This novel, written about a hundred years after the event (some of the happenings and dates there are from the 1890's although the story takes place a little later), by a great writer, son of an old continent, is a reflection of the Grey Soul of Europe now, in 2006, a tired old continent, tired of wars, tired of philosophy, observing the time and flowing with it doing nothing, like one of the protagonists (end of chapter 4)who eventually was so caught up with time, loving it, that sometimes he could watch it pass on without doing nothing, just sit behind a window on a wicker chair and watch.
This is a sad book that does not provide the energy of joy nor the spirit to fight and should not be read by melancholic people.