|About the Book|
The book begins:A European writer, afflicted by a deep malaise resulting from a sequence of personal tragedies caused by the effects of World War Two, keeps a diary. But does the diary ultimately result in the unknown protagonists salvation orMoreThe book begins:A European writer, afflicted by a deep malaise resulting from a sequence of personal tragedies caused by the effects of World War Two, keeps a diary. But does the diary ultimately result in the unknown protagonists salvation or destruction? Both a love story and a tale of revenge – Animus transports the reader into a world of complex relationships between men and women, between oppressors and victims, between parents and children – all of these relationships forged and influenced by the events of the Second World War and played out during the years preceding the Holocaust, up and until the end of the 1960s.These are words. But of course they are! I answer myself. I used to be a writer. What I mean to say, is that a very long time ago I once earned my keep by putting my thoughts down onto paper and arranging them in various sequences, thus forming stories which strangers whom I never met supposedly enjoyed reading. Till this day I still do not know if they read my work for enjoyment or whether because they simply enjoyed suffering. I like to believe they found pleasure in my suffering and so shelled out whatever coins they had in their pockets only to drive another nail deeper into the invisible coffin which surrounds me even till this day. Perhaps you think me obsessed? My name is of no importance to you.Then in a fashion reminiscent of Samuel Beckett or Claude Simon continues:Once upon a time I guess I had a face. I presume it was quite a nice one. Sometimes when I get to thinking about the past, I begin to rummage through a box of photographs that I keep tucked away in a small cupboard situated at the other end of the lounge. During those rare moments, I’ll dip into the confines of that cardboard time-collector and pull out a face of mine which I am positive was once considered to be a nice one by the people I associated with...and yes...even those who just passed me by on the street. I had a nice face. Had? Well I should say it still has a keen look about it and is topped by a nest of wavy hair. Perhaps it really still is nice. I don’t think I should give away more than that just yet. And as to why I have started to write again after all this time? That’s another matter I have no intention of discussing at this moment. I’ll just take a break here before going on to tell you more. I used to be a writer and a damned good one at that!Animus although a period work of psychological fiction powerfully addresses many issues acutely relevant to the political turmoil the world finds itself in today. Can an individual really escape the responsibilities of his generation or his or her genealogical inheritance? And how can just one person rectify the wrongs or injustices of the past?