Ruins, Child - Giada Scodelaro

There are some books that you read and love and want to press into people's hands, and then you get to the end and realise you have absolutely no idea how to talk about them. Ruins, Child by Giada Scodelaro is one of those books. It's been a few days since I finished this and I'm still not really sure what I actually read, but I know that I loved it. If you've read Helen of Nowhere from this year's Booker longlist and got on with it, I think you'll get on with this too. If you hated it, give this one a wide berth. The first time I saw Jodorowsky's The Holy Mountain was at a midnight 35mm screening, the fourth or fifth film of an all-nighter. I was exhausted, half-awake, in that liminal dream-logic state you fall into after too many hours in a cinema seat. The film started and I had no idea what I was looking at. Just this onslaught of images and feeling that my brain wasn't ready to process. I sat there thinking, I don't know what this is, I don't know what I'm watching, but I know I…