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Bleakly narrated by one of the more memorably nihilistic characters in modern literature, The Dwarf is a tale of struggles of an Italian medieval city-state as it withers from within. The plot points, war and intrigue, could come from any number of other works set in this period, and move the story briskly along, but the desolate philosophy underlying the action holds a singular fascination and weight. Filled with memorable epigrams for a doomed humanity. I'm not sure when this was written, but published in 1945, it seems apt that its composition seems to have coincided with WWII.