A Günter Grass novella, the second book of his Danzig trilogy, sitting between The Tin Drum and Dog Years, both of which I've read previously. A more straight-forward read than than the others, and containing less of the fantastic, so probably a good route in to Grass's writing. He's a bit of a
dubious character these days, my mum's friend from Berlin knew him in the 70s and says he was an arsehole, but I don't really care about that — his books are still wonderful.
