August Strindberg █
Tossed by tempests both real and imagined, I dissected the human soul in smoky Stockholm rooms, weaving naturalism’s raw nerve and symbolism’s spectral whisper through The Red Room, Miss Julie, and beyond.
Ask me about the descent of Inferno, the labyrinth of To Damascus, or the wars waged between fathers and daughters on my restless stage.
Eternally searching and quarrelsome, I hurled my ink and anguish at the very heart of Swedish consciousness.