I really like some aspects of this book, and when I started reading it, I had pretty high expectations. Then something happened. The book just lost any structure. What was at first a tragic story where you knew something was going to happen then just dissolved into reflections, small anecdotes from the narrator's life, all mixed together, but revolving around the same themes - love, sex, drugs, beauty. And the damned Шоколадница! She doesn't seem to frequent any other café. I like the way Ketro writes for the most part, but sometimes it goes a bit overboard on the sentimentalism, and her repetitions (trademark ones, perhaps?) are frankly quite annoying. Still, not bad at all.