\n \nA collection of essays about loss, grief, and absence, NOT THERE tells stories of ordinary people and the things that have happened to them. Emotions underlying these stories prompt the reader to think of their losses, and their compensations. It's also about how we remember things - unreliably on the whole - and how our idea of the truth may be a very personal one. Szczygiel's wide and international range of interlocutors includes: a Czech poet, a Ukrainian soldier, a Polish accountant, an Albanian painter, an Israeli writer, and the father of a reporter with whom the author travels to Prague for the last time. Written in a beautiful, associative style reminiscent of W. G. Sebald, Szczygiel lets his interlocutors and memories drive the story in unusual directions. With a perfect eye and a voice infused with empathy and wit, Szczygiel explores the human condition with its unavoidable absences. The advice that famous Polish writer, Hanna Krall, gave the author hovers over the book: 'Everything must have its form, its rhythm, Mr Mariusz. Especially absence.' \n \nA collection of essays about loss, grief, and absence, NOT THERE tells stories of ordinary people and the things that have happened to them. Emotions underlying these stories prompt the reader to think of their losses, and their compensations. It''s also about how we remember things - unreliably on the whole - and how our idea of the truth may be a very personal one. Szczygiel''s wide and international range of interlocutors includes: a Czech poet, a Ukrainian soldier, a Polish accountant, an Albanian painter, an Israeli writer, and the father of a reporter with whom the author travels to Prague for the last time. Written in a beautiful, associative style reminiscent of W. G. Sebald, Szczygiel lets his interlocutors and memories drive the story in unusual directions. With a perfect eye and a voice infused with empathy and wit, Szczygiel explores the human condition with its unavoidable absences. The advice that famous Polish writer, Hanna Krall, gave the author hovers over the book: ''Everything must have its form, its rhythm, Mr Mariusz. Especially absence.''
