"A dream uninterpreted is like a letter unread."
This sentence, gnomic & frustrating, pregnant with foreboding, teasing on the cusp of meaning, recurs again & again in the novel Leeches, by the Serbian David Albahari. By turns frustrating, oneiric, frightening & blackly, bleakly hilarious, this deadpan trip into the dark of 90s Belgrade reads like
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