I wanted to like this so bad, but it just wasn't for me.

Being a genocide memoir, my expectations were that I'd learn a lot more about the Turkish expulsion of the Armenians and how Turkish denial is still rampant. I wanted a more in-depth analysis of the genocide, more insights from a second generation Armenian who grew up in the United States. 

I think my main grievance with this book is that there was no cohesiveness. The first part of the book was a lot of drudgery, recollections of his childhood that I found somewhat uneventful. I mean at this point, he didn't even know much about his Armenian identity. Sure, he has a few heartwarming moments with his grandmother but that was mostly it.

The second half is when he starts learning more about Armenia and the Turkish government's war crimes. However, it just seemed very textbook, like he was just regurgitating information. Some of the information was very surface-level. He includes his aunts' traumas of the genocide but he didn't add any insights. Isn't that what a memoir is about? Like I said, I wanted more.

But the time I got to the part where he visits Syria to see places where Turkey forced out the Armenians (which is the part I was looking forward to), I was already so disconnected.

Balakian failed to connect with me on an emotional and intellectual level, and I guess I looked to the wrong place to learn more about the Armenian genocide.