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I couldn't get to sleep. The book lay nearby. A thin object on the divan. So strange. Between two cardboard covers were noises, doors, howls, horses,… - Ismail Kadare
" "I couldn't get to sleep. The book lay nearby. A thin object on the divan. So strange. Between two cardboard covers were noises, doors, howls, horses, people. All side by side, pressed tightly against one another. Boiled down to little black marks. Hair, eyes, voices, nails, legs, knocks on doors, walls, blood, beards, the sound of horseshoes, shouts. All docile, blindly obedient to the little black marks. The letters run in mad haste, now here, now there. The a's, f's, y's, k's all run. They gather together to create a horse or a hailstorm. They run again. Now they create a dagger, a night, a murder. Then streets, slamming doors, silence. Running and running. Never stopping.
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About Ismail Kadare
Ismail Kadare (Albanian pronunciation: [ismaˈil kadaˈɾe], also spelled Ismaïl Kadaré in French; 28 January 1936 – 1 July 2024) was an Albanian novelist, poet, essayist, and playwright. He was a leading literary figure in Albania since the 1960s. He focused on poetry until the publication of his first novel, The General of the Dead Army, which made him a leading literary figure in Albania and famous internationally. In 1996, France made him a foreign associate of the Académie des Sciences Morales et Politiques of France.
Also Known As
Alternative Names:
Ismail Kadaré
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Prince of Asturia
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Kadare
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To tell the truth, this was one of the few cases in which she had not told him just what she was thinking. Usually, she let him know whatever thoughts happened to come to her, and indeed he never took it amiss if she let slip a word that might pain him, because when all was said and done that was the price one paid for sincerity.
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