Leduc’s prose reads like a combination of the surrealism of Breton and the incandescent poetry of Genet; the novel follows the adventures of an eccentric and forlorn woman, as she reminisces wistfully on her past and ruminates wearily on her present. Leduc is able to render the latter via stream of gentle, dreamlike prose, as Paris is transformed into a cacophony of sounds and colours,
“Suddenly she was discovering again, as she always did, the movement, the fragility, the gentle palpitation of lights reflected in the waters of the Seine. It was the river reflecting light, but it was also a breast heaving with emotion.”
In the absence of human contact, the woman interacts with objects around her-a man emerges from a tree which turns out to be a phone back, the utensils around her house are constantly communicating with her, not with words, but in their interactions with the light which surrounds them and finally the discarded fox fur which she finds and which offers her consolation in the overwhelming sense of loneliness which overcomes her.