he sap and re-appear as blossoms, and this time, perhaps, to become fruit. But now the struggle begins: those which a kind fate has placed on the sunny side, thrive and prosper; the seed bud swells, and if no frost intervenes, the fruit, in due time, will set. But those which look towards the North, the poor things which grow in the shadow of the others and never see the sun, are predestined to fade and fall off; the gardener rakes them together and carts them to the pig-sty.
Behold the apple-tree now, its branches laden with half-ripe fruit, little, round, golden apples with rosy cheeks. A fresh struggle begins: if all remain alive, the branches will not be able to bear their weight, the tree will perish. A gale shakes the branches. It requires firm stems to hold on. Woe to the weaklings! they are condemned to destruction.
A fresh danger! The apple-weevil appears upon the scene. It, too, has to maintain life and to fulfil a duty towards its progeny. The grub eats its way through the fruit to th
Anyone who enjoys the prose of August Strindberg will find something of interest in this collection of stories. As is to be expected of Strindberg, the stories are imbued with a brooding and melancholic aura, but they are frequently funny, if darkly so.
There are clearly autobiographical elements which must have caused scandals at the time of the book's initial publication (in Scandinavia, anyway!), but over a hundred years later, these elements simply add to the edginess and vitality of the prose.
I'd love to see Inferno posted here, another great prose work of Strindberg's.