Review: Zlata’s Diary – A Child’s Life in Sarajevo – by Zlata Filipović

What’s a grown 45 year old male doing reading a little Bosnian girl’s diary you might ask yourself. Well, it cropped up as a recommendation in a documentary on the war in the former Yugoslavia, a subject to which I have passionately researched from its genesis. The Balkans conflict is (to date) the worst conflict that has taken place on European soil since World War 2 (although Ukraine must now be heading to take over that mantle, perhaps? Let’s hope not!). There was some pretty brutal stuff going on and a complete breakdown of society, the break up of a nation and all the murky, dirty traits of war nationalism, ethnic division, race and religion, all went up in smoke and Sarajevo was the epicentre of the whole mess, where little Zlata was a carefree little schoolgirl, and had her life turned upside down, directly experiencing the day to day hell of living through war. When you think of war, you think of soldiers, tanks, battlefields, munitions, generals and lots of death and injuries. The history books are full of tactical analysis of military commanders’ strategies and details of who won and who lost and what the politicians were doing. Often it is the collateral damage that is the worst in the war. The inhabitants of London’s East End felt the blitz more than the pilots of the Battle of Britain. Zlata is a normal girl, with a normal family, just getting on with a normal life. She is a civilian. When the bombs start raining down, Zlata is right there on the scene. Her neighbours are affected. It is her streets that are the battleground. Her school is closed and her friends are either killed or flee the terrible tragedy that is unfolding on her doorstep in Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina. This is where a lot of the worst of the ethnic divisions are apparent with Bosnian-Serbs fighting Bosnian-Croats, Muslims and a previous harmony among the population is cast out for some terrible tragic results, well-documented later in war-crimes cases such as the Srebenica massacre. Zlata is the Anne Frank of the Balkans War. She notes in ‘Mimmy’ a primary account that no historian should ignore. Ye, it’s sad, yes, it’s heart-breaking and war is something that nobody should have to live through. But when war does happen, the importance of documentation is critical and Zlata leaves her testament as a warning for future warmongers and future victims of war and survivors. It wouldn’t hurt some of the politicians and war industry profiteers involved in the current Ukraine crisis to pick up a copy of Zlata’s diary. It’s a kid’s book, written by a kid. It’s not long, won’t take up too much of your time. But by heck it could transform your thinking and opinion to the betterment of all of society. Daily struggles for water supply and gas and electric are sounding to me in 2023 as quite realistic possibilities for my own future in the U.K. (I’m told as a result of war) – Coping mechanisms are great. Zlata does get upset, but rarely depressed. She has a transcendental philosophy and sees in the most simplest of basic provisions or freedoms a ray of sunshine in the midst of the dirty tragedy that is unfolding all around her. Ultimately, her writing work is not in vain. French journalists pick up on the diary and TV crews start popping in to see her and ultimately after securing a publishing deal for the diary, Zlata and her family are flown out and repatriated in Paris, thus escaping them from further direct immediate harm from the war. Not every young diary writer was perhaps so lucky as Zlata, bhut it’s amazing that she did manage to get the book out there and it is a bestseller. I just wonder how many little girls are hiding in the blackened ruins of apartment blocks in Mariupol, their only lifeline and hope being pencilled into their own diaries.
Adrian Mole talked about pimples. Zlata has a more grown up conversation but she also likes cats and playing the piano. I remember first seeing the live story about Zlata on Blue Peter. It’s taken me a while to get around to reading Zlata’s Diary but I am glad that I have now done that.

Review: Forty Nights – by Chris Thrall

I read ‘Eating Smoke’ some time ago, Chris’ autobiographic story of descent into Crystal Meth psychosis while working for the Triads in Hong Kong. It was a great story and I loved that book. I noticed that Chris was appearing regularly on the BBC as an ‘expert’ on a; sorts of drugs stories etc so I guess the book did well and got him a high profile. After reading and reviewing ‘Eating Smoke’ I hooked up with Chris online and we’ve stayed in touch on social media for some time. He’s a real, op, friendly bloke who will bend over backwards to help you out. He’s got stuck right into assist me with some of my darker mental health calamities over the years and he speaks sense. In a social media world which has turned antisocial it’s nice to actually make genuine online friends who aren’t bots or scammers. When Chris released this follow up book ‘Forty Nights’ I felt obliged to get a copy and check it out. So here we go….

