Everything is bad. Everything is a mirage, deception, self-deception. Even love is just a smear of bright glaze, which after some time fades and crumbles to dust. Marriage, family, enthusiasm, nobility, goodness, beauty are nothing more than romantic illusions, which in the millstones of everyday life degenerate into indifference, cold hostility, petty calculations... The Hungarian writer János Hai (b. 1960) knows how to write in such a way that all the depths become visible these processes that probably affect the life of any person. But how amazing and shocking it is when, under these leaden-gray layers, on the edge of madness and death, life for a moment is suddenly illuminated by a flash of the most romantic, Shakespearean, all-consuming love!