In this world there are books that are very important and good ones but at the same time I'm not sure if it was good for me to read them.

The first one was Slavenka Drakulic's "As If I Am Not There" ("Aivan kuin minua ei olisi") which tells a story about rape-camps that existed in Balkan during war in 1990s. (And as we all know those places still exist around world even today...) The other one was Finnish writer Maria Peura's "On rakkautes ääretön" which tells about incest. Both books are very well written and Peura's book is actually also very beautiful. Language flows very gently. And still. After both books I just wanted to vomit. Or go to sleep and never wake up.

What is it with these books? They are important ones, they are good ones and everybody should defenitely read them but still you just feel so incredible bad afterwards that I'm not sure if it's good for anyone. I know I will remember those books for the rest of my life, but somehow I still hope that I haven't ever read them. I know all these ugly and awful things that happen in this world but through litterature those things come too close. They hurt too much. It's so hard to breath afterwards.

But that's what litterature does too. It's much more than just a pleasure. It can also be a nightmare.