[vc_row row_type=“row“ use_row_as_full_screen_section=“no“ type=“full_width“ angled_section=“no“ text_align=“left“ background_image_as_pattern=“without_pattern“ css_animation=““][vc_column width=“2/3″][vc_column_text]A book is more than the mere sum of pages. It often is like a relic of a “saint writer” even though the one might still live. It is a believing system and a identification miracle: all of a sudden all kind of very different people can feel and identify themselves with the same protagonist.
But of course, in most of our lives we discover some discrepancies between what has happen and what some people told us about that happening. Reading the new book “La Verité sur l’Affaire Harry Quebert” by the gifted young writer Joel Dicker we all are relieved: what we always believed in is true: the bigger the person and her/ his story the bigger such a discrepancy might be.
There might exist a sound account of famous books, paintings and musical compositions which were not created by the authors we believed they were and that’s fine for us the not famous people, because at the end it was us who created those famous artworks.
“Baaaaaa”, comments the sheep, “I was it!”[/vc_column_text][vc_empty_space height=“30px“][social_share_list][/vc_column][vc_column width=“1/3″][/vc_column][/vc_row]