This is a novel about blood. As in family, history, unconditional support. And also as in war, wounds, loss. It might start out as a cooky adventure, but don't be fooled; there's nothing cooky about it — this is how Georgia actually is, deeply fun and deadly serious, generous and proud — and the adventure will unflinchingly dig at one dark place after another. I picked it up at a library on a whim because the author's Georgian name caught my eye. A Georgian novel translated to Swedish? Must be good, I thought. It turned out that it was written in English originally, by a guy whose family fled Georgia back when he was 12. So the story feels closer if your childhood also had zelyonka, pechka, and okroshka, but those things are just one string out of a dozen on whichever instrument Leo Vardiashvili is playing here. I'm looking forward to whatever he writes next.