Fiction and non-fiction are two sides of the same coin. Or are they? Michael Penderecki is in flight. Someone has threatened to kill him. But who is the woman dead in the bathtub? And why does the voice of Yves Montand singing Les Feuilles Mortes surge from the horn of an antiquated phonograph in an otherwise silent villa in Sils Maria?
This is the most enigmatic - and melodramatic - of Gabriel Josipovicis novels to date. It is as though one of Magrittes paintings had come to life to the rhythms of a Bach Partita.
