A woman of 31 years - which gives the impression of having 30 more and have experienced everything - depressed in its petty bourgeois routine and takes a lover. Until then, nothing very original. After either. Heroin is lost in considerations at best only interest that, at worst, give the reader want to tear his hair tuft by. Depression is here interactive but leaves to the commonwealth of clichés: the famous "women's intuition" is invoked repeatedly, as the legendary Swiss probity. Some passages are quite simply ridiculous: Linda undertakes eg to indict her rival for drug trafficking; the pseudo-love story (sex is more accurate) with the lover also encourages more mockery than sympathy. Finally, since otherwise would not Coelho Coelho, the novel ends with a few pages of philosophical teaching Pascal Obispo would not deny: the most important is to learn to love. But of course it is!
