This is a truly remarkable book. I read it and continued to reread it my mind well after I finished the last page. The sheer hideousness of what is described stops making an impact at times and one actually starts to get numb to grim details, a clear sign that the author has succeeded in moulding the readers perceptions to his own.
Anthony Loyd describes his heroin addiction in parallel with the war in Bosnia. This creates a two-tier description of war: internal and external. Whilst in terms of pages, the addiction is far less prominent in the book, it seems to dwell in the background throughout the carnage, you can't help but get the feeling that without the heroin, the author would not have continued to go back to Bosnia, following weeks of stagnation in London.
As the book progresses, the authors perspective changes not in a tangible or obvious fashion, but subtly, with his compassion starting to emerge and his idealogy crystallising. This is quite cathartic for the reader, without this it would be an empty and desolate tale. There is great strength in Anthony Loyd in the war, and great weakness in peace where his addiction flourishes. This in itself is grounds for an interesting read.
However, perhaps the most rewarding aspect of reading this book is the fine detail of the carnage coupled with the strength in the people that the author encounters. You catch a glimpse of how people maintained their sanity and dignity in the midst of such madness, and for that alone, this is well worth reading.