This book was wonderful. 5/5! The title comes from a line where the man says he thinks of “small things like these,” referring to everyday suffering: the boy with the alcoholic father, a hungry child drinking the cat’s milk, just poverty, ill chance, etc. And how lucky he is that his family is well, and how he knows their luck could change and it could be them.
Over the course of the book, the “small things” begin to wear on him. When he brings it up, he’s told it’s the way things are. That it can’t change, that there could be consequences, that it’s their lot in life, etc. Eventually he can’t get it out of his head and he does something about it. There’s the overarching moral of “doing the right thing” vs. the complacency of history to turn a blind eye. One person vs. society.
The imagery in this book is gorgeous. The details fully immerse you. It’s truly the little things: butter scraping toast, the broken ornament strings, the work truck. There’s an overwhelming cohesion of bleakness until the reader is saturated in it. You feel Furlough’s existential dread. I really liked the metaphor at the end: the crows had infiltrated the town, cawing and strutting about, and then the night before Christmas, Furlough calls himself “a nocturnal animal on the prowl” and comes across a black cat eating the carcass of a crow. It’s a really elegant tie-back of imagery.
When a story broaches a sensitive topic, how does it make you feel after?
This book changed my perspective. It’s historical fiction and it’s easy to say, “Things have changed.” But have they really? I feel like I notice small things, too. But society gives you these scripts and we cling to them. Reality is harsh and cruel. But we can all do something. We all should do something. It makes a difference.
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