Aida Edemariam

"In the churchyard she was set down while her male relations dug into the ground. A smell rose, of loam and of rain. Yetemegnu was brought to the front. Now she could see the priest who clambered into the shallow grave; see his censer swinging, one corner, another, another, overlaying earth with pious perfume. Hear the final prayers. Watch the bending backs lower their freight into the ground, head to the east, feet to the west, feel, like a blow to her own body, the first handful of soil land upon her mother."

"In the middle of war, Edemariam remembers soldiers so spooked that they fire rounds of machine-gun bullets into the heart of a tornado. Her grandmother shoves her and her cousin into the wardrobe. They sat crouched "among soft white dresses that smelled of incense and woodsmoke and limes"; her grandmother stood outside, sheltering them from all that passed. It is one startling, unforgettable story among an abundance of riches."

"What has stayed constant is a certain chippiness. Canadians feel both superior to and dependent on America, thus resenting it; they often get mistaken for Americans, and are afraid of being culturally subsumed. They feel the rest of the world ignores them, which is a pretty accurate perception. And theyre always trying to define who they are (not American, not British, not boring) and not quite succeeding, being presented with the daunting challenge of a country that covers five-and-a-half time zones, speaks two languages and contains a province that periodically wishes to secede (and if it did so would set the four Atlantic provinces adrift)."