Georgi Gospodinov
R440.00
My father was a gardener. Now he is a garden.
A man sits by his father’s bedside and reports radically and gently until a final winter morning.
His father was one of that generation of tragic smokers born right after the World War II in Bulgaria, who clung to the snorkels of their cigarettes. A rebel without a cause, he knew how to fail with heroic self-deprecation.
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Death and the Gardener
The garden he created out of a barren village yard first saved him, then killed him It remains his living legacy: peonies and potatoes, roses and cherry trees – and endless stories.
But without him, his son’s past, with all its afternoons, began to quietly crack. Because the end of our fathers is the end of a world.
| Product Details | Trade paperback |
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