This, like the last Lavie Tidhar I read Maror, is a sprawling generational epic set in and obliquely about, Israel. Whilst Maror flitted around a quite pulpy crime milleu which commented on Israeli society, Adama is a much more direct allegory, being the story of a family from immigration into British Palestine, through to the formation of Israel, and touching in generationally on the six days war and events up to the fiftieth anniversary of the state (with a framing device set in 2009). Its a family saga run through with violence and murder, and the slowly shifting morality that takes the idea of doing anything for survival and not really noticing how much is lost along the way.

Adama is a more straightforward novel than Maror and plays well with the generational saga format. Its actually quite a quick, straightforward read, which - after its first couple of parts being relatively modern - jumps back to the 40's and then ploughs through generations propulsively, with births and deaths punctuating the time-skips in the kibbutz it is all set in. But that doesn't mean this is inward-looking, there's a section here a Hollywood movie shoots in Israel, and various characters slowly realise the horrors of their lives and attempt to escape (not always in moral ways).

Adama is a fascinating read, and whilst extremely moral is not a didactic read. Via the story of this family, and in particular Ruth who is the closest the collectivist kibbutz has to a matriarch, we see the price wrought by the decisions made and the violence running through these generations. The forging of the land is taken on without lingering excessively on the Arab inhabitants, but that doesn't mean they are completely ignored, or indeed that the story as it unfolds here doesn't do a great job of explaining how Israel is the way it is, without even lingering on the central injustices of its formation. It successfully shows a family partially trapped by their history and politics, and a relentless reliance of violence, whilst also trying to be ordinary. It wasn't really what I wanted to read right now, but I am extremely glad I did.

Entirely engrossing, it gripped me from start to finish with propulsive energy. A worthy follow up to Maror.

I opened this with some trepidation, as I had found Lavie Tidhar’s previous book Maror gratuitously violent, and feared that this one would be equally so. Fortunately the violence wasn’t so extreme this time around although it’s still there, not least in the torture scenes, so I question whether this violence is somehow inextricably linked with Israel’s history, as demonstrated by the tragic events occurring there right now (Dec 2023 at time of writing). Be that as it may, for me this was a much more enjoyable though still searing account of four generations of a family in the new state of Israel, wide-ranging in time, place and theme. It all starts with Ruth who escapes Hungary just before the arrival of the Nazis and sets out to make a new life in the new country. Totally committed to Kibbutz life, values and ideals, she finds it hard to adjust to later generations’ unwillingness to live life communally. I particularly enjoyed the depiction of Kibbutz life and its evolution, and now understand much more about it. The underbelly of Israeli life is tackled head on as it was in Maror, and it’s a dark portrait indeed. The history of Israel from the British Occupation, to the country’s founding, to its current occupation of Palestine is well and accurately portrayed. This is not only a well-written and absorbing family saga, but a timely one which gave me an insight into Israeli thinking. The struggle for survival continues.

I know I'm quite late to the party but this is the right moment to read this book. Because it can help to understand what is happening in a complex and well plotted story.
Lavie Tidhar is a master storyteller and this is an excellent novel
Highly recommended.
Many thanks to the publisher for this ARC, all opinions are mine

I finished reading this book at the same time Israel declares war againts Hamas. This is a historical fiction book that explains some of the history behind Israel in a compelling way. Straight to the point, without long descriptions, Tidhar is able to depict a huge part of the country history in less than 500 pages by using a huge lot of interesting chracters that takes us through some of the key events in Israel since WWII. Excellent.

A heart-breaking yet almost austere narration of a family saga that takes in the Holocaust, the immigration of Jews from post-war Europe, and their struggles to create a new homeland in what becomes Israel, Adama is truly one of the best books I have read this year. No surprise, really, as its predecessor, Maror, was excellent, but in this one Tidhar hits us where we all live - in our sense of family and place.
The story of the British occupation of what was then Palestine, and the struggles of Jewish settlers to establish themselves, is not too often told; the formation of kibbutzim, the labour required, and the political ideologies that underpinned them, not too common either, but Tidhar - as usual - elevates his tale from one of cultural and historical interest by personifying the emerging state in the story of Ruth, who sacrifices everything for what she thinks will be a better future for her children.
It is human nature to want better for our children, and natural to work hard and do without so that they may have choices we did not - although, of course, there may be neither recompense nor gratitude for these sacrifices. So it is with Ruth, in this achingly poignant study of family, love, and bonds. Tidhar balances the nostalgia of an old tea-box full of family momentoes with his completely unsentimental writing style in a manner that will ensure this story stays with the reader long after it is finished.
One could write a full thesis on the themes, emotions, structure (and the input the author's own experiences growing up on a kibbutz had) of Adama, and I'm sure many will, but suffice it to say that this definitely one of the books of the year.
My thanks to Netgalley and Head of Zeus for the ARC.

