On the run, part six

[Bassim]

Would you please take a look at the sixth part of my short story and correct my mistakes.

It took me at least half an hour to find the hotel, which was a pleasant surprise. For 80 German marks per day, I was allocated a large room with a double bed, TV, shower and toilet. It was on the third floor, with the window with an uninspiring view of a large office building in glass and metal, but it was close to the centre. I was ravenously hungry, and as soon as I closed the door, I devoured all cheese and bread within seconds. Then I took a shower and let the warm water splash over my tired body. I felt relaxed. I was a mountaineer who climbed the highest top and now needed just to plant the flag to prove my conquest. My hair was still wet when I went to sleep and did not wake up until late in the morning.

The hotel had buffet breakfast, and I used the opportunity to fill my stomach with boiled eggs, porridge, cheese, fruit, milk and juice. It was a sunny morning and I went outside for a walk. The city left me speechless. Compared to it, my little hometown was a dingy and shabby hole. The main pedestrian street was wide and almost endless. I could not much about architecture, but here different styles competed with each other: antique columns, Roman porticos, Baroque arches and angels, and sterile modern architecture. I gaped at the shop windows bulging and sparkling with exclusive clothes, gold, watches, cameras and other gadgets. I read the price tags and could not believe what I saw. Thousands of German marks for a little woman’s bag, a pair of shoes, a jacket, and hundreds of thousands for a gold watch. I laughed at my own ignorance and naivety. In my family, we were satisfied if all the bills were paid on time, and here lived the people who would be satisfied only if they had thrown money on things they actually did not need.

My promenade ended in a park in front of a large baroque palace, where I sat on the bench and watched people strolling around. They seemed not to lack anything. They were well-dressed, well-shod, well-fed and talked freely without being afraid of secret police or informers. A few children were scampering and playing in front of their beaming parents, and I said to myself, In a few years you’ll be watching your own children playing around and kissing and hugging your wife.
I felt such calm I could not remember I ever felt in my homeland. Just sitting on the bench, watching people walking around, talking, children playing, and couples of lovers holding hands or kissing filled me with elation and joy. Nothing felt impossible. The West was offering its delicious fruit to me, and I only needed to stretch out my hand and pick it. The mist that covered the surrounding hills started to dissipate, and I saw it as another sign that my worries were finally coming to the end.

I could have stayed in the park for hours, but the late October chill was seeping beneath my jacket, and I had to walk to keep myself warm. After an hour or two of my wanderings, I had a terrible hunger. I wanted to eat, but did not know where. I had never before eaten alone in a restaurant and now dreaded the moment when I had to order my meal in a foreign language. I walked by numerous restaurants, but they seemed to be too expensive for my means or crowded. Finally, after searching through the nearby streets, I found a restaurant that seemed to satisfy my criteria. A stubby waiter in his fifties, with bags under his eyes and dark thinning hair combed back, bowed his head slightly, greeted me. and led me to a table. To my relief, there were just two other guests, engrossed in their meals. I looked at the menu and within seconds, panic surged inside me. There were dozens of strange names, some in German, some in French, some in Italian, and they caused my head to spin and my stomach to turn. And then, like a drowning man who suddenly sees a ship coming to his rescue, I saw Wiener schnitzel, and relief and excitement swept over me. I had eaten Wiener schnitzel few times when my father took me to restaurants, and now when I saw it on a menu I knew I could not be wrong. It tasted almost the same as the ones I ate in my hometown. When later the waiter asked me, “Schmeckt’s?” I replied, “Es schmeckt sehr gut.”

On Monday morning, I met a caseworker who looked like a goddess of beauty. She had shoulder-length blond hair and large blue eyes, which made my heart flutter when our eyes met. The room smelled of her delicate perfume, which I breathed in as sacred incense. She was just one or two years older than I was, and I wondered if her boss has given her this important job by design--to use her beauty to extract more information from asylum seeker. There was just a table between us, and I had a desire to hold her hands for a moment and rub her elegant fingers.
I answered all the questions with honesty. She asked me about my childhood, school, family and the reasons why I had fled my homeland. Her demeanour was calm and placid, like a lake in the morning. She told me I had to travel to Karlsruhe where there was a refugee camp. She gave me a piece of paper that entitled me to a free train ride, and did not bother to shake hands with me before I left.
TO BE CONTINUED

 

[Eckaslike]

Hello Bassim,

Would you please take a look at the sixth part of my short story and correct my mistakes.

