In his previous novel Afgunst (Envy, 2003) Storm suspected his wife of adultery, and pondered revenge throughout the novel. In Gevoel there are frequent references to that period which, in retrospect, is regarded as a time of personal crisis. A similar crisis presents itself here. The writer’s father has died, and ever since he has been bothered by a ‘presence.’ How should he refer to it? Or rather, how should he get rid of it? The man’s presence imposes itself physically when Storm retreats to his publisher’s house in order to write a novel. To be able to put something on paper, he decides to write about the recent past, just before he took advantage of this hospitality. What follows is the careful recapitulation of a relationship between father and son, in endless insignificant and trivial occurrences and details from Storm’s present and past. This recall intensifies as he becomes increasingly aware of a man observing him from across the street. ‘How many nights can that man keep this up? And what does he want from me? How many nights can I keep this up?’

Feeling implicitly, is about life and death and about creating a work of art as the greatest possible act of love.