
This book is not as good as The Shawl. Part of the reason is that there doesn't seem to be a sense of place. It feels like more of a setting for convince than an actually place.What Ozick seems to be concerned with here, besides creative power, is the effect of a past you can't quite remember. Lars surived the war, but he doesn't know his father and he has no real idea who his father is. He is a refugee, but where does he really belong? It isn't guilt; it's a lack of connection. This might explain the lack of place, but it is a strange lack of place.It's the lack of roots that make this tale compelling.