It took me at least half an hour to find the hotel, which, when I found it, was a pleasant surprise. For 80 [STRIKE]German[/STRIKE] marks per day, I was allocated a large room with a double bed, TV, shower and toilet. It was on the third floor, with [STRIKE]the window with[/STRIKE] an uninspiring view of a large office building [STRIKE]in[/STRIKE] made of glass and metal, but it was close to the city centre. I was ravenously hungry, and as soon as I closed the door, I devoured all the cheese and bread within seconds. Then I took a shower and let the warm water splash over my tired body. I felt relaxed. I was a mountaineer who had climbed the highest [STRIKE]top[/STRIKE] peak and now needed just to plant the flag to prove my conquest. My hair was still wet when I went to sleep and I did not wake up until late in the morning.

The hotel had a buffet breakfast, and I used the opportunity to fill my stomach with boiled eggs, porridge, cheese, fruit, milk and [orange?] juice. It was a sunny morning and I went outside for a walk. The city left me speechless. Compared to it, my little hometown was a dingy and shabby hole. The main pedestrian street was wide and almost endless. I [STRIKE]could not[/STRIKE] [did not know?] much about architecture, but here different styles competed with each other: antique columns, Roman porticos, Baroque arches and angels, and sterile modern [STRIKE]architecture[/STRIKE] designs. I gaped at the shop windows bulging and sparkling with exclusive clothes, gold, watches, cameras and other gadgets. I read the price tags and could not believe what I saw. Thousands of [STRIKE]German[/STRIKE] marks for a little woman’s bag, a pair of shoes, a jacket, and hundreds of thousands for a gold watch. I laughed at my own ignorance and naivety. In my family, we were satisfied if all the bills were paid on time, and here lived [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] people who would only be satisfied [STRIKE]only[/STRIKE] if they had thrown money away on things that they actually did not need.

My [STRIKE]promenade[/STRIKE] short journey of exploration ended in a park in front of a large baroque palace, where I sat on the bench and watched people strolling around. They seemed [STRIKE]not to lack anything[/STRIKE] to want for nothing. They were well-dressed, [STRIKE]well-shod,[/STRIKE] well-fed and well-heeled in both senses of the term, and talked freely without being afraid of secret police or informers. A few children were scampering and playing in front of their beaming parents, and I said to myself, In a few years you’ll be watching your own children playing around and kissing and hugging your wife.
I felt such a calm I could [STRIKE]not[/STRIKE] never remember [STRIKE]I ever[/STRIKE] having felt in my homeland. Just sitting on [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] a bench, watching people walking around, talking, children playing, and couples [STRIKE]of lovers[/STRIKE] holding hands or kissing filled me with such elation[STRIKE] and joy[/STRIKE]. Nothing felt impossible. The West was offering its delicious fruit to me, and I only needed to [STRIKE]stretch[/STRIKE] reach out my hand and pick it. The mist that covered the surrounding hills started to dissipate, and I saw it as another sign that my worries were finally coming to the end.

I could have stayed in the park for hours, but the late October chill was seeping in beneath my jacket, and I had to walk to keep myself warm. After an hour or two of my wanderings, I had developed a terrible hunger. I wanted to eat, but did not know where. I had never [STRIKE]before[/STRIKE] eaten alone in a restaurant and now dreaded the moment when I had to order my meal in a foreign language. I walked by numerous restaurants, but they seemed to be too expensive for my means, or too crowded. Finally, after searching through the nearby streets, I found a restaurant that seemed to satisfy my [STRIKE]criteria[/STRIKE] requirements. A stubby waiter in his fifties, with bags under his eyes and dark thinning hair combed back, bowed his head slightly, greeted me and led me to a table. To my relief, there were just two other [STRIKE]guests[/STRIKE] diners, engrossed in their meals. I looked at the menu and within seconds, panic surged inside me. There were dozens of strange names, some in German, some in French, some in Italian, and they caused my head to spin and my stomach to turn(*see below). And then, like a drowning man who suddenly sees a ship coming to his rescue, I saw Wiener schnitzel, and relief and excitement swept over me. I had eaten Wiener schnitzel a few times when my father took me to restaurants, and now when I saw it on [STRIKE]a[/STRIKE] the menu I knew I could not be wrong. It tasted almost the same as the ones I ate in my hometown. [STRIKE]When later[/STRIKE] Later when the waiter asked me, “Schmeckt’s?” ("How does it taste?) I replied, “Es schmeckt sehr gut.” ("It tastes very good.").

