“The Book of Boz is neither a novel nor a poem nor a tale. Even less is it a drama or an essay. It is nothing except the style that inspires it and haunts it, to excess. No points of reference here. No beacon. You sail wherever the wind blows. Stories are woven, end, are reborn, with the flow, before a storm comes up to carry us further away, to the threshold of a new vision. For, that is The Book of Boz : a work outside of norms, indefinable, created by a wanderer for other wanderers.”