About the book: year / The sky, piercingly high, in thin cirrus clouds, as if covered by an angel’s wing. And at the same time fragile, like a crust of ice on an October puddle: press with your finger and a creaking crack will appear. Such a sky, Raphael knew, foreshadowed cold weather, and already strong, by night it would become unbearable; They’ll grab you so hard that it’ll hurt to breathe, and the next morning grandma will tell you to wrap yourself up to your eyes..