On Monday morning, I met a caseworker who looked like a goddess of beauty. She had shoulder-length blond hair and large blue eyes, which made my heart flutter when our eyes met. The room smelled of her delicate perfume, which I breathed in as if it were sacred incense. She was just one or two years older than I was, and I wondered if her boss has given her this important job by design -- to use her beauty to extract more information from this asylum seeker. There was just a table between us, and I had a desire to hold her hands for a moment and rub her elegant fingers.
I answered all [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] her questions with honesty. She asked me about my childhood, school, family and the reasons why I had fled my homeland. Her demeanour was calm and placid, like a lake in the morning. She told me I had to travel to Karlsruhe where there was a refugee camp. She gave me a piece of paper that entitled me to a free train ride, [STRIKE]and[/STRIKE] but did not bother to shake hands with me before I left.
TO BE CONTINUED

* Do you really mean "stomach to turn", because that implies that you felt like being sick (i.e. vomiting).

Another good piece of writing Bassim. :up: Many of my suggested amendments are not because your originals are wrong, it's just that I feel that these other words flow better.

In addition to the stomach turning question above, I couldn't understand what you meant by "I could not much about architecture.....". As usual, if you explain what you mean by that, then together we can develop a phrase that works.

 

[Bassim]

Eckaslike,
Thank you again for your time, amendments and advice. They are precious to me, like a present, because I can see where I make mistakes and what I should improve. I see that with your amendments my text really flows.
Regarding my sentence: "I could not much about architecture". You have guessed correctly. It should be instead. "I did not know much about architecture."
Regarding the other sentence"...and they caused my head to spin and my stomach to turn," I am wondering if I could use instead "my stomach to churn." I wanted to describe my nervous strain despite being hungry. But I am not sure which verb should be appropriate together with "stomach, or maybe I should not use that phrase at all?
Regarding the sentence, "... and I wondered if her boss has given her this important job by design--to use her beauty to extract more information from asylum seeker." I see that I made mistake, it should be, "from asylum seekers." But I am wondering if need the article the, "from the asylum seekers."?

 

[Eckaslike]

Hello again Bassim,

You're welcome. Thank you for your compliment.

Care has to be used when using phrases referring to the stomach:

Stomach turning = stomach churning = feeling sick, or wanting to vomit. For example: "Did you see that stomach turning/churning horror film last night?".
However, you could of course say that you found a menu "stomach churning", if you found the food absolutely disgusting for any number of reasons.

You have mentioned you are looking for a term to describe nerves or anxiousness. The words "butterflies" and "knots" are used in certain phrases for this.
e.g. "I have butterflies in my stomach, because my exam starts in half an hour".

or "My stomach was in knots because of the decision I had to make".

To me "knots" works better in the context of your story. I find that the word has a stronger, more significant meaning or feeling. "Butterflies" can be used in sentences concerning nerves, however, it can also be used where people are being over-dramatic, or even silly, in the extent of their worry. In my experience "knots" is always used in a more serious manner. I would use it in your sentence in the following way:

"I looked at the menu and within seconds, panic surged inside me. There were dozens of strange names, some in German, some in French, some in Italian, [STRIKE]and they caused my head to spin[/STRIKE] which made my head spin and I felt the knot within my stomach tighten further." (i.e. you were becoming more and more tense).

>>Regarding the sentence, "... and I wondered if her boss has given her this important job by design--to use her beauty to extract more information from asylum seeker." I see that I made mistake, it should be, "from asylum seekers." But I am wondering if need the article the, "from the asylum seekers."?<<

No the definite article should not be used. She is being used by her boss to obtain information from any (non-specific) asylum seekers, rather than a specific one, or specific group, of them. So it should be: "......to use her beauty to extract more information from asylum seekers." as you correctly identified initially. :up:

 

[Bassim]

Eckaslike,
Thank you again for your advice. I have already known the phrase "have butterflies in the stomach," but at the moment of writing I could not remember it. It happen often that first when someone reminds me of the word, I remember that I have already heard it and could have used it, but it was somewhere hidden in my mind. You who speak English from the very first day have almost an inbuilt knowledge about the subtleties of the language, but we who learn it, have also to learn the proper meaning of every word.

