Despite its non-gender membership, it is not uncommon for this text (as was the case with The Correspondences, his previous book, also in Peripheral) to end up adopting the look of a novel: fiction that is now presented as dialogue. The tone of the voices suggests that we are allowed to sneak into an investigation, a trip.

Dialogue's conjectures and swings cause the discourse to jump from one topic to another and overlap with a natural effect several levels of references. We are faced with a very unique work of art transferred to the paper, which works, symbolically, we could say, as a police novel, where, step by step, the crime to be solved is shaping up, which is none other than the landscape, the notion of landscape in a specific environment (two industrial peoples of the Basque Country) and the conceptual methodinomy it generates in language, in the bodies , in sensitivity and, of course, in collective accounts. The dialogues are armed from pieces of conversations and quotes: Thomas Bernhard, Leni Riefenstahl, Angel Guimer, a Beckett in Euskaltelebista version...

There's no psychology or exoticism. It is the voices that undulate and make the landscape appear, the warp of fisctions from which the corpse is made still fresh. In countries both images and text appear to be counterfeits produced in a critical machine that, following closely by authors and the Marxist Gramsci, creates destroying.