In Terms Of People That I Know,

For Me It Was A Lot Harder To Come To Terms With The Death Of My Grandfather Than It Was To Come To Terms With What's Happened To The Former Yugoslavia.

My Mother Always Says That Fear And Pain Are Immediate, And That, When They're Gone We're Left With The Concept, But Not The True Memory.

No Matter How Grave The Secret, How Imperative Absolute Silence, Someone Would Always Feel The Urge To Confess, And An Unleashed Secret Is A Terrible Force.

When Your Fight Has Purpose - To Free You From Something, To Interfere On The Behalf Of An Innocent - It Has A Hope Of Finality. When The Fight Is About Unraveling - When It Is About Your Name, The Places To Which Your Blood Is Anchored, The Attachment Of Your Name To Some Landmark Or Event - There Is Nothing But Hate, And The Long, Slow Progression Of People Who Feed On It And Are Fed It, Meticulously, By The Ones Who Come Before Them. Then The Fight Is Endless, And Comes In Waves And Waves, But Always Retains Its Capacity To Surprise Those Who Hope Against It.

Kelly Link's Prose Is Conveyed In Details So Startling And Fine That You Work Up A Sweat Just Waiting For The Next Sentence To Land. This Is Why We Read, Crave, Need, Can't Live Without Short Stories.