 

[Eckaslike]

"... and I wondered if her boss has given her this important job by design--to use her beauty to extract more information from asylum seeker." I see that I made mistake, it should be, "from asylum seekers." But I am wondering if need the article the, "from the asylum seekers."?<<

I have just noticed one final tweak. "...and I wondered if her boss had given her this important job by design.....".

You who speak English from the very first day have almost an inbuilt knowledge about the subtleties of the language, but we who learn it, have also to learn the proper meaning of every word.

It is hard to remember every word or phrase you know, even we first language speakers sometimes struggle to find or remember a word we want, so why wouldn't a learner? Learners can sometimes point out things that we often just take for granted.

Also, when you think that almost all I know of Serbo-Croatian is "Dobro jutro" ("Good morning" for other learner's information), then that shows you how good your English is and how lazy, or terrible in general, we English speakers are at learning other languages! :lol:

 

[Bassim]

I have always liked foreign languages, but I have never thought of writing in English. But some years ago, my inner voice told me I had to write in English. It has become my main goal, which could also be an illusion, but I have to follow that inner call. The problem we Slavic language speakers have with English is that all we do not have articles, but have cases instead. And the proper use of articles often causes problems for the Slavic speakers. But there are some good writers from the Slavic countries who write in English, and with great success. One of them is Aleksandar Hemon who came to the US as a student just before the war in Bosnia, and then became an established writer.

 

[Eckaslike]

I think it is good to have a goal, and why not do it in one of the main world languages. Most writers start off doing it as a hobby, or an interest, until they get a break of some sort. I have just finished reading "The Jerusalem Puzzle", which is the sequel to "The Istanbul Puzzle", by Laurence O'Brien, who started writing in exactly that way in his free time.

You obviously have a good grasp of the use of the articles within English, indicated by the very few corrections to them which were needed in part six of your story above. Where the corrections were made they were usually in more complicated constructions or where usage is more obvious only to first language speakers. The most apparent of these, I think, is where I have noticed that I have missed another small error in this passage highlighted in blue:

"My [STRIKE]promenade [/STRIKE]short journey of exploration ended in a park in front of a large baroque palace, where I sat on the<---[this should be "a"] bench and watched people strolling around. They seemed [STRIKE]not to lack anything[/STRIKE] to want for nothing. They were well-dressed, [STRIKE]well-shod,[/STRIKE] well-fed and well-heeled in both senses of the term, and talked freely without being afraid of secret police or informers. A few children were scampering and playing in front of their beaming parents, and I said to myself, In a few years you’ll be watching your own children playing around and kissing and hugging your wife.
I felt such a calm I could [STRIKE]not[/STRIKE] never remember [STRIKE]I ever[/STRIKE] having felt in my homeland. Just sitting on [STRIKE]the[/STRIKE] a<---[this should be "the"] bench, watching people walking around, talking, children playing, and couples [STRIKE]of lovers[/STRIKE] holding hands or kissing filled me with such elation [STRIKE]and joy[/STRIKE]."

Let me explain what I mean. This is a more subtle use of the articles. When you first introduce something in general you use "a/an", for example "I sat on a bench". However, if you mention that same item not that much later on, then you would start calling it "the bench", because you have already drawn the readers attention to the fact you are sitting on it. You probably know this already, and I do understand that it is very difficult to try to balance everything at once.

Here's an example:
"I caught the bus into town to do some shopping. After walking round the shops for an hour busily buying nothing, I decided to buy a cake from the bakery in the square which the lady carefully placed into a paper bag, and sat on a bench in the morning sunshine to eat it. A pigeon fluttered down from the tall and shady trees nearby onto the paving at my feet. After I'd finished the cake, I noticed that there were a few crumbs left in the paper bag. I threw the crumbs onto ground which the pigeon pecked at as if it were driven by a clockwork motor.

Gradually clouds began to float in from the west and covered the sun with their greyness. Slowly at first, the rain began to fall with increasing intensity, and so I got up from the bench, screwed up the paper bag and threw it into a bin on the edge of the square, as I hurried past on the way back to the bus station for shelter."

