The break At twenty-nine I burned everything I had written. Not symbolically or as a gesture meant to dramatize a turning point, but quite literally, with the cold determination of someone who believes he has finally understood the limits of his own nature. Years of fragments,…

Recently, for the umpteenth time, I watched The Wall again — Pink Floyd and Alan Parker. Only this time, unlike before, I was watching it with my son. I tried to warn him in advance not to pay attention to me: basically, the electric jolt I get every time I encounter this…

The sound of the footsteps – dragging and slow, like someone shuffling their heels across the floor – was driving him mad. Every time they came from above, he would change rooms: from the living room to the kitchen, then through the dreadfully creaky glazed door into the small…

Somewhere towards the end of town, in a small cottage surrounded by a spacious garden, lived the red-haired Anne with her mother. Her father, whom she visited from time to time in a distant town, had left the house long ago – so long ago that she could no longer remember it…