Tonight, I made it to the launch of Kapka Kassabova’s prose memoir, Street Without a Name: Childhood and Misadventures in Bulgaria and was glad I did.
Kapka explained that the street she grew up in was indeed without a name. It was in the suburbs of Sofia and the concrete blocks which housed the workers there were all simply given numbers – her block was known as Number 328. The passage she read was just wonderfully written, full of barbed humour. A book definitely worth checking out. It’s more than just a memoir, more than just a travel book – more a reflection on intense personal and political transformation. This review in the Guardian gives a clear picture of how and why the book works.