Until I read other reviews of the book, I didn’t realise Adama was the second in a trilogy, the follow-up to Maror. However, I don’t think it’s essential to have read the earlier book although it would probably be helpful to fill in any gaps in your knowledge about the foundation of the state of Israel. Big gaps, in my case.

Having read the chapter that opens part one of the book, you might be forgiven for thinking – as I did – that Adama was a thriller not a work of historical fiction. In fact, you’d be partially right because throughout the book there is intrigue, betrayal and drama as well as a moving story charting the experiences of generations of one family. It made it a page-turner for me.

Following the death of her mother, Hanna finds a box containing old photographs and documents that sees her embark on a search for information about Esther’s past and her family history. It also provides a distraction from the recent breakdown of a relationship. Thereafter the book moves back and forth over the decades recounting events in the life of Ruth, her family, her lovers and other members of her kibbutz with the full picture only gradually emerging.

At times, Ruth’s utter commitment to preserving the kibbutz seems to border on obsession, especially as it becomes clear what she has been prepared to do to in order to protect it. She’s courageous but also single-minded, even ruthless. For her, the end justifies the means. At one point Ruth says, ‘I gave up everything for this land… I sacrificed’. But others’ sacrifice is giving up their lives. Their stories are dramatic, powerful and sometimes harrowing.

The book depicts Israel’s often violent struggle for survival including the brutality of British occupation during which refugees attempting to cross to Palestine from Europe in small boats were intercepted and sent to camps in Cyprus. (Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.)

I had a vague concept of what a kibbutz was but had no idea of the extent of their collective nature when they were first established. ‘They believed in sharing – land, crops, property and love. The kibbutz was going to be a new way of life… No more jealousy and no more ownership of things, but somewhere where things could be finally different.’ One example of that difference is that children lived separately from their parents (who had no financial responsibility for them) and were raised and educated communally. The book explores the conflict between the natural instincts of motherhood and commitment to the principles of the kibbutz. Ruth’s sister, Shosana, provides a counterpoint to Ruth’s unwavering beliefs. Initially a place of refuge for Shosana after her experiences during the Second World War, the kibbutz becomes a source of savagery.

By the end of the book, Hanna may not have learned everything she hoped but author leaves the reader with a striking image of the characters they have come to know.

The publisher’s description of Adama as a ‘sweeping historical epic’ is spot on. At the moment, it looks a dead cert to be among my books of the year and it has made me keen to explore the author’s backlist, including reading Maror.

Lavie Tidhar is both incredibly prolific and remarkably eclectic. In amongst all of his science fiction, fantasy and myth-busting output, Tidhar has also managed to get behind the mythology of the State of Israel. 2022’s Maror was look at Israel between the late 1970s and early 2000s told through the lens of its violent, drug-fuelled underbelly. Tidhar’s latest book, Adama crosses over with Maror but goes further back in time, serving as a kind of origin story for Maror and for the country itself. Adama, while still often dark and violent is more nuanced as it deals with the strivers and survivors who came to Israel before and after World War 2 and both the vision and the trauma that drove the establishment and early years of the State of Israel.
Adama opens in Florida in 2009. Hannah has come to go through the effects of her mother Esther who has died from cancer. Those effects include a box with mementoes which will link to the history which follows. The narrative quickly drops back twenty years to 1989 and to Lior, who returns to Kibbutz Trashim, drawn by the suicide of his old friend Danny.There, where he reconnects with his formidable grandmother Ruth. Lior, Danny and Esther grew up together on the kibbutz, children who were raised collectively and over the course of the novel, Tidhar will reflect on the psychological impacts on that form of childrearing. But Lior is himself involved in organised crime (here is the crossover with Maror) and knows that something is not right leading to an explosive confrontation with his former friends.
The narrative then goes back further, to the 1940s and will progress chronologically until it loops back around to these two framing stories. In 1946, Ruth is a young woman, living a hand to mouth, hardscrabble life in a small tent settlement called Kibbutz Trashim, built close to an Arab village and full of young people, toughened and determined. Ruth and her comrades are running guns to help fight the British and trying to help those arriving illegally into Israel on boats from Europe. Ruth left Europe before the war but knows that her sister and parents, who stayed, were betrayed and were sent to the concentration camps and she is also seeking revenge. As the story moves forward, Ruth’s sister Shosh, who survives the camps, finds her way to Israel, but also finds that she does not have the drive that Ruth has.
Tidhar then takes readers through the next forty years of Israeli history through the lens of these characters, the next generation and the generation after that. In doing so he will explore key events such as the purging of Arab villages in the leadup to the War of Independence, the aftermath of the Six Day War in 1967 and the impact of the Yom Kippur War in 1973.
As he has also shown in his anti-matter of Britain books (By Force Alone and The Hood) Tidhar excels at getting behind mythology. And there is plenty of mythology surrounding the creation of the State of Israel. In Adama, Tidhar dives into the messiness of this history. He ranges across a number of characters – idealists, dreamers, criminals, those who are dedicated to the cause of the land and those who are repelled by it. All of this made even messier by the personal relationships and community-based living that the kibbutz tried to epitomise but by the 1980s is already showing significant strain.
Maror was bleak and could be nihilistic. By taking readers further back in time, Tidhar is able to give some context for those characters and the actions that they took. In no way is he trying to excuse anything that happened but he is trying to understand the past through these stories to explore the factors that gave rise to State of Israel as he now perceives it. While Maror was excoriating, Adama is more elegiac. It is a history of a land that emerged from bloody conflict, that has an ideological underpinning that its people could never live up to and of a community that emerged from trauma that echoes through the generations.

