In the novel by Yevgeny Klyuyev, perhaps the most mysterious writer of our time, there is only one support — an Absolutely Correct Circle made of matches. Whether it is strong or not is for the reader to decide, as they constantly hover over the abyss of dizzying meanings and eventually understand with horror that, apart from this Absolutely Correct Circle made of matches, there is really nothing else to lean on in life.
Everything in this phantasmagorical novel is turned inside out, everything is paradoxical and ironic — and the free wind of subtext completely knocks one off one's feet. However, you are not being invited to read the book — you are being invited to write it together with the author, creating a novel out of nothing, out of air, out of the invisible matter of language. And if by the end of the novel you feel the desire to build a tower out of bird down or a ship out of beeswax, that is normal. It happens to everyone in whom the spirit of joyful creation awakens — do not resist it: just build a tower out of bird down or a ship out of beeswax.