Сжигая дотла

Every line sounds as if fire is literally cutting through the air. Love here is not about tenderness, but about the elements: a flame that bursts into life from a spark and cannot be controlled. Everything is too bright, too close, too greedy. But this excess is where the main charm lies: it is what turns the night into madness and the two into accomplices in the fire.

There is a very frank physicality in the text, which does not pretend to be a novel, but still becomes more than just passion. It is a mixture of smoke, unfinished whisky, bare backs and whispers that warm more than any fireplace. And even when dawn promises to cool things down, one only wants to add fuel to the fire - because ‘we don't have enough fire’ sounds more like an oath than a complaint.