In her Preface, she acknowledges, “I began writing these pages after seeing two photographs.” One was an innocuous photograph of a man, Howard Scott, holding a violin, while the other was of an unidentified detainee from Abu Ghraib. Sentilles’s staccato collection presents as a meditation on the pulsing heritage that underscores life and death. My curiosity in tracing such steps is mirrored in the method of Sarah Sentilles’s exquisite bricolage, Draw Your Weapons. ![]() Or, perhaps, more like footprints, grounding the text with the imprints of others, and the interaction betwixt the author and those encountered. They are the seeds to the book’s germination, sprouting, and eventual blooming.
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