Although set in post-war France, this novel has the characteristics of a grim fable. Rarely have I turned the pages of a book with such a strong sense of foreboding and dread, yet I read with a kind of reverence. An already powerful story is made more so by what is left for the reader to decide.
When I read the pages of my account thus far, I see that I move around with my words liked tracked game on the run, sprinting, zigzagging, trying to throw the dogs and hunters in hot pursuit off the scent. This jumble contains everything. I am emptying my life into it. Writing is a relief to both my heart and my stomach.