‘One of the greatest European prose writers’ Philip Roth
In the autumn of 1965, Bohumil Hrabal bought a weekend cottage in the countryside east of Prague. There, until his death, he tended to an ever-growing, unruly community of cats. This is his confessional, tender and shocking meditation on the joys and torments of his life with them; how he became increasingly overwhelmed by the demands of the things he loved, even to the brink of madness.
‘Dark and strange … It begins with warmth and fluffiness, but soon descends into Dostoevskian horror’ Daily Telegraph
‘The Czech master exposed the animal within us’ New Yorker
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