As I said, you may already know that, but tightening up on it, if you can, will make your writing even better. :up: :up: :up:

 

[Bassim]

What causes me also a problem is the use of article "the" with the nouns in plural. For example like this: It was a windy day and the trees were swaying. I went into a park and could hear birds singing. (These are the sentences when I am not sure if I should use "the" or not). As for writing, I like to put feelings in my texts so that a reader can experience feelings which would stay with him long after he has finished his reading. I have read most of the novels written by Ian McEwan. There is not doubt that he can write well and has a perfect command of English, but all his novels leave me unmoved. There is something cold inside them, and they appear to be an artificial product without any feelings. I read out his novel, and the next moment I feel completely empty. I have certainly learnt some more words and phrases, but emotionally I am disappointed and ask myself why did he write that novel at all.

 

[Eckaslike]

Whether or not to use "the" with plural nouns like that depends upon your meaning. If you don't use "the" it is the same as using "a/an", you are simply talking about things in general. If you use "the" you are speaking about a specific set of those things. So to use your example:

"It was a windy day and the trees were swaying. I went into a park and could hear birds singing."

You are talking about "the trees", so these are specific trees that you want to mention. If you were talking in general and it didn't matter to you which trees were involved, you would just say "It was a windy day and trees were swaying".

However, you then mention "birds singing". Not using the article "the", implies that either you do not know which birds were signing, or you do not care which birds they were (i.e. it doesn't matter to you whether they were sparrows or thrushes, you just noticed that birds were singing).

I think first language users say and write these forms without often thinking about why they are using "the" or not.

I totally agree. If a book has no soul, or you feel no empathy with any of the characters, then what is the point of it. Which books have you read that you really do like, and also do you prefer any particular genres?

 

[Bassim]

I grew up during socialism in Yugoslavia, and probably my views on literature and arts are affected by that time. I remember when I was young, we saw writers as the intellectuals who had something important to say about the world and society. They were well-known but still they lived a modest life. Some of them were part of the Establishment, but some were against it, although they could not express that openly, but rather subtly through their work. Nobody talked about money or how many books they have sold. I prefer literary fiction. I liked the books by the Japanese writer Yukio Mishima, especially his four novels, "Spring Snow, the first one. I liked Solzhenitsyn's , Cancer Ward, and the German writer Siegfried Lenz, which is not so known in the UK. But I do not have a favourite author. I like a book which gives me another view of the world, which I did not perceive before. I think that the worst is when an author becomes predictable, so you know already after a few pages how his or her novel will end. Such books may be written well, but the question is what they leave behind, after the reader has finished the last sentence.

 

[Eckaslike]

Well said! I'm sure my own tastes have also been, albeit unknowingly, strongly influenced by my experiences and upbringing. I think writers still often have something important to say.

I like all sorts of books as well, and I agree that plots which are formulaic, or predictable for a particular writer, are no fun to read. You probably like more serious books than I do, and there is nothing at all wrong with that, for "variety is the spice of life", as they say. I tend to read murder mysteries, or mysteries, some fantasy novels, and comedies - although as you know comedy and tragedy are closely linked that by reading one you will probably learn something of the nature of the other. But I am happy to read anything good. Whatever it is, for me the plot has to be strong, the characters well crafted and believable, and if there is some message to be gleaned from it as well, whether you agree with it or not, then so much the better.

 

[Bassim]

I am mostly interested in human mind and feelings. I know that plot is important, especially for mysteries and fantasies, but I can enjoy a novel even if there is not a plot at all. I like a writer who dares to experiment, but not for the sake of the experiment but to bring the literature on another level. Unfortunately, today the writers mostly write according to the wishes of the publishers, who are only interested in profit. Here in the Nordic countries, the majority of the writers publish detective stories and mysteries, but you will almost never find a well-known writer who would dare to criticize society in his work. I have asked myself why is that, and than I saw how people have become conformists and conditioned never to rebel. And this is one of the reasons why their novels are bland. They have become dull just like themselves, but they do not see that, because they are part of the Establishment. So as a human being, a writer or an artist one has to chose to be free and faithful to oneself or to become a cog in the wheel. When I was 19 years old, they recommended me to be a member of the Communist Party, but I declined because that was against my ethics. I could not lie to myself. But here I see that many people lie to themselves, because they don't want to risk their position in society. Last year, I have written a short story about a Swedish woman journalist who is on the outside a great supporter of multiculturalism, but whose mask drops when in a neighbouring house a family from Iraq moves in. I enjoy writing such stories that can scratch the nice façade, and show another picture which many do not want to see.

