This human, who was named Lance, spends his free time pacing about his home chiseling away at creative endeavors. He is unable to exhume much pleasure from the contemporary world, and finds history to be a reliable source for when he is in need of a muse. Also, if you have not read William Faulkner he would recommend you do. Regardless of his interests, he loves to hear what other people think. He sees it as a pleasant retreat from his internal studies. So, if spotted within the bookshelves, feel free to include him in on your search for the words which entice you. He is always game for a good hunt.
March along as Oskar taps out his life atop a tin drum. Pounding away rhythmic diatribes of a refusal to let nature force him out of adolescence, the eternal three-year-old meanders through his mother's conception in a Kashubian potato field, off into Danzig before and after WWII. Hear him reminisce on a moth upon his first exposure to experience outside the womb. See, stream down to a solemn beat, the tears of Poland as an invasion by Germany roars through swinging to "Jimmy the Tiger". This depiction of dilution and confusion during the dilapidating rise and fall of the Third Reich is vivid; conjuring up a sense of pristine confidence in the midst of what should seem inconceivable. Guided by his literary mentors, Rasputin and Goethe, Oskar composes the tale of his people's travail in intoxicating movements which never go pale.