Closing 'Sabra Zoo' and looking up after reading the last page, the world seems different somehow. The things that seemed to matter before no longer matter. They take on the irrelevant incongruity of the air stewardess' perfume or the sachet containing a moist towelette that Mischa Hiller describes... after having led you through the hell of war torn Beirut. Hell created by human beings for other human beings, for no discernable reason. Hell that seems to have its own unstoppable momentum, impervious to the futile efforts of the indviduals caught in its path. But Hiller takes us through this hell - presumably having lived through it himself - with an elegant detachment that only heightens the horror. Perhaps this detatchment is a prerequisite for the casual courage required for ordinary people to live through wartime - living in suspicion of every parked car, in fear of every creak on the stairs, even of your old school friends; going about your shopping, ignoring the Israeli soldiers who have appeared overnight - crouching, twitchily in doorways. And through the fear and the chaos, the normal urges of life continue - hunger, thirst, friendship, a Donovan record on the turntable, craving for a cigarette, a young man's libido searching for an outlet, love... It's the small details that bring the reality of life in wartime home to you; the cockroaches being shaken from the ceiling as Israeli bombs make the building shudder, men casually shooting at a barrel floating off the beach, a stray dog injured by shrapnel... There were other details of the massacre at Sabra refugee camp which I'm ashamed to say, I didn't even have the courage to read. Mischa Hiller had the courage not only to face these details, but to relive them and write about them. By doing so, Hiller opens our eyes to the everyday reality of horror. The Beirut war is over, but the refugee camps still exist. And the horror still exists, in Palestine, in the DRC, in Sri Lanka, in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Burma, in Zimbabwe, in Darfur... If anything can stop us turning away from such horrors and shrugging 'what can we do?' it is books like this.