Adama (earth) is billed as the second in a trilogy. There are tangential links to the first, Maror (Danny is Avi’s brother, the memorable Cohen makes a brief appearance), but I think you could easily read and enjoy it as a standalone. It’s a family story but set against historical events: the migration of Jews from Europe, the holocaust, the birth of the state of Israel, occupation and war. It makes some kind of sense of what happened in those fevered years and provides a reminder that life goes on amidst the upheavals and horrors of war. And good grief we (the Brits) were brutal, from sending refugees attempting to cross to Palestine from Europe on small boats (ring any bells?) to camps in Cyprus, to Operation Agatha.
The bulk of the story is set on a kibbutz some way north of Tel Aviv. The novel form is a great way to get a window on kibbutz life, its benefits and drawbacks. It doesn’t suit everyone, and leaving isn’t easy. To Lior, returning for a funeral, it is at once home and yet he feels like a stranger there. Pay attention to his grandmother, Ruth. You’d be mistaken for thinking age has withered her; she’s still steely as hell.
Adama is told in parts relating to different timelines. The relationships between the characters are slowly revealed and it starts to become clear how the first one we meet, Hanna, comes to be an American. I re-read some of it to get the timeline and relationships clear in my head. It was then I noticed the repeated motifs and call-backs that show how well-constructed Lavie Tidhar’s work is. There’s loads more going on than I have mentioned here, and probably plenty more that I have missed but don’t let that worry you – Adama is simply a cracking read.

I found this to be a moving, engaging yet brutal story. From Ruth as a young person losing her parents and sibling to the Nazis, moving to Israel and becoming a key member of a kibbutz . What she did to survive and what she did to forward the role of the kibbutz was both fascinating and fairly horrific. A fascinating glimpse into history and illuminating the decline of the idealistic communal way of life A terrific read

I was delighted to be able to read and review Adama after enjoying Maror, the first book in this series of the creation and building of a nation, 20th century Israel, and this book did not disappoint. Here we find Ruth, a pioneer and the matriarch of a family whose roots are in the kibbutz she helped to found before WW2. The story spans her life up until the present day. The book reads like a series of short stories all linking to Ruth and covers the sacrifices people make in following their ideals as well as how they also follow their chosen paths to happiness. As with Maror, Lavie Tidhar doesn't shie away from the difficult issues that continue to mark the lives of everyday Israelis. I can't wait for the final book in the trilogy. Highly recommended read. Many thanks to NetGalley and Head of Zeus.

I'm grateful to the publisher for sending me an advance copy of Adama to consider for review.

Following last year's Maror, and with some of the same characters and events referenced, Adama is another part of Lavie Tidhar's examination of the history of modern Israel. I'm impressed by just how productive Tidhar is - he's also exploring the mythological roots of England, having worked through Arthurian mythology and Robin Hood. Israel/ Palestine, it might be argued, has less mythology and more history to it, and certainly Maror/ Adama aren't fantastical in the way that By Force Alone and The Hood are, but I'd argue that decomposing mythology is EXACTLY what he is about here too. And he does it very effectively.

