Time played curious tricks too: expanding, contracting, burrowing back into itself in the form of memories that were more vivid than daily life. Particular moments -like the few minutes I'd spent staring at the stone- expanded till they felt like years, but that would be followed by whole days that drifted by in a haze of shock and grief. I couldn't tell you a single thing that happened on any one of those days. Gradually, though, a routine began to emerge.
The tale of the Trojan war told by a woman whose nearby city was conquered and who became Achilles' slave. A contemporary story overlain over an older tale, sometimes clumsy, almost always honest, the effects of trauma are laid bare in its telling.