I'll tell you something banal.We're emotional illiterates.And not only you and I-practically everybody,that's the depressing thing.We're taught everything about the body and about agriculture in Madagascar and about the square root of pi, or whatever the hell it's called,but not a word about the soul.We're abysmally ignorant,about both ourselves and others.There's a lot of loose talk nowadays to the effect that children should be brought up to know all about brotherhood and understanding and coexistence and equality and everything else that's all the rage just now.But it doesn't dawn on anyone that we must first learn something about ourselves and our own feelings.Our own fear and loneliness and anger.We're left without a chance,ignorant and remorseful among the ruins of our ambitions.To make a child aware of it's soul is something almost indecent.You're regarded as a dirty old man.How can you understand other people if you don't know anything about yourself?Now you're yawning,so that's the end of the lecture.

Alexander Ekdahl, is eleven years old, and lives in the small Swedish city of Uppsala. He lives in a large townhouse, divided into four splendid apartments, with his sister, Fanny, his parents, his two uncles and aunts, his cousin, his grandmother, and a number of servants.

"قالت لي: "الشيء الوحيد الممل فيك يا انجمار برجمان هو ولعك بالأشياء الصحيحة والمفيدة. يجب أن تتخلف عن هذا الولع فهو ولعك وهم مشكوك به، وسوف يخلق أمامك عقبات لن تجرؤ على تجاوزها. بجب أن تتصرف كالدكتور فاوست عند توماس مان، وتبحث عن عاهرة مصابة بالسفلس