Two artists. One works in red, the other in black.
Each has his own shadows.
One day they decide to show each other what they’ve painted—face to face, so that the canvases touch. Red covers black; black shows through red. And so a single painting is born for two people. Its name is now one too—shared by two.
This book isn’t about brilliant antiheroes in expensive suits. It isn’t about captivating villains with a carefully constructed philosophy.
It’s about two guys. One is so stunned by war that he no longer asks questions. The other is so sick that he has stopped telling where truth ends and fiction begins.