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525 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2008
“Events, always so infernally overestimated, are nothing compared to the parentheses around the spaces in between. You do well to bear that in mind, all you people who blindly rush about the world and think you are on the way somewhere – everything is in the pauses. It is also worth noting that expensive whisky tastes significantly better than the cheap kind. Now I am done and have nothing more to add.”Let’s be clear from the start here: don’t pick up this book if you’re looking for a mystery or a murder or a detective story. It’s not crime fiction, and you’ll end up disappointed if that’s what you’re looking for. It’s something else entirely — a quiet story of life slowly wasted in monotony until one day, at nearly sixty, a man opens himself to the possibility of gentle, fragile almost-happiness.
“An hour and a half passed, and it was in the course of those ninety minutes, as Valdemar sat behind the wheel, watching the birds in flight beneath the clear skies of a May morning, with the light playing over the fields and over the veins on his hands, where his blood pumped round with the aid of his trusty old heart, that he realized it was at times like this his soul made a space for itself in the world and set up home there. At exactly these times.”![]()
“What the devil is it you want to wring out of your remaining years here on earth, Ante Valdemar Roos?”
