For a writer who pleads that interviews are like reliving her interrogation by Romania's secret police, Herta Müller has a reassuringly robust laugh. When I meet the Nobel laureate in a London hotel, she clutches my arm and whispers: "I am a broken person." Yet as she recounts the psychological terror and surveillance she endured under the communist dictatorship of Nicolae Ceausescu, her resilient mirth contradicts her.
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