A question mark runs through the entire book. What is psychoanalysis without the experience of intimacy? That thread; this plot; Is that lightning linked to transference? To the experience of an analysis? How? Since when? Gabriela Pedrotti insists on not falling into the logic of meaning, sure that said must happen, happen in a different way. That is why her recourse to a poetic, poured saying, keeps her from closing the subject. It is a continuous landscape in motion, with references and stations in crucial problems that interest psychoanalysis: the sinthome, the training of the analyst, his desire; and other more original ones such as despair, amazement, the instant... But this book is also a praise of writing, poetry and femininity. Because it writes the difference, complicates love and horror, and plays its game for a language that the reader will be grateful for, once he can appropriate it. That is his bet.