At the front of a middle school classroom in Oklahoma, a boy named Khosrou (whom everyone calls 'Daniel') stands, trying to tell a story. His story. But no one believes a word he says. To them he is a dark-skinned, hairy-armed boy with a big butt whose lunch smells funny; who makes things up and talks about poop too much. But Khosrou's stories, stretching back years, and decades, and centuries, are beautiful, and terrifying, from the moment his family fled Iran in the middle of the night with the secret police moments behind them, back to the sad, cement refugee camps of Italy ... and further back to the fields near the river Aras, where rain-soaked flowers bled red like the yolk of sunset burst over everything, and further back still to the Jasmine-scented city of Isfahan. We bounce between a school bus of kids armed with paper clip missiles and spitballs to the heroines and heroes of Khosrou's family's past, who ate pastries that made people weep and cry 'Akh, Tamar!' and touched carpets woven with precious gems. Like Scheherazade in a hostile classroom, Daniel weaves a tale to save his own life: to stake his claim to the truth. And it is (a true story). It is Daniel's.

This extraordinary little book gives us a glimpse into the world of a young boy who has lost his mother and one of his legs in the Iran-Iraq war. We meet the boy in his room, where he recreates the conflict with an imaginary enemy and soldiers, trying to avenge his losses. The boy's father urges him to take off his artificial leg when he is at home, to join his uncles and aunties who have arrived for dinner. But when he does, he finds out that they are all about to go off to meet his new mother. Back in his room he meets an enemy soldier who is also missing a limb. Identifying with this soldier, the boy offers him his artificial leg. And as he does, his mother smiles down on him from her picture on the wall, acknowledging his hurt and giving him comfort.

A heartwarming look at love, loss, and memorable objects through the eyes of a child After her grandfather's death, a young girl wanders through his house. As she tours each room, the objects she discovers stir memories of her grandfather--her baba bozorg. His closet full of clothes reminds her of the mints he kept in his pockets. His favorite teacup conjures thoughts of the fig cookies he would offer her. The curtains in the living room bring up memories of hide-and-seek games and the special relationship that she and her baba bozorg shared, even though they spoke different languages. The Sour Cherry Tree is an authentic look at death and loss centred on the experiences of a child, both strikingly whimsical and matter-of-fact. Drawing on the Iranian-Canadian author's childhood memories, this tender meditation on grief, love, and memory is at once culturally specific and universally relatable.