Self’s eyes have been glued to the page ever since Harry started spilling about his time in the British Army, his learning to fly Apaches in Helmand Province, and his killing TERRORISTS! Harry’s ghostwriter has managed a marvelous piece of alchemy — he’s turned the rowdy boy into a touchy-feely type. Every time the anniversary of his mum’s death comes around, Harry gets panic attacks. Harry may not be the intellectual heavyweight his Pa is, but he has something even better: his mum’s ability to wring tears from your eyes.
Here’s a description of a poached rhino in Kruger National Park:
There, I said.
We quickly descended.
Clouds of vultures took flight as we touched the ground.
We jumped out, saw frantic footprints in the dust, shell casings glinting in the sun. Blood everywhere. We followed the trail into the bush and found a huge white rhino. a gaping hole where her horn had been hacked. There were wounds all along her back. Fifteen craters, by my count.
Her six-month-old baby lay beside her, dead.
We pieced together what had happened. Poachers had shot the mother; she and her baby had run. The poachers chased them to this spot. The mother was still able to defend or shield her baby, so the poachers hacked her spine with axes, immobilizing her. While she was still alive, bleeding out, they’d taken her horn.— Spare, p. 257
If tears aren’t spouting from your eyes at the MURDER of the mother rhino and her baby, you have no heart.