Brian Moore: The Mangan Inheritance

We are the same, all of us. We look the same, we write poetry, and we come to a bad end.

Nothing happens. It’s as though I’d ceased to exist.

At 36 I’m nothing.

Like the man in that photograph, he had once been someone, was now no one, and might here, in this small wild country on the edge of Europe, discover who and what he would become.