That photo says it all. Peter Handke on genocide safari in Srebrenica, mere months after the unspeakable crime. The great white European poet is front and centre, blocking the view of the Cyrillic town sign he presumably can’t read. In the background, we see some people, a car, an industrial plant, houses and hills (and the watermark of the Austrian National Library).
Read MoreTo write, to remember, because one feels a duty to do so can be exhausting, and there's nothing wrong with recognizing that the occupied, the exiled and those in-between can also fail. But even in failure, a way out is possible.
Read MoreEvery few years I find myself in a spell of being unable to read fiction. A lot of the time I think it’s all frivolous, self-indulgent bullshit, anyway, trying at once to create worlds while most often disengaging from the one we live in.
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