I haven’t devoured a novel in a long time, thirsty and hungry, in one breath – while at the same time enjoying the incredibly refined language, the true art of words. Majda Tometić’s novel The Women Upstairs is a true little masterpiece.

As I finished reading the novel, one single thought kept running through my head, born of its own accord and demanding attention:

– How come we have so many wonderful people, creators and writers in such a small country?

And here we are.

There are great novels that take their toll in boredom – you have to get through some kind of introduction and then the treat follows. That’s part of the story and anyone who likes to read agrees to that.

There are novels that are interesting, but linguistically flat and leave you hungry – like some fast food, with a stripped-down language and poor imagination.

The novel The Women Upstairs takes you into an interesting and dynamic narrative – with a rhythm that is a pleasure in itself, and then caresses you along the way with the music of words and thoughts. Just like music – it has its own rhythm and doesn’t let you stop, and then caresses you with the meanders of melody.

I was a bit in a dilemma – wait, should I read quickly to satisfy the rhythm and excitement of the novel? Or should I slow down and deliberately bask in Majda’s meanders of insight and deep lagoons of beauty?

Of course, that’s a false dilemma. I read it thirstily and drooled once.

And now I bask, enjoy, return and feed on the beauty of language and style.

A wonderful novel for readers, but also for those whose attention has been torn by these bizarre technological revolutions – and are looking for a way back to themselves.

My deepest recommendations. This novel is a gem.