 

[Eckaslike]

Last year, I have written a short story about a Swedish woman journalist who is on the outside a great supporter of multiculturalism, but whose mask drops when in a neighbouring house a family from Iraq moves in.

We would call such people NIMBYs ("Not In My Back Yard"s). Traditionally, it was a term used to mean people who supported planning permission for controversial projects as long as they weren't in their own town, neighbourhood, or next door to them. Now it is used more loosely to include any topic where someone supports something controversial as long as it doesn't affect them adversely. You may have already heard of it. I suppose hypocrite would be the traditional, but less specific, term.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NIMBY

I am mostly interested in human mind and feelings.

Yes, that is a good place to start, and because you are interested in it, rather than just using it as something to research, it means that your writing is, believable and very readable.

Here in the Nordic countries, the majority of the writers publish detective stories and mysteries, but you will almost never find a well-known writer who would dare to criticize society in his work. I have asked myself why is that, and than I saw how people have become conformists and conditioned never to rebel. And this is one of the reasons why their novels are bland. They have become dull just like themselves, but they do not see that, because they are part of the Establishment.

Thankfully, I think in the UK the critics are a bit harsher on novelists, and writers are worried about always trying to come up with something new. However, there is still the bestseller list, which often seems to contain very trashy novels in my opinion. But as a work colleague told me, "I want to be entertained, I don't want to be educated". Personally, I'd rather have both if possible, but it does indicate what many people like to use modern books for: comfort and escapism.

However, I obviously can't see beyond my own perception, and you may think that UK novels are all pretty trashy and conformist.

So as a human being, a writer or an artist one has to chose to be free and faithful to oneself or to become a cog in the wheel. When I was 19 years old, they recommended me to be a member of the Communist Party, but I declined because that was against my ethics. I could not lie to myself. But here I see that many people lie to themselves, because they don't want to risk their position in society.

Agreed. I don't actually support any political party. I try to think for myself, although how successfully that is achieved only others can judge. Many parties say things which seem to make sense, but no one party seems to hold all the answers. All seem to have some good and bad ideas.

I am not a rebel particularly, however, as a teenager I used to listen to Radio Moscow occasionally, not because I believed what was being said, but because I wanted to know what others there might believe, or at least what news their media was feeding them, as opposed to what our own media was feeding the public here. At the time in the early 1980s that probably would have been very much frowned on here. I like to learn from other people's knowledge and experiences and know what others think and feel, not to just always blindly accept what we are told. To me, history shows that that way simply leads to the abyss.

As a direct result of our discussion you have reminded me that I have never read any of Solzhenitsyn's works, although I've always meant to. I have therefore just bought "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich" and "Apricot Jam", so those should keep me occupied for a while! Thank you very much for reminding me.

 

[Bassim]

Than you for your nice text.
Regarding the British novelists, I wished there were more authors who would take a stand on important issues in society, like for example George Orwell did. Probably "1984" is not a great novel, as a work of literature, but it is important, and it has left an impact on millions of people who had an opportunity to imagine a world in which everything was fully controlled by those in power. The UK had experienced wars in the last few decades and many other problems, but I do not see a brave author would dare to attack those who are responsible for the injustices in society. Neither have I seen a great war poem about the last two wars in which the British soldiers were involved. I read also contemporary poetry, which only leaves me disappointed. I asked myself in what kind of world these "great" poets live. Would you believe me that the Russian poet Yevgeny Yevtushenko was so popular that he could fill stadiums with the public who came to hear him because he had something to tell them about society in which their live. Any contemporary British poet would struggle to gather a few hundred people who would be ready to spend an hour or two listening to him.
As for information from different sources, I think that people are simply lazy to search for the truth. Many would rather hear the lies than bother to get to the bottom of the problem. As long as they themselves prosper, they do not want to see what is happening around. Probably when they become ill or experience some kind of a tragedy they start to think about the state of the world. But I think that a great literature demands a brave and honest personality. And above all, one should be honest to oneself.