This is from Eating Animals, Little, Brown 2009, which Publisher's Weekly calls a brilliant memoir-investigation. This story told by the author's grandmother. As he observes, "while this book is the product of an enormous amount of research, and is as objective as any work of jurnalism can be . . ." facts, as important as they are, "don't, on their own, provide meaning--especially when they are so bound to linguistic choices. . . . But place facts in a story, a story of compassion or domination, or maybe both--places them in a story about the world we live in and who we are and who we want to be. . . .
"I was always running, day and night, because the Germans were always right behind me. If you stopped, you died. There was never enough food. I became sicker and sicker from not eating, and I'm not just talking about being skin and bones. I had sores all over my body. It became difficult to move. I wasn't too good to eat from a garbage can. I ate the parts others wouldn't eat. If you helped yourself, you could survive. I took whatever I could find. I ate things I wouldn't tell you about.
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