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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 36 | volume VII | May-June, 2004



                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 36May-June, 2004


p. 1
Vase Mančev

    The famous historian V.M., an eminent expert on the person and time of Alexander III of Macedon, in his last work surprised the Macedonian scientific community and the curious public. That is, he did not publish a scientific study with new facts and information, but a novel entitled “The Death of Alexander”! In a way the book was unusual also because it started with death, which was a new and significant creative ploy, not just in Macedonian literary-artistic practice. It was not a facile reversal of the natural order of the things, for the impression only, but a narrative feat in reverse, ending in the birth. It was accomplished with great artistic talent, skillfully adapted to a temperate scientist’s special way of thinking, one who discovered final knowledge about maybe the most vain, persistent effort of man.
    However, despite the pleasure of having finished the book, V.M. felt empty and exhausted, a man who had nothing more to say about Alexander or himself, like a traveler, who, after many years of effort, suspense, searches, and insomnia, reaches his goal and realizes it is his creative end, that there is nowhere else to go. After reading many books (everything with genuine scientific value that had been written and published in the world concerning Alexander), and after many trips to anywhere the greatest of the great lived, waged war, or just set foot (as one who jealously protects even the most incidental testimonies of him), one blue summer morning, after he had read a flattering critique of his novel in the most respectable newspaper, V.M. finished his coffee, and, as if in a trance, suddenly and without preparation, began another journey, unusual, among other things, because he could not see its urgency, and it was not, as the others, planned. V.M. knew only that he was travelling to his birth place, to his childhood and his own beginnings, and that—ha! ha!—reversed the trip of the dead Alexander from the place of his death to his eternal home, described in the novel.
    He drove slowly, because the road had seen a lot of changes over the years, and it looked like new, at times very unfamiliar. Although he had passed over it many times, had seen all the villages and read their names, now he observed them with surprise and wonder, as if discovering them for the first time. True, in his previous travels he

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