Books like this remind me that I have two hopes for what reading fiction will do for me:

1. On the one hand, fiction offers a view into a different world, opening a little window of vacation in the midst of my usual day to day.
2. On the other hand, fiction offers a view into a different world, opening a little window into how life might look and feel in usual day to day of others.

Sing, Unburied, Sing is the latter. I found it on just about every “Best of 2017” list I reviewed in the last month, and it’s justified. It was hard to read, but it did take me someplace. And I’m better for reading it.

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