ABSTRACT
As an author of narrative works I am a rather anomalous subject. Indeed, I began writing stories and novels between the ages of eight and fifteen, then I stopped, and only took it up again when I was nearing fifty. Before this explosion of mature impudence, I lived for more than thirty years in a state of presumed reserve. I say ‘presumed’. This requires some explanation. Let us proceed in an ordered way, that is, according to my narrative custom, by taking a step back.
