This is one of those books that is somehow both terribly depressing and still has a gleam of hope in it, and that's due entirely to the somewhat demented optimism of the author. I'm calling it "demented optimism" because the bravery he shows is so appalling that it's hard to encompass. The book, written in jail and smuggled out on slips of paper supplied by a sympathetic guard, is basically the last testament of the journalist and communist Julius Fuchik, who was captured by the Gestapo after the Germans took over Prague in WW2. Fuchik, who was doing his damnedest to work against the Nazis, was imprisoned for months, tortured, and then executed. Somehow, in the last days before his death, he remained optimistic that the invaders will be defeated and a better world is round the corner for everyone. I'd call it a defense mechanism, except from the sound of it he never gives up a single one of his compatriots, no matter how badly he was hurt.

Perhaps he just believed that, all evidence to the contrary, deep down most people were as brave and loyal as he was. Perhaps that's what keeps him optimistic. I hope he died thinking that. I hope it helped.