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Death in Sarajevo

Death in Sarajevo is a film about the depths of a hotel in one of those cities that Easyjet doesn’t fly to. I have read this book In Europe three times. First time it was upsetting in the northern bit of Spain, the second time I wanted to share the pain night by night out loud, and for the third time (which at some point has become the fourth time) we dip in and out, dip in to Bucharest 1989 / Paris 1905 / London 1944. It’s actually a perfect book, and it has taught me that at the centre is Sarajevo. So yesterday I Peggy Olsen-ed myself to a film during business hours. I got a mediocre seat because they let the members of culture in first and there are a lot of members of culture at 4pm during a Melbourne film festival. One of the character’s pleas: ‘protect us from uniform thinking’ reminds me of Helen Small saying that declining to describe our lives as unified stories is the only way we can hope to live out our time other than as tragedy although one talks about social fraternity / enmity and the other is about living long.

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