You can’t always trust book blurbs. The book is essentially the author’s account of a couple of years spent in Cyprus in 1953-54. These were likely the last years when the island could still be called both unified and peaceful. At first, you can clearly sense the author’s condescending attitude toward the locals, even though he calls them his friends. Gradually, this tone fades, giving way to reflections on the difficult political situation on the island, which led to tragic and bloody consequences. Had the British made the right and, most importantly, timely decisions back then, we might not have had the bloody history and forty years of division and intercommunal hatred that still exist on the island today. Sadly, history doesn’t deal with hypotheticals.
As for the writing itself, the book is uneven, sometimes slipping into dull recollections of meetings with friends whose names mean nothing to most readers, then shifting to colorful descriptions of the local lifestyle or detailed analyses of the events of those years.
