A few general points The novel is a non-linear narrative in the spirit of modernist writing. There is no obvious plot in it - it is closer to a symphonic poem. Written in the first person about the writer's journey through little-known India with and without a companion named Taya.

I’ll start with a template counterthesis - “Müller is eternal, just as detective is eternal in this world” - Schellenberg. Phrase from the film “Seventeen Moments of Spring.” But there is a nuance. Although, it would seem, here it is, the Third World War, and this is always a lot of directions for their work. Why the decline - because in the world of hyperinformation, in order to hide something, it’s easier to start trending about it on every corner.

translated from the French by Vera Baxter When talking about the Atlantic, immediately: Ocean! "Ocean"! Dagars raise their inner gaze. However, one life appeared on the ground, frail, nailed, as if a rat was born, you can hear its crunching, so weak that you barely notice, and fur, and stomping; and silence again. A.'s life is one of those insignificant lives, and the Ocean, the Ocean, and it moves, and where? And I am his secret.

— Good afternoon, Dmitry Vladimirovich - Gleeeb, good afternoon No faces were visible in the shadows of the wardrobe. He was buttoning his shirt when he saw a man enter the already empty classroom. He quickly came out from behind the partition. - Meet, Dmitry, who was rummaging through the box, introduced him to the newcomer - Gleb. “Salute,” a tall and thin guy with sharp, coarse, Asian-style black hair extended his hand.