De Nederlandse schrijfster Marion Pauw werd geboren in Tasmanië op 19 augustus 1973. Zij emigreerde op haar zesde naar Nederland. Ze werkte onder meer als freelance journaliste voor het dagblad Amigoe (Curaçao) en als columniste voor Flair. Ze is copywriter voor reclamebureaus. Voor haar boek “Daglicht” ontving zij de Gouden Strop 2009. Er werden meer dan 100.000 exemplaren van verkocht. In 2013 verscheen de Daglicht-verfilming in de bioscoop. Voor de in 2010 uitgezonden televisieserie “In therapie” (NCRV) schreef Pauw het scenario. In juni 2014 maakte de CPNB bekend dat Pauw in 2015 het geschenkboekje voor de Maand van het Spannende Boek zou schrijven.
Uit: Girl in the Dark
“There’s not much difference between transporting a prisoner and moving a load of hogs. They have to get to their destination in one piece. And that’s all, really. I was handcuffed. I felt uncomfortable and clumsy. It took all my concentration not to lose my balance as I climbed into the van. My escort, a guard with a square-shaped head, gave me a shove. It wasn’t deliberately brutal, just rough indifference. “Hurry up.” The only words addressed to me directly. I staggered, regained my footing, and sat down on the leatherette seat.
Ostentatious jingling of keys. The scrape of metal on metal. [he cage clanged shut; I was being moved inside a cage. I’d been locked up for eight years. I had grown partial to the nonotonous rhythm of my days, but I had never gotten used to the )ars. The van’s windows were shaded. I was seeing the outside vorld again for the first time, only through a dark, gray film, Still, ‘d been looking forward to the trip. To see cats driving along, and rees, and teenagers riding their bikes into the wind. Maybe even a rain racing us alongside the highway. Or boys on top of the overpasses yelling at the cars whizzing by below. The kind of hings you don’t get to see on TV because they’re too ommonplace, but that make you even sicker with longing for the vorld outside. The van set off. I was being transferred from the prison in kmersfoort to the Hopper Institute in Haarlem. I hadn’t quite figured out if my transfer to the forensic )sychiatric unit was something to be happy about. I’d had far too nuch time to think about it, the same way I had far too much time And then there were days when I was so angry and frustrated that I couldn’t see the plus side of anything anymore. When I just wanted to get home to my fish. I was very worried about my fish. At night I’d picture them floating belly-up. A stinking pile of zebrasoma, holocanthus, and amphiprion. I’d yell and scream until the entire cell block was awake. “It’s the nutcase again.” “Yo, freak, shut the fuck up!” “I’ll get you tomorrow—you better watch your back, motherfucker.” But in actuality, no one ever laid a finger on me, not once. It wasn’t like on those TV shows. The prisoners spent the greater part of the day just bullshitting. Every now and then a scuffle would break out over something minor, like a missing pack of cigarettes. But rape wasn’t their thing, and nobody knocked anybody’s teeth out to get better blowjobs, either.”
Marion Pauw (Tasmanië, 19 augustus 1973)