This book is not to put all hands, because it will probably scare a lot of readers. With his usual virtuosity, Svetlana Alexievitch his book consists of a series of stories of "survivors" of Chernobyl, all those people who tell their stories of the disaster. A wide range of people, from simple peasant corner, encased apparatchik responsibilities when the reactor exploded, speak and relate. It's very scary, to read these words, discover the perfect ignorance of the people at the time, to see how the authorities tried to stem the inevitable cataclysm. It is both very moving time to read the power of the sense of belonging to a homeland, a country that feeling rooted in the veins of these people. Fathers explain how cancer killed their children with a resignation verging holiness, firefighters or soldiers still alive tell how they tried to cover the sand reactor, parachuted onto the roof a few hours after the explosion. The good people say they found so pretty, this unreal brightness in the sky and they all went out on the balcony to see the night of the explosion, grandmothers shrug, saying that they have nowhere to go and that their land is here. After all, why they say it poisonous, this land, whereas apple never flourished so well that the seasons of the disaster? What is terrifying, in this little book is that at any time we said, looking up pages "No, come on, I move on, this novel too terrible." The problem is that this is not a novel.
