Despite their total fantasy, never once touching reality, Wrzesmian’s writings jolted, puzzled and amazed: people never dared to venture past them with just a shrug of the shoulders. Something resided in these short and dense works that riveted the attention and fettered the soul; a powerful suggestion arose from these incisive compendium-like works – written in such a seemingly cold style, as if a reporter’s or a teacher’s – under which pulsated the fervour of a fanatic. For Wrzesmian had believed in what he had been writing; for he had acquired as time went on the firm conviction that any
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