“It all started with Jack. Jack the dog..." You yourself know what happens to dogs. And in general, you know a lot about everyday life, why read more about it? Yes and to speak. It’s hard to imagine how you tell such a story about yourself. Or about his father, for example: what happened when his grandmother poisoned the dog he fed. Is it possible to be serious, without at least a smirk? Were there no more fatal events? Banalities that are impossible to talk about, because you are choked by either irony or muddy shame. It’s better to recognize them as insignificant. So if these are also parental stories, then you haven’t heard anything about them. I haven’t heard, but I am firmly connected with them by pain, about which you don’t want to know anything. The author of this novel is not ironic, and this in itself is surprising. In his presentation, “banalities” cease to be shameful specks and become truly terrible and truly significant stories. The pain ceases to be a meaningless spasm and finds its roots. Through a painful, confused dream, coherent speech and coherent life emerge.