One evening, three young people went out onto the lawn of the State House to admire the stars. And they saw how the stars were gone. Years have passed. The stars never returned to the sky, one of the young men studied to be a doctor, the girl went into religion, and the second young man became a god. "Spin" is a novel about humanity's dying leap into space, about the imperfection of the demiurge, about the search for a life preserver in the raging ocean of global catastrophe. But first of all, this is a novel about love. This is a text created by the narrator in a medicated delirium. This is an insidious, deceptively transparent, but dense web of words. This is solid science fiction, where the world created by the author does not raise the slightest questions. This is a story about how people live year after year, daily looking into the eyes of inevitable death. This is a novel-poem and a novel cacophony, where Duke Ellington's big band thunders "Harlem Duct", Miles Davis shrilly sings "Seven Steps to Heaven", and Astrud Gilberto hoarsely sings "The Face I Love". And love will tear us to shreds. Again.