Pär Lagerkvist is truly a great writer, who managed to convey the essence of his harrowing experience through his writing; and he did so in such a way that, from the very first encounter, the reader finds himself in the presence of an extraordinary spirit. It is curious: the person who advances in thought without allowing it to detach from experience, and who moves forward feeling it, trying to integrate it, wishing to use it only to obtain answers to the questions he considers fundamental, always ends up entering the realm of religion. And then, one of two things happens: either he is the fortunate type who obtains answers, or he is, like Lagerkvist, the type who cannot obtain them, nor rid himself of the questions, and who soon finds himself overcome by an invincible obsession. The latter type seems to produce more prolific writers; and not just writers: it produces men who, through a lifetime of effort, ultimately give meaning to their lives, thereby also giving meaning to the endless anguish that will always be passed down from generation to generation.