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My father used to have Knut Hamsun’s Pan on his bookshelf. The book cover depicted a hunter, his dog and a log cabin. As a child, this was my favorite book: don’t get me wrong, I didn’t read it until I was 15, but I was completely obsessed with the cover painting; specially with the main character. I spent so much time imagining his everyday life, his hut, his unfriendly mood towards people that I developed a strong link with Glahn. Yesterday, when I grabbed the book from my  shelf, the story came back to me like the muffin of Proust. In other words, uninteresting story for everyone but me… got it, Marcel?

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