basically broken down infrastructure, and broken souls. Alex is like a little brilliant spark you want to save from it all.

And I actually thought this was a children's book at first.

Granny poured in the sugar and said, 'Memory's a funny thing, Alex. Sometimes it can hurt us without us realising.'

I nodded but had no clue what she meant. I figured this was what old people said when they were about to lose their marbles.