It is easy for one to picture an American life with little difference. At first they rise to the challenges, losing power, scrounging for firewood, avoiding snipers as they join food and water lines. They become survivors. War comes home. Muhamed develops diabetes, and insulin becomes increasingly hard to get as the black market dries up.
War causes an insane, no-rules desperation which Ireland captures beautifully.
Where Ireland missteps is with regard to her parallel story, the autobiographical tale of Anne, a woman in Cambridge struggling to publish a novel about, lo and behold, the war in Bosnia. Anne a woman who struggles to express herself in a man's world, and Ana, a woman who struggles to survive the war. In fact, Ana is Anne's literary construct, a connection that adds nothing to the book. Much is made of the gender politics inherent in both situations. But Anne's story seems bitter and trivial compared to the ravages of war, and the juxtaposition seems derived from a creative writing class exercise rather than from the heart.