A review by j_m_alexander
The Land of Green Plums, by Herta Müller

5.0

Herta, I believe you ate of the green plums, I believe you had both a praying grandmother and a singing one. I believe you wrote of nail clippers and shoes. I believe you, though this is not an autobiography, nay, it is fiction, and too I have no experience that even resembles this in the least. A loss, a rape of one's heritage, a theft of one's home. Friendships that were both saving grace and condemnation. Ties used to make a noose. Paranoia is a tool not a symptom. There are tales of the dictator's illnesses. There is proof of his health, of his potency. Death comes by the stone, the window, the rope, and the nut, but alas it does not come for him. How many must suffer while he lives on? A hair laid across a suitcase, a hair laid within a letter. Flee, flee or die; be torn to bits by time, by fang, by accusation, by oppression.