Is the name of a book I have discovered whilst looking through a closet. It’s a lovely collection of short stories by Hermann Hesse written in 1919. Hesse has been one of my favourite linguists since I learned about him all those years ago.
The main story for which the book is named, invokes images of the pain of discovery. The suffering of a people an entire people, and the loneliness and solitude of death is all wrapped up in those few pages. Breaking tradition because of tragedy, the hero embarks on a quest for beauty, only to find the ugly.
It does not deter him from attaining the knowledge of all the things, the “worse” things that happen on that mad star. Where war is accepted, and no one takes accountability for it.
It was a beautiful story. The others were quick poems, it seems, of the disillusionment of time that captivates the human brain.
Well, that is it for now, Dear Reader. If you ever come across this book, I recommend it to you.