I was not in time with history but blood dries faster than memory.
A strange feverdream of a novel where it's never clear what's real and what's not. Lives are structured like sonatas, themes are repeated. The man who supposedly sees everything sees almost nothing. He is, in fact, so detached that his girlfriend only feels able to reach him through the lens of her camera. All that one can be sure of in this intermingling of fact and fantasy is that the world with its rules are inescapable even if one deploys all one's selfishness to sidestep them.