Having passed through the well-known trial of the person who writes in order to read what he has experienced, Z.Z. managed to bring her writing to a point where, almost unintentionally, impossible thefts take place among the ambiguous forces of life. Through traveling needles, cow heads given as offerings, strange fingers, and all kinds of transformations, an eerie depth claims the book as its shelter. It is up to the reader to suspect that similar psychisms see literature not as the greatest achievement, but simply as a noble compromise.