In this autobiographical account of his life (read in Dutch translation) as a writer Andre Brink describes his struggle as an artist in apartheid and conservative South Africa and in more recent years of ongoing violence, corruption, populism. His travels and exile, immigrant life in Paris.
Brink also opens up about his more personal obsessions, maybe sometimes too intimate, depicting himself as the proverbial egotistical artist.
Though I feel some parts (naming names of colleagues, complaining about not getting tickets for the Salzburger Festspiele) could have been shorter, indirectly Brink helps you to rethink contemporary SA history from the inside out. Most moving and honest is the chapter in which he tells about his complex relationship with the poet Ingrid Jonker.
Maybe now more actual than ever because of the changing position of Afrikaans in ANC run SA, as Brink is an Afrikaans writing author.