Priscilla Morris’s Black Butterflies has already enjoyed widespread success before its US publication date. A critically lauded UK novel, Black Butterflies was shortlisted for the Women’s Prize in 2023, and introduced numerous readers to the not-so-distant crisis in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Rather than write a sweeping tale exploring the underlying conflicts and widespread impacts of what is now considered a genocide, Morris chose to narrow her scope to a single woman and her experience, surrounded by a close set of friends as the city they love falls into ruin. I see this as a wise creative choice, letting the tumultuous historical events serve as backdrop for what is ultimately an internal struggle for survival.
Zora is a fifty-five year old painter and art instructor, and in 1992, the beginnings of civil unrest in her native Sarajevo unnerves her husband. He leaves with Zora’s elderly mother for their daughter’s house in England, but Zora chooses to stay put and focus on her art. Weeks turn to months, and the situation in Sarajevo turns more and more dire. Once Bosnia is declared an independent nation, attacks between the Bosnian Serbs, Croats, and Muslims begin to break out. Notably, Morris does not provide much context for this violence, and this serves a twofold purpose: this allows those who are of these cultures and heritages to input their own experiences, and it also centers the confusion of the formerly apolitical Zora. Zora insists numerous times that Sarajevo is a tolerant city, and so many of its marriages are mixed. Indeed, her position as a Serb in this conflict at first puts her in danger, as the majority of Sarajevo’s people are Muslim, but as she flees across the border to Belgrade and eventually finds safety, the historical tide turns and much of the genocide is perpetuated against Muslims by Serbs in later years.
However, the story is not meant to be an all-encompassing portrayal of the conflict. It is separated into seasons spanning only the 1992 siege. We see only what Zora is subject to, her narrow slice of the world only growing thinner as her resources, contact, and sense of safety continues to dwindle. We watch her food supplies reach catastrophic lows, her struggles to remain in contact with her husband, and her burgeoning connections with friends and neighbors amidst the strife. Most poignant is her relationship to art during this time. Zora is forced to abandon her studio and take only the bare minimum of her materials. Though she makes art while housebound, she lives knowing that someday she’ll be able to retrieve the majority of her work. When this option is eliminated, she wallows in despair, stating “Zora, the painter of bridges, is dead.” This dedication to art and purpose anchors the tale in something real, and the title Black Butterflies alludes to the eventual rebirth that must take place, her ability to take ash and detritus and generate new art. We also see this rebirth when Zora uses her skills to teach Una, an eight year old child rapidly losing hope.
By keeping the scope narrow, we also get to know Zora’s friends, ranging from a Muslim bookshop owner harboring a secret; to a young idealistic couple who will not abandon Sarajevo despite their young, vulnerable daughter; to a woman desperately seeking employment for her family and finding a talent for languages. Each of these people create a new version of community, however sparse and temporary, and these tender moments between members of found family carry the novel through its bleakest incidents. Even more compelling is how bleakness and hope can be conveyed through individual images, such as a sumptuous feast tinged with the knowledge that this will be the last of its kind, since all the food has to be eaten since there’s no electricity to keep it frozen. Or Zora, having spoken to her daughter on the phone and dreaming of better circumstances, spending her last currency on a few bulbs of garlic to make a fragrant pigeon stew. Even when Zora falls in love with bookstore owner Mirsad, which occurs after many seasons of mutual suffering, it is a love doomed to fail as the conflict rages on, as it is born out of proximity and trauma and the constant fear of loss. While their connection is ephemeral, Morris creates the impression of everlasting impact, especially in Zora’s mind.
While it is easy for a book of this nature to end either in soul-crushing despair or unrealistic optimism, Morris is savvy in her story craft and chooses neither. This is true to Zora’s character arc compared to her life arc; while the former ends, the latter must continue in new circumstances and with new knowledge of the suffering that came before. It is also true to the Bosnian genocide as a whole, which only just begins in Sarajevo and escalates to a multi-year conflict with an Islamophobic focus. Nevertheless, Black Butterflies is both a historical portrait as well as a character one, with emphasis on the latter. Morris understands her intent, to tell a single story touched by many other characters, but still unmistakably Zora’s, instead of widening her scope and losing tender moments and pinpoint detail in the process.
FICTION
Black Butterflies
by Priscilla Morris
Knopf Publishing
Published August 20th, 2024