Adama is loosely focussed on Kibbutz Trashim, and we follow its history through the lives of several generations of members, beginning with Ruth in the years just before the founding of Israel and witnessing the country's birth in war and its development, alongside that of the community. The story is bookended by the death of Ruth's daughter, Esther, in Florida in the early 2000s and the discovery of heirlooms - photographs, trinkets - by her daughter Hanna. Hanna has no idea of their context or identity, although we will learn more in the course of the book. I did find this discovery of bits of a mother's life a powerful theme - my own mother died a few months ago and I so relate to this experience, this realisation that there was much one didn't know, and that now it's too late.

Ruth was, it becomes clear, an idealist, who travelled to Palestine to be part of the founding of her nation. And if that founding requires sacrifice, or casualties, whether Ruth's comrades, the kibbutz's Arab neighbours, or British soldiers, well. Ruth is later joined by her sister Shosh, who survived the Holocaust: for Shosh, Trashim - and Israel - are less a yearned for destination than a necessary (and perhaps temporary) refuge. This tension between those who belong - or want to belong - and those who want more, is a recurring theme, one that also runs through the kibbutz's generations of children. It's a sad theme, and time and again people are lost - they die, they vanish, they just leave. There's a stripping away across the generations with the communal life of the kibbutz repelling some and the hard-won community itself mutating into something its founders might not recognise.

Adama is not a book for the squeamish. It features the removal or killing of the kibbutz's Arab neighbours. It features war, with its attendant atrocities. In the later years, crime gangs feature: and like Maror, there's an issue about where they end, and where organs of the State begin. And, of course, it features scenes from and immediately after the Holocaust itself. Indeed another recurring motif is the camp - whether the Nazi extermination camps, the camps which housed displaced persons after the war, those established by the British for the Jews trying to reach Palestine, or - perhaps - later, Trashim itself and by extension, the entire country.

The scenes featuring refugees on leaky boats trying to cross the Mediterranean can't fail, I think, to evoke those now fleeing from South to North in the same waters - as can those where we see the Jewish inmates of the British camps in Palestine being deported to Cyprus. How little the world seems to have learned.

But the book isn't at all despairing. Told in fifteen parts, some of them fairly lengthy, self-contained (but linked) stories, as with the Hollywood film made on location in the fifties, often referenced after; some of them little vignettes - a group of children running away to find the sea, two mothers chatting and smoking outside the communal nursery while they wait to see their kids - Adama is like a tapestry, each new piece adding something to all the rest, giving us a gallery of believable characters and a host of storylines, some fully explored, some merely hinted at. And yes, as often in Tidhar's writing there are overtones in some of this of noir and references to pulp fiction including to stories of a 1940s Jewish detective.

For a book which is not in any sense a doorstop, Tidhar manages to pack Adama with so much. It teems with history, with life, with joy and sorrow, music and love, revenge, heartbreak, above all perhaps with that inevitable, universal process of losing by which what was dear and familiar to one generation becomes marginal to the second and incomprehensible to the third.

Overall an absorbing, thought-provoking book.

I'm currently obsessed with Lavie Tidhar. He has such a range of styles and moods as an author. This book is epic, nation-building historical fiction. It is unremitting and bleak, a book about sacrifice and community. Like the equally dark and epic Maror this does not stick to a linear narrative structure. It also has (at least) six main characters, and at one point it felt more like a series of linked novellas than a cohesive book. But it all comes together in the end, an ending that broke my heart, and I'm not sure if it put it back together afterwards.

Thanks to NetGalley and Head of Zeus publishing for the eARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.

This is the story of Ruth, who leaves Hungary in the second world war and goes to live on a kibbutz in Israel. It covers her family, both in Hungary and Israel, and their lives, and also the history of the formation of Israel, and the changes to the kibbutz communities. It was a hard and sad life for everybody with a lot of challenges, and the book depicts this well. An interesting cast of characters, and a well-written story. Recommended.

After the superb Maror, which took us into the Israeli criminal underworld in particularly bloody and brutal fashion, Lavie Tidhar returns with a new book. Adama. This time, through the prism of a kibbutz family, Tahir exposes the faultlines that run through Israeli society, in a cross generational epic which again contains multititudes. This is another expansive epic, and another triumph. If you loved Maror, this will be right up your street. If you've yet to start with Tahir, this is a fine a place as any. Though there are minor crossovers and textual links between this and Maror, you do not have to have read that book first. And if you start here, you will want to read Maror afterwards anyway! Fabulous stuff.

