Asllan sifted through the papers on his desk — university notes, the first few issues of Bota e Re, some newspaper cuttings — and felt his head spinning. He was struck by the clarity of mind of the twenty-something-year-old that had penned the lines he was now reading. Education, intellectuals, masses, democracy, participation, enlightenment, enlightenment, enlightenment.

All shadows now, banished forever to the underworld, after following him innocently to an imaginary place of escape . . . When had it all started to go wrong? he thought. When the fascists invaded the country? When Zog came to power? When Albania became independent? No, Albania was irrelevant. Even in times of peace, its problems had always been the problems of the world, just not very well concealed. When Hitler invaded Austria? When the Spanish Republic was lost? When Wall Street crumbled?

Bota e Re. The New World! There was a time when he’d been proud of the theories he espoused. They could be slipped over reality like a satin nightgown: so simple and elegant. And they predicted everything so confidently. He stumbled on the title of the last article he had published, “The Development of Machinery and the Economic Crisis,” and reread the first page: