Evil Blood

[Cristina Nemerovschi – Sânge satanic, Herg Benet Publishers, 2010]

by Irina Du Plessis

I began reading this book with my somewhat mediocre Romanian, though well enough trained in the arts of philosophy and other social sciences, to be able to grasp the subliminal messages thrust with brutal force in my face and down my throat! I found myself possessed by the main character on the way to work, on the toilet, on the way home, in my dreams. After I long stopped reading the page; after I closed the cover and threw the book into my company-owned laptop backpack, HE remained with me, walking alongside me, with a cigarette between his lips, smirking at my stupid job, at my play-pretend daytime existence. On the toilet HE beckoned me to stop pissing and start snorting some coke off the toilet seat and then return to my cubicle with that robotic smile on my face and fried brain…not from the coke. At home HE threw my plates on the floor and screamed: “Wash that bitch!” and in my dreams HE showed me the true nature of my lust, avarice, gluttony and of course MALICE! I found myself buying gifts for myself and my lover instead of the dumb birthday-girl, drinking buddy, who anyway didn’t mean anything to either of us. I was amused that I had been so infiltrated by HIS presence that I could justify anything by the mere fact that he had done it too…in the story!

It is a story…and it isn’t. It reminded me of all my thoughts that I, myself, had put down on paper many years ago, and yes, even yesterday. It’s not about agreeing or disagreeing with the characters and their way of thinking and their way of life. It is about understanding what they try to show you throughout the book: That life is about more than just the every day banter of silly women, testosterone-driven men and politics. “Evil Blood” as I have begun to translate it, so I can grasp it better within my own internal language, is not about evil or about blood, but about you, and me, and our collective subconscious. It is about our will to live and our desire to die and see others die too, and about learning, without replacing.

This book leaves some chills in its wake, indeed as it is meant to do. However, those chills are not from the weather, or from the horror, but from within.