Firstly, let me say that if you want the exotic glamour of Hong Kong and Triads and even Crystal Meth, Forty Nights could lead to disappointment. This is Devon’s answer to Irvine Welsh’s ‘Trainspotting’ – It’s not so glamorous. Lots of dingy council estates, messed up dead end jobs, a full-on quite nasty amphetamine injecting habit and promises to sort it all out. The book is set right on the margins of society and Chris just sort of floats there, does his own thing and I cannot comprehend how he managed to write such a big book with so many words with such little obvious material. I mean Wordsworth and Coleridge had the Lake District. Chris just regularly paints dodgy murals on his wall when he’s experiencing the regular insomnia speed addicts are accustomed to. I don’t mean this as a criticism of the book. I think it’s amazing to be able to work with such a blank canvas. The language is not high brow. Its accessible, but some of the best writers have this trait. Think Hemingway: he rarely used long words. It was simple and in its simplicity he managed to evoke great beauty and particularly strong images in the imagination. You feel like you are there with Chris as you go through the chapters. Nothing every really happens. It’s same shit, different day and it sort of spirals. But this is reality. Our generation are pretty oppressed and lack opportunities. The rave generation of the 1990s do have a different ethos, our views on lifestyle choices such as drug use, our general rejection of capitalist materialism, our ability to be creative and opportunistic and just crack on with life. Chris’ story shows he is clearly on the margins. So many ex-military people struggle in civvy street. It’s not straightforward holding down a job and living with 2.4 children, a washing machine and a mortgage. Drug use and abuse is widespread and a hidden problem in that people outside of the social circles have no real clue about the actual realities and the pandemic that is really happening on the streets of Britain. Yes, we partied in the raves and clubs to banging dance music back in the day but the firm heel of the jackboot pretty much stamped everyone down to heel in the real world. Society is oppressive. Try dealing with the dwp on a regular basis, or getting exiled from your family inner circle due to a lack of understanding, or just a casual journey into the patient’s perspective of mental health issues. Any dealing with the police are just negative for anyone no matter what. So many people can luckily skate through life avoiding them totally but once you get on their radar you’re going to have a negative experience and Chris has the odd brush. It’s a story of progress, a self-reflective philosophical work of literature. I can’t imagine how valuable this book would be to drug addicts seeking a working tool for recovery.  It can’t have been easy for Chris to admit his problems so publicly. But I bet it helped him to do this. You can see him trying to fight and change all the way through the story – he wants to keep his personality and values and just cease stuff which he knows is bad in life and is harming him. Ultimately we see him head off to training for voluntary work with an African charity after pretty much getting the speed problem under control. So in that sense it’s a happy ending and there’s the possibility of future books.

The characters Chris encounters are real people, real issues and who are pretty much in a similar situation to him. A lot of the time the core support of friends is noticeably absent and often when he is with friends it’s sort of a bit of a nightmare session that doesn’t really help with life progress but is fun nonetheless. Chunks steals the show – he’s like a council estate pirate with his own language and a completely happy-go-lucky we can do it mentality. Chunks merits a whole book unto himself. He’s a superhero really. Other mates end up in nick or are running dodgy criminal operations like baccy smuggling which Chris gets roped into – but the trips across the Channel seemed quite exotic really compared with life at home in Devon. The book can also read a s a manual for ways to deal with TV License Inspectors and Chris is bang on, creative and off the cuff in his successful approach to this. He is a good neighbour and the local kids love him and he keeps their active imaginations firmly engaged. He is a genuinely nice bloke.

I really liked the book – and perhaps I’m showing my age – as I found it nostalgic about a period of time where life was so radically different. It was pre internet and pre social media and the friendships and societal values of the 1990s dancefloors bound us together as a society. Although today we have shiny mobile phones and are ‘more developed’ in many ways we now don’t get out and about as much and we also don’t have as many adventures or fun. Yes, life back in the day wasn’t perfect but it was still pretty damned good.

I can’t do the book justice really in this review but I would seriously recommend it. It has a sort of addictive quality and you get drawn into the story and just enjoy it. On social media I’ve seen that Chris must have move on leaps and bounds and totally transformed his life since writing ‘Forty Nights’ – He does ultramarathons which frighten the life out of me. I can relate to life on a Devon sink council estate right on the margins of society and ‘Forty Nights’ is eminently more readable for me than any future work on sweating and jogging silly distances. But it’s good to know there’s a happy ending and a possible way out. Get onto ‘Forty Nights’ folks and spread the word!