Thank you to Netgalley and the publishers for the ARC.

“You didn’t say I love you. You could say you loved your country, you could say you loved your country, you could say you loved this land, this fucking Adam that people bled on, died for, killed for, just so you could have a home, a land to call your own. You could love this land. A girl could say she loved you, if you were going to war and you’d already knocked her up. Most of the songs were about that. But you couldn’t say I love you to the old woman sitting with a vacant stare in the armchair beside you, slowly forgetting your name”.

TW: violence, death, rape, racism.

Adama is everything. I was already aware of Lavie Tidhar’s writing and anthology curation skills but this book has cemented him as a firm fave.

This quite frankly harrowing tale shares the story of the creation of the state of Israel from the Jewish perspective, following the Jewish citizens seeking asylum in the disputed land during the time of the Holocaust and as they attempted to overthrow the British occupation. The retelling of the mass asylum efforts of Jewish people is laced with the realities faced - for the few, they were welcomed into the communal living kibbutzes where they took on back-breaking work to prepare the land. But for the majority, as their boats landed onto the shore, they fell victim to their surroundings - either farmed into refugee camps ruled by the British who would eventually send them back to Europe, or ‘saved’ by pimps who would put them to work with little chance to escape. Tidhar paints a realistic picture though, addressing how those who settled into life in the kibbutz would take on responsibility for both their community and the newly-forming state as a whole, putting themselves and their own needs last. I have never in my life seen this side of events discussed and it was everything.

“Shosh too, wanted a baby. It didn’t even matter who it was from. Just to give new life, for all the life that was lost. Just to say to the Nazis, you could not kill us all, and now we’re here, and we are still alive”.

Tidhar takes no sides on the politically charged topic, presenting the strengths and weaknesses of both sides arguments, ensuring the reader knows that no one was a winner during these years. The protagonist, Ruth, is the perfect example of someone who went above and beyond in sacrificing herself and her family for the ‘greater good’, only to be left with something that doesn’t reflect her efforts.

“If there was one thing she had learned back in the camp is that you had to survive by any means. Rules? Law? Those were polite fictions, fairytales she might have believed in once. Not anymore."

The tale masterfully flits between present day and the past to hit three generations of Jewish settlers trading one horror for another, revealing at the most opportune moments how each character is connected and with some of the messiest ties possible. Characters are so fully fleshed out that I flip-flopped consistently on where I stood with them - did I like them? Did I hate them? Did I understand that they were truly just the product of their circumstance and became nothing more than pawns in a reality much bigger than them? All three are true. Ultimately, have your tissues ready as the reader because the intergenerational trauma runs thick throughout and the levels of deceit and loss are almost impalpable. I have seen first hand the level of nationalism required to build a state on the blood of your loved ones and the toll that takes on the foundations of everything you stand for.

“You must speak Hebrew now, Ruth wanted to telll them. You speak the old language of exile, when you must learn the new tongue of rebirth. But her heart wasn’t in it, not then, and she did not know where these women would end up and how their lives would be, only that they would not be easy”.

Thank you SO much Head of Zeus for the Proof - as a Jewish woman with personal ties to this history (for better or for worse), this was the first novel tied to the Holocaust I both wanted to read and actually learnt from. I recommend this to all. I’m now eagerly awaiting passing this onto my family members to see if they cry as much as I did.

Having really enjoyed Maror last year I was excited to read the new novel Adana fro. Lavie Tidhar. I was not disappointed. Yet again this is an exceptionally well researched historical book about Israel. I learnt so much information about this intriguing and complicated history. Highly recommended.

This is the second literary fiction book from Lavie Tidhar that I read. Similarly to the exceptionally good Maror, Adama also tells the story of Israel, but now from a different perspective. The book follows the story of a family, and their matriarch Ruth. The story spans ~60 years, starting before the second world war, when Ruth decides to leave her family and emigrate to Palestine, helping establish what will eventually become the state of Israel, and ending with the mid-90s, at the end of Ruth's life. We meet Ruth's family, friends, enemies, children, and grandchildren. What unites all is their connection to Ruth, and the choices they make in light of her dedication to the land of Israel ("Adama" means ground/land in Hebrew), and the kibbutz she has helped establish in the 30s. The episodes can probably be split into two sets - stories of sacrifice (and sometimes extreme sacrifice) by the protagonists in support of their ideals, and stories of people who chose to turn their backs on these ideals and pursue their own paths to happiness.

