Abirached won numerous accolades for her debut, A Game for Swallows (2012), and this follow-up similarly covers her 1980s experiences in Lebanon in a series of vignettes. Each high-contrast black-and white illustration is paired with a memory, from the mundane ('I remember giant robot cartoons') to the profound ('I remember seeing roadblocks made from burnt-out city buses'). The blocky, naive-style pictures quietly evoke wartime fears in ways the words simply cannot--bullet holes in the sides of cars, rubble in the streets, her father's eyebrows indicating increasing sadness at the heartbreaking state of a formerly vital market. Perhaps most moving, however, are the illustrations with no words at all--a series of plain black pages followed by subtle black-on-white scratchboard illustrations are not paired with a memory, but the spare style, so different from the rest of the book, speaks volumes. Abirached's childlike memories altogether compose a deeply personal portrait of Beirut unlike any historical account, and for readers curious about conflict in the region, it will provide a useful, humanizing entry point. --Booklist
-- "Journal"
Abirached, who grew up in Beirut during the Lebanese civil war, shares childhood memories in this unconventional graphic memoir. Born in 1981, Abirached grew up surrounded by the realities of war: Her family's home was close to the demarcation line between East and West Beirut. In her earlier graphic memoir, A Game for Swallows (2012), she focused on a single evening when she and her brother anxiously awaited their parents' return. In this follow-up, Abirached takes inspiration from French experimental writer and filmmaker Georges Perec and forgoes a traditional narrative structure in favor of a catalog of childhood memories, almost all beginning with I remember. Her memories juxtapose mundane details, such as the tchic sound that cassette tapes made when shaken and the three layers that made up old Kit Kat wrappers, with haunting reminders of wartime, such as her brother's shrapnel collection and the bullet holes in the family car. The black-and-white illustrations and inventive layouts ably convey the contrasts of the text. Abirached does not use tones or shading, but her ornate patterns soften the stark contrasts created by her bold lines and her frequent use of black to fill negative space. Taken together, her many memories create a distinct sense of time, place, and emotion. Meandering and experimental but surprisingly evocative. --Kirkus Reviews
-- "Journal"
Adopting a simple, straightforward approach, this graphic novel relates a young girl's memories of growing up in war-torn Lebanon. Told from her viewpoint as an adult, and running in roughly chronological order, the narrator describes her experiences in a matter-of-fact, unsentimental manner. 'I remember' is repeated throughout as she describes commonplace experiences (power outages and bombings juxtaposed against birthday parties and bedtime stories). She also relates her sense of wonder when the war quietly ends in 1991, and she and her family can cross the street and walk freely. Stark, b&w illustrations are very effective and help to portray the disconnect between surreal experiences and daily life. The drawings manage to convey a range of emotions while also incorporating humor and subtle nuances. This spare memoir humanizes families trapped in war zones, and their experiences should resonate with young adult audiences. [Editor's Note: Available in e-book format and paperback.] Highly Recommended. starred, Library Media Connection
-- "Journal"
As with Abirached's debut, A Game for Swallows, this b&w graphic memoir of growing up in Lebanon during that country's civil war invites comparison to Persepolis. Collecting memories introduced via the recurring phrase 'I remember, ' Abirached's prose and artwork convey, with grace and humor, the way her family's life during the war shifted from mundane to ominous and back again. Her mother tired of getting her windshield replaced every time a shell hit, and she eventually drove without it. There was no water for showers, but an endless supply of cigarettes. Abirached's younger brother assembled a collection of shrapnel, and the author recalls watching the Olympics ('I remember Florence Griffith Joyner's nails'). When an attack forced Abirached, her schoolmates, and teachers to stay at school overnight, she realized that 'our teachers were as scared as we were.' In the middle of her account, Abirached abandons words and uses scratchy white lines on black pages to draw remembered moments of peace: a jar of olives, a swing, a coop full of chickens. Here--and throughout--Abirached shares (and readers feel) a loss that cannot be named. --Publisher Weekly
-- "Journal"
In her previous graphic-novel memoir A Game for Swallows (rev. 9/12), Abirached viewed the Lebanese civil war through the lens of a single excruciating evening, as young Zeina awaited her parents' return home amidst heavy bombing. Here the author revisits that era in a loosely connected series of sobering vignettes and impressions, each beginning with the phrase 'I remember': her family's bullet hole-riddled car, her brother's shrapnel collection, schools used as bomb shelters. Black-and-white geometric illustrations capture both the enormous scale of the war (with motifs of falling bombs, helicopters, and stranded cars) and its personal repercussions (as facial expressions and body language change subtly over a series of panels). In one particularly striking spread, Abirached envisions the family's many relocations as the squares of a board game. Just as in the previous book, lighter memories--such as dancing to pop songs, watching cartoons, and receiving disastrous haircuts--modulate the somber tone and emphasize that we are seeing things from a child's perspective. Though the 'I remember' refrain becomes a bit repetitive, Abirached smartly subverts it near book's end, admitting what she doesn't remember (e.g., the last day of the war) and adding a framing device (her adult conversation with a friend). Knowledge of Swallows isn't necessary to follow this companion book but would enhance understanding and enjoyment--for instance, observant readers may recognize Zeina's eccentric acquaintances. --The Horn Book Magazine
-- "Journal"
