My book room is getting out of control. It’s not a big room at all. There are three bookcases, a desk, and piles and piles of books. Last night, I heard a crash. One of the piles of books had taken a tumble.
I raced in to rescue my beloved books. I wouldn’t want them getting creased, or dog-eared or worse still, torn. I piled them back up, and while I was rearranging them, I spotted this.
Ours are the Streets is Sunjeev Sahota’s first novel. I met him last year at Sheffield’s Off the Shelf Festival. I loved his writing so much I bought both his books. He signed them for me, and I returned home and placed them on one of my many ‘to read’ piles. Between then and now they have both been lost. I knew they were somewhere in the deep, dark, depths of my reading room, but I couldn’t say exactly where.
What a shame to have forgotten about this book. I read the blurb. I read the first page. I decided to make this my Friday read.
“Imtiaz Raina leaves England for the first time ever when he buries his father on family land near Lahore. It is the beginning of a journey that takes him far from his young wife and daughter in Sheffield and deep into the mountains of Kashmir and Afghanistan. He returns a changed man. This is his story.”
My next challenge will be to tidy my reading room and locate Sahota’s second novel.