Concentrate

'She picked up and smelled the used tissue.'

I have read Elfride Jelinek even before she received the Nobel. Of course, I had no clue who she was but had seen a wonderful movie rendition of the Pianist.

This is no novel for the queasy or a person with light-hearted liking for style and petty-bourgeois taste. Some of the passages are gross indeed.

But why do I like the story of someone frequenting peep-shows, stalking on couples in the park at night and sleeping in bed with her mum who she fights with regarding her freedom at the age of 40 all the time?

The answer I give is – this pathology is concentrated. This is exactly what art should do. Then I can focus on less-traumatized aspects of my own personality that bear similar traits.

Is Elfride blessed? I think not.