The Sheltering Sky / Let It Come Down / The Spider's House

Dead words. Not female or male but a dry scenery of prose that stuck halfway between Andre Gide and some expansionist mentality. It technically works, it technically points to certain curves of human fate, which are always peculiar, but reading it feels like hard labour. Constant digging of stones, tunnels, exploration of caverns which are mysterious but filled with nothing but dust and gravel. Or: looking at paintings devoid of their inner glow; touching your sleepy face early in the morning.