Brilliant. A man suffering unrequited love is permitted by the object of his affections to write her only if he stops talking of his love (for Christ’s sake, you’re a pest). He does until he realizes that the woman he obsessed over was only the realization of a metaphor, that he’d invented this (superficial b*tch) and love in order to make a book of misunderstanding, about alien people, about an alien land. Interesting the way the animals of which he talks of seeing in the zoo are really other Russian expat friends of his. A novel of a displaced Russian living in Germany. He finally wises up.