This latter point is, in my view, the main axis of the entire narrative (and the meta-narrative). The question is what can and should one sacrifice for the idea of a group of people having their own land (whether state, or kibbutz). While this question could have been dealt with simplistically, showing the cruelty and horror such abject dedication to an idea can give rise to, the author, instead, shows also the psychological and social underpinnings that, for some, necessitate this dedication. In this way, the book is perhaps among the best and nuanced assessments of the main tension in Israeli society and politics, and explains, through a microcosm of one kibbutz, what drives some of the most horrific, as well as some of the most heroic, acts by Israel then and today.

Beyond the topic and relevance of the ideas in the book, it is also exceptionally well written, by the ever talented Tidhar. The pacing is intense and never lets go. Many of the episodes are written like short thrillers, that have their own mini narrative arcs, creating a perpetual need to read more and more. The characters are also vivid, fragile, multi dimensional, and rich in their emotional depth. Even Ruth comes across so real that you don't have a choice but understand her and end up rooting for her.

Finally, as with Maror, the book is incredibly well researched, and shows an author trying to portray the reality of what he is describing, while also making it accessible and palatable for contemporary readers. This latter point also differentiates it, in my view, from Maror. While I loved Maror, I found it to be perhaps difficult to fully comprehend for those not intimately familiar with the history of the Israel's criminal underbelly. Unlike Maror, Adama, in my view, requires no prior knowledge (other than the basics of Israel's statehood), and can be enjoyed very broadly. As with Maror, I also liked the fact that, after all, the author does not take an overt political stance, but rather tries to describe the complexities of the situation, showing what drives the various behaviours, and how they justify these for themselves. It's bold, and insightful.

Overall, I highly recommend it to anyone interested in Israel, especially these days (2023), with a lot of the issues that are embedded in this book overtly present in day to day political discourse surrounding the future of Israeli democracy. The author also keeps moving from strength to strength.

My thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for providing me with an early copy of this book in return for an honest review.

Exciting developments ahead as I find myself caught up in a captivating literary journey! I am thrilled to share that @headofzeus has extended an invitation for me to partake in a remarkable book tour.

It's important to note that both books touch on challenging subjects, necessitating a content warning for sensitive topics such as Death, Terrorism, Sex Work, Anti-Semitism, Racism, and Crime.

"How do you build a nation?" This question resonates deeply as it calls for an intricate interplay of statesmen, soldiers, farmers, factory workers, and intriguingly, even thieves, prostitutes, and policemen. Such nation-building entails sacrifices that one man, Cohen, fully comprehends—his love for the country makes him a reasonable man in unreasonable times.

The narrative takes us on a gripping journey through car bombings in Tel Aviv, diamond robberies in Haifa, civil wars in Lebanon, rebel fighters in the Colombian jungle, and a double murder in Los Angeles. The intriguing connections between these seemingly disparate events remain a secret only Cohen holds.

These two books are part of an enthralling trilogy, yet they can also stand alone, each chronicling the birth and growth of the State of Israel. The first book, Maror, already acclaimed as a Guardian and Economist Book of the Year, paved the way for the eagerly awaited second instalment, Adama.

Prepare to be immersed in a sweeping historical epic, following the lives of four generations of a single family as they fight to preserve their land and their bonds.

The book cover is eye-catching and appealing and would spark my interest if in a bookshop. Thank you to the author, publisher and Netgalley for this ARC.

Maror was one of my favourite books of last year so I'm not surprised at all that I loved Adama. Lavie Tidhar is something of a genius: he takes handfuls of threads, seemingly unconnected, and weaves them into a rich, colourful, textured tapestry.

I'm not normally one for historical fiction but the approach of Adama to the Jewish history of the twentieth century is very much not the well-trodden one. There has been a lot written about World War Two and the Holocaust (for good reason) but very little of what came after. I knew next to nothing about the creation of the State of Israel and the very troubled times that came with it, but Tidhar clearly knows his history well and makes it vivid. By connecting it to the (almost) present day through the novel's various timelines, it's impossible for readers not to feel the repercussions as they still resound.

The prose is distinct -- punchy and razor-sharp, withholding nothing for sentimentality's sake -- and although pretty much every character engages in some kind of awful behaviour (albeit to varying degrees and with varying motivations), they're painted so richly that you can't help but to root for them. Where Maror was largely a novel about the dirty work done by a people for the greater good, Adama relates the great individual sacrifices we must make (or tell ourselves we must make) to secure our future.

I've recommended Maror to a lot of friends; I'll definitely be recommending Adama too.