"The beautiful beast of happiness, the black water that showed me a dream of it; my beloved, in the center of which the heavens thunder, the waves roar, and a whirlpool grows and expands in your heart; the darkening dewdrop, the ghost I keep seeing and seeing here, every moment, everywhere; my mirror, with whose secret I keep drowning and drowning, with your thundering heavens, your roaring waves, and your whirlpool, here, in this bed, in this room, in this house, in this street, in this city, emptiness has filled this bed, this room, this house, this street, this city.
And that's what I became.
I have neither a face nor a voice. I'm neither sad nor angry.
I'm in December."
Mesut Kondu creates a unique narrative with "This Beautiful Animal". He skillfully weaves his own style by expressing a poetic atmosphere in prose. Projecting from adulthood to childhood, from the hum of the city to the lap of nature, from prose to poetry, this first book appears before the reader as a lyrical narrative wandering between childhood